Here's a suggestion computer. I assume you read binary so why don't you 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1.

Today, a small victory. We were walking between the Village and the school and a neighbor going the other direction stopped us to make sure that the children were home so he could bring them mangoes. Woohoo! He knows we work there! This may seem silly, especially since we see and chat with this man at least once a week and we are usually orbited by plaid-clad electrons clamoring loudly for our attention, but it still makes us happy to have hard evidence that our place within the community is known and accepted.

Another sign we’ve been here awhile is my acceptance of things I once thought odd. When someone told be that taxi divers drove around honking and pointing in the direction they were traveling, I giggled. The scene in my head was probably more fantastic than reality, but still, isn’t that an amusing picture to those of you who have yet to experience it? A bunch of people honking and hanging out the window, pointing their route? In fact, it is wonderfully efficient. I don’t think it’s strange at all. I even point back to confirm the direction I am going. Honk, point.

But then I get ringworm on my eyelid—AGAIN—and I feel like we are stuck in a never-ending loop of hot weather and skin fungi. Gross. Also, while things are falling in place for us, it is still exceedingly, irrationally, difficult to get things accomplished. I just continue to underestimate the factors that contribute to the completion of a task. It’s like a treadmill with hurdles. I wake up thinking okay, today I have to get this done, so I sit down to it and realize halfway through that I have to do 5 other things first to make this task do-able and it always involves favors and information from other people and I get all excited and then my boss can’t understand me. Ultimately these things get done, but never without some amount of panic on my part.

So that’s where we are. And, the kids have learned my name. I know people think this is dumb, especially when the kids can call me ‘miss’ most of the time, but I was tired of being called ‘Patrick and uh, uh, uh…’ So now everyone knows my name, or at least a varied pronunciation of my name, and they shout it gleefully when they see me approaching the Village. Just to reiterate, there are over 100 children and Erin is not a common name here. So I feel good about this, and if you think it is paltry, then you are a poo-head.

Oh my God, Darryl. You look like Barack Obama. Everybody I'm dating Barack Obama.

Lately Patrick and I have been embarking on mini-adventures of the nature that cause me to proclaim, “this will be the end of our marriage.” So for your enjoyment, we have listed the top ten things that are likely to end in the dissolution of our alliance.

1. PowerPoint presentations
2. Home haircuts
3. Death Match Uno
4. KU/MU
5. Snowboarding
6. Wayne Brady
7. Rationing of baked goods
8. Chorus of the Jamaican national anthem
9. Naming children after steroid-filled Polish men (Mariusz Pudzianowski Mazi?)
10. Top ten lists

Don’t worry, we have our mutual love of ceramic animals with festive costumes to see us through the tough times. Oh Shebadda.

Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car. So sue me-- no, don't sue me. That is opposite the point I'm trying to make.

Busy is a relative term. For the most part Erin and I have had our heads down plugging away at our various work projects. We spend most nights at home doing nothing, save pining for our very own game of Carcassonne, but our days have been pretty full. For those of you still reading our blog, I thought I would give a schedule of upcoming happenings for the summer…

At our orphanage:
- A couple weeks of summer school
- A couple weeks of arts &crafts, fine arts, and music
- A few beach days, an airport tour, a Rose Hall Great House Tour, and an off-site trip to St. Ann? (the trip is definite but location still up in the air)
- A week-long JAMM camp
- A week-long football (soccer for you American folks) camp
- The week-long HIV/AIDS peer educator training that Erin got a grant to fund- this project will actually continue on until World AIDS Day in December, but the main part is happening this summer
- A summer-long reading contest, complete with prizes for readership
- Computer classes will be held for the mothers, aunties, and the children though I might wait until school resumes to incorporate the kids

At the marine park:
- Revamping the outreach and education program
----- Educating and getting the local fishermen onboard to facilitate a protected area for fish to breed and grow
----- Educating the public, both domestic and foreign, about the issues the local marine habitats are facing and how they can help
- Hopefully finding funding to initiate a mooring buoy system to act as boundaries for the protected zones as well as providing environmentally low-impact anchor site

As for us:
- Last week we met the new PC Trainees. They all seemed very excited and full of energy. I believe they are all capable of making a difference in the lives of those they will soon be living among.
- Erin’s folks are coming for a 5-day Jamaica extravaganza! Woohoo!

And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.-- Sir Paul McCartney

Patrick

Cool! Bouncy house!

Today was our first day volunteering at our secondary project, the Montego Bay Marine Park. The marine park was the first national park in Jamaica and has a ton of various projects that need revamping. The cool thing is our supervisor is really excited to let us run wild and pick the projects that best utilize our skills/interests. I am excited as the work is a bit more along the lines of development work and more what I expected to be doing when I joined PC. I love what I do at my orphanage, but the energy investment is in the 105 children and not really in expanding capacity of the organization, as one would expect in development organizations. This way we get the best of both worlds.

To Do List:
1) Mold 105 positive world citizens that can hopefully read better than they could ante-Patricio
2) Save the aquatic environment in the Montego Bay area or at least get a good start
3) Become guitar virtuoso—Eddie VanHalen, Clapton, Kenny Wayne Shepherd watch yourselves!
4) Cook dinner for Erin—Tonight may be leftover stir fry but tomorrow’s tacos with my revamped tortilla recipe will dominate
So my list may be a bit over the top, but after getting roughed up last week I have found a bit of peace and renewed energy and am ready to conquer the world again. Things are looking up. Hell, even the Royals have won 8 out of their last 10 games.

I am very excited about the new volunteers coming to Jamaica soon. I am excited to feed off of their energy, their desire to make Jamaica and the world a better place.

Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things that renew humanity. --The Buddha

I’m doing my best Chubby.
Patrick

We're all homos. Homo sapiens.

I was in a bookstore in downtown MoBay and encountered a peculiar site. On one of the main shelves, prominently displayed, was the novel Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Despite this Pulitzer Prize winning book getting rave reviews from Erin (though I have struggled through parts), I was very, very surprised to find it shelved so conspicuously. For those of you that have procrastinated reading this book STOP HERE!, the following is a SPOILER… The protagonist is Calliope, who after having a lesbian-ish experience finds out she is in fact a he that has 5-alpha-reductase deficiency. So a couple of un-descended testes later, some incest, and transvestitism (though unknown to Cal), this book really hits home the complexities of gender identity. Let me pause to express just how taboo homosexuality is here. It is biblical stoning taboo—literally. Jamaican homosexuals were almost (but not) granted U.N. refugee status. So for this book to have such a blatant placement I have to assume the store itself or the shelf stocker is extremely progressive. I hesitate to fully assume the liberal leanings of the store as Middlesex was surrounded with books whose covers were adorned with Fabio’s oiled chest and whose titles included The Pirate’s Booty (that title doesn’t necessarily imply smut novel, but its cover confirmed my suspicions). So maybe there was a mix-up in the book orders, maybe someone was excited by the idea of a Pulitzer Prize winning romance novel, but I want to think the owners/staff of this bookstore were deliberate in their shelving. I am happy with the idea that they are trying to encourage their fellow countrymen to open their minds.

I was in the bookstore to solicit some presentation supplies and was just browsing to kill time waiting for them to draw up my invoice. For the past couple of days Erin and I have been running around trying to complete a grant application. We are planning an HIV/AIDS peer educator training for the children at our orphanage. This training, for 20-40 kids (depending on summer work schedules), will provide instruction on HIV and other STIs, work to improve ability to make positive life decisions, and how to impart their knowledge to their peers. We are also having the kids create HIV/AIDS awareness paintings (on nice canvas with quality paint) to be displayed at their respective schools. The idea is for our kids to then use their new skills to create projects/presentations for World AIDS Day and present them at their schools. All in all we hope to indirectly raise awareness among 3000 or so area school children. Big up to Erin as she dominated the grant application. (This is Erin, I am reading over the blog and I wish to point out that I did not dominate it. I have the ability to dominate it, but I do not feel that I utilized that ability to its fullest.) We are really excited and are hoping our grant is accepted. Keep your fingers crossed.

I would rather take your punch, than not give you a shot.
Patricio

I'm optimistic, because everyday I get a little more desperate. And desperate situations yield the quickest results.

So last night there was a cockroach in my bed. I had turned out the light and was watching my bedtime Office episode, Patrick was mostly asleep and I felt something on my foot. Immediately I began kicking and twitching epileptically, rousing the half-comatose Patricio. I leaped out of bed and turned on the light… and saw nothing. So we settled back in and five minutes later, what do I see by the warm glow of The Office? A cockroach. Moseying its nasty way down my arm. I am quite upset by this and begin bellowing—with a curious mixture of disgust and triumph—that the cockroach is not imaginary, and it is currently on my person. Patrick grudgingly rolls out of bed and turns on the light to find me alone in the bed. He sighs and pointedly begins searching through the sheets, when he spots it. Running from the bed towards the closet. Man, I felt so freaking vindicated at that point. He gallantly smashed it into a gooey pulp with my shoe. And then he went back to sleep and I stared wide-eyed around me for hours. Really the funniest part is that I am pretty sure Patrick does not believe the roach was in the bed. But I saw it. I did. It was on me. He was extremely annoyed that I kept waking him with my anti-roach flailing. Lest you underestimate me, I’m not too bothered by creepy-crawlies. Even roaches. There used to be a nest of them in the shower drain at our previous abode and it didn’t faze me. But in my bed, that is a different story. Also I was having a “difficult” evening and this just capped it off. Gross. Stay out of my bed roaches.

Toby has been cruisin' for a bruisin' for twelve years. And I am now his cruise director. And my name is Captain Bruisin'.

If Erin and I did not use quotes from ‘The Office’ to title each blog, I would have entitled this blog:
I, Lead Paint and Technicolor Boogers, I

For those you with a keen eye and quick wit, you probably noticed that this title is in fact a palindrome. And despite Matt’s insistence that palindromes are kryptonite to gypsies, they, in fact are completely harmless when they are also onomatopoeias. And since all palindromes, like my title, are also onomatopoeias (I can provide citation for this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PalindromesareinfactOnomatopoeias), I am completely safe. Assuming Matt is not reading this blog… the only real literary danger to a gypsy is the dreaded Semordnilap. Damn you !Stressed Desserts! OUCH! Oi!

Anyway… Erin and I left to go up to the orphanage today around 8 o’clock. We got about 100 yards from our house before “Pssssst. Psssssssssssssssssst! PSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!” Ah, the sounds of a Jamaican flirting with Erin. My first instinct in this situation is to get mildly offended that 1) this dude would blatantly come on to Erin as I walk next to her and 2) that Erin would choose dirty, toothless bum-guy over yours truly (the “psssssst” is very common amongst cat-calling Jamaican males and I am not implying that all those who pssssst are dirty, toothless bums). However my second instinct is to walk over to the guy and explain to him how incredibly idiotic he sounds making that noise. I am pretty sure that making the deflating tire sound at a passing woman, American or otherwise, has never gotten anybody laid. Also calling Caucasian females “Whitey” (pronounced Whyyyy-teeee) hasn’t either. (I can provide citation for this too: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/actinglikeObtuseRacistAssholedoesn’tgetyoudates) This has to be frustrating for our special likkle fem-Nazi and I don’t blame her.

The rest of the day was spent at our village laboring for Labor Day, which I am assuming is really is a day off of school to repaint and landscape said school. I immediately claimed painting the monkey bars and “swing song” for the two of us. I dunno why they call swing sets “swing songs” but I like it. I chose this chore because clearing bush (our other option) sounded like the set-up to a dirty joke. Also it sounded hard. Mainly, I never get to paint. My family thinks I am a terrible painter and so instead of teaching me to paint to their standards, they just never allow me around a brush. Not that I can blame them, my lack of patience comes from somewhere. This is Erin now, P.S. I was pretty pleased with myself until I realized we’d have about 20 “helpers,” and our work included scraping old paint off what had to be 2 miles of metal pipe twisted into some sort of playground rubix cube with small putty knives. The scraping alone may have been daunting, but really it was the band of eager 8-yr-olds clamoring for a chance with the putty knife that made this chore more challenging than I originally supposed. There were chips of paint (probably containing lead) flying and sticking to our arms and faces, getting snorted up our noses (thus Patrick’s rainbow snot) and meandering down our windpipes. We decided to only let the children that helped scrape wield paintbrushes. Even with all the commotion, it was easy to tell who had scraped as they looked like they had some sort of rare disease that produces multi-colored sores all over the hands and face. Most of the children only wanted to paint until they actually got a chance, and then realized it was work and lost interest, luckily. However, we never had a shortage of workers. Sometimes I get the eerie feeling that there are no adults in the village. You’ll see scores of children running about maniacally, but no one over the age of 12. It’s spooky. Today was kind of like that. I did see plenty of people over 5 ft, but they all seemed glad to have escaped the assistance the children were so eagerly offering us. So Patrick and I trudged through the day, lone supervisors over a herd of children armed with paintbrushes. Now that I think about it, it went pretty well. Despite the bottle of spilled kerosene oil and the ice fight at the end, there was only the usual whining and bickering. It did take us about 7 hrs to do something that should have taken 3 (and we still have to put the second coat on!) but no one tried to paint anyone else. Oh, they were covered in paint anyway, as they tried to reach through freshly coated monkey bars and sit on paint cans, but it was the result of an honest desire to work and not the remnants of a paint fight. I have some lovely pictures and video to commemorate our toils, but our camera broke! I’m pretty sure it got infected with some sort of high-tech virus (for more info see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/brokenGypsyCameraforSale).

This has been Erin and Patrick with your Channel 1 News investigation.

Yeah, I'm trying to lure these kids into my booth. But, uhh, kids are very weary of being lured, these days. Thank you Dateline.

Random Ruminations

-A significant portion of my time here in Jamaica has been spent feeling like a big floating dollar sign. Not to get into a discussion about race, but bums will let 15 Jamaicans walk by and only ask me for change. Grrrr to you bum. I also feel this way a bit at work too.

-I recently watched the NOVA special entitled the ‘Elegant Universe.’ I encourage anyone who has not seen this 3 part series to do so. WOW, the implications of string theory have exploded small holes in my brane (I realize this is not the correct spelling of the intended brain, but it is a barely humorous pun that you will get after viewing the show). I suppose there are not really any blown holes in my brain in this universe, but despite the minute probability it is probably happening somewhere. Holy balls Batman! That means my head is in severe peril somewhere else!

-The teaching of small children is incredibly difficult, especially when it comes to teaching computer literacy. Patience is not a virtue that I possess in abundance. Thus when I try to tutor my young wards I grow increasingly frustrated by my feeble explanations and their lack of understanding. I suppose that the great paucity in reading skills causes a rift in my lesson execution. “Okay kids every one left click on the ‘Games’ folder.” I had two frustrating replies to this seemingly simple command. 1) Which one is left? 2) There is no folder marked ‘Games.’ But what makes this enterprise even more difficult is the fact that my lack of patience is dwarfed by that of my pupils. Rather than opening a file/the Internet/a program and waiting for it to open, they click over and over and over and over and… well you get the idea. And since our computers are fairly slow, this fun game overloads the computers and they freeze up. To fix this problem they usually unplug the computer and restart. Wow, writing all of this down makes me realize I have a billion miles to travel before I bridge the gap of understanding. It’s all about the journey though... right?

-For some strange reason since I have come to Jamaica fire seems to follow me. I joined an organization that had recently had two of its buildings burn down. I stayed in the Pegasus Hotel in Kingston. This hotel now has a new lobby since the other was charred beyond repair during my visit. And most recently one of the main buildings on the property of my apartment is now smoldering following a fire that claimed 2 of its 3 stories. I don’t think I have some sort ‘firebug’ curse upon me, but I am still looking for a place to stay during my next visit home.

-Today my goal is to buy a ceramic coffee mug. I have been using a plastic cup… the kind that when it heats up dumps carcinogens into my java. Damn you cancer-inducing plastic!!

-Back to the firebuggery… Why when things are on fire here in Jamaica do machetes appear out of know where? When the Pegasus was on fire, a guy was hacking at a doorknob with his machete. Really dude? What the hell? And when the building near my apartment caught fire, some dude is on the roof hacking shingles with his cutlass. This bring two concerns to my mind 1) Where do they keep their machetes when things are not on fire? Machetes seemingly appear from thin air; maybe they have surgically inserted sheaths in their legs. 2) What exactly is the utility of hacking things during a fire (especially the doorknob)?

- Rather than giving confrontational bums money I am now giving a business card that reads:
GOD LOVES YOU
EZEKIEL 23:19-20
This has significantly cut down on bum harassment, thank God.

-I made dinner the other night. I asked Erin what she wanted to eat and all she wanted was a toasted PB & Honey sandwich. Today I am making Ham and Beans. Soak beans overnight, (next day)put beans in pot, cover with water, put ham hock on top of beans, cook on low for 4 hours. I cannot believe this what has become of my culinary expertise. Oh how I miss the days where I would carry a butane torch in my truck so I could make crème brûlée anytime, anywhere.

People are strange, when you're a stranger...Patrick

Wet cement, outside, it's drying, fast, come on! This is a life long dream. What do I write?

Recently I have been posting ruminations and other non-informative posts rather than the exciting narrative exploits you all have grown used to. I apologize to those of you who expect more. However Erin and I have our hands in a number of various pots currently and we have let our blog suffer a bit. We will try to do better in the future.

Yesterday I traveled to Kingston for a few meetings. Each trip seems to come with built in oddities, yesterday’s being the sighting of a man dressed in a chicken costume handing out flyers for Burger King in downtown Kingston. I guess this wouldn’t necessarily strike everyone as strange, but in Jamaica, I have never seen blatant commercialism directed at local inhabitants. The ridiculous advertising schemes seem to be solely targeted at tourists.

Reflecting upon the chicken-man sighting left me feeling a bit strange, though the chicken nuggets I didn’t buy from BK my have been the real culprit. I think being here almost a year allows me to include myself in the local population rather than grouping myself among tourists. However, it is obvious that I am not a native Jamaican. So my place somewhere in the ‘Jamerican’ middle ground has allowed me to avoid being advertised to almost entirely. But the chicken-man ploy seemed to be intended for me; the BK chicken-man wanted ME to eat their BK chicken. If there is one thing I hate, it is being the direct object of any sentence (at least ones that require my direct object-ness to be advertised to). Their yellow-feathered gambit was unsuccessful and I chose to buy my vittles from another establishment. This decision was not made because the (Burger) King himself transparently made me the direct object of his ludicrous
marketing scheme complete with a Big Bird cameo… No I made my decision because BK uses meat from local farms. Normally I am in favor of supporting local farms. Though despite having no evidence that the meat BK uses has any problems with it, Jamaica does not maintain the best track record for the refrigeration of perishable foods.

I listened to a Simon and Garfunkel live concert coming home from K-town. I have always respected the duo, but my respect has grown for them in recent months. Mrs. Robinson is a great song. It plays a major role in the classic movie ‘The Graduate’, is applicable even today, and employs the harmonious union of two male voices that only Paul and Art seem capable. What you ask?.. It is applicable today?.. Patrick, are you being seduced by a woman twice your age? No, there are no middle-aged women currently after Tricio, at least that I know of. However the lines:

"Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon.
Going to the candidate's debate.
Laugh about it, shout about it
When you've got to choose
Every way you look at this you lose."

The lyrics seem like they were written for the 2008 presidential elections. I am very disappointed in the current candidates as the three viable candidates are:
1) A woman that repeatedly lied about being under sniper fire to garner support , will use any unscrupulous tactic necessary to win and once told her husband during his presidency that he should ‘screw em,’ referring to the white middle class, a sect of the public she is now “championing.”
2) A billion-year-old warmonger who would support a 100 year war in Iraq (if necessary) and who has folded on important issues to pander to a right-wing conservative base.
3) An inexperienced senator who still speaks of changing politics while stooping to the mud-slinging tactics indicative of his opponent and has a proclivity to hang out with nefarious fellows and bails on them when discovered (I have friends whose opinions I don’t necessarily agree with but I would back them up and say that while they might not carry the opinions necessary of the commander-in-chief that I do and that while their opinions may be inflammatory that they are good people/Americans).

I agree with Paul and Art. You got it right boys, anyway I look it we lose. I hope, if nothing else, that we pick the least of all evils.

Where did you go Joe DiMaggio? I would like know. Patrick

Everybody likes new inventions, new technology. People will never be replaced by machines. In the end... computers are trying to murder you in a lake

Modern conveniences. Bah! Who needs ‘em? Not us. Do you know how I made my coffee this morning? If you guessed coffee maker deduct 15 points from your current score. If you guessed that I dumped boiling water over coffee grounds and strained it through a paper towel lined wire colander, give yourself 15. I realize being in Jamaica that I am extremely lucky to have access to the modern conveniences that I do. Really the only thing keeping me having a microwave, coffee maker, and a clock radio is money. I also realize that by signing up for PC that I was essentially signing up for poverty. Having such rigid budget restrictions has taught me a lot about my spending habits. It also reinforces the lesson about only spending money you have. Ain’t no credit cards here folks. It makes you think pretty hard about buying that 6-pack of Red Stripe when you know that if I buy this now I won’t have enough money to pay for fresh produce in a week or two.

My brain produces some of the most bizarre dreams. I choose not to share most of these. With my dreams as evidence, my lunacy would be undoubtedly proven. Despite these reservations I am going to share with you my most recent dream mostly because it runs a bit more humorous and a bit less crazy. I have a dream…

In my dream I was Barack Obama’s son. I still looked like me and had my same mannerisms so I must have been an adopted son or something. Anyway he encouraged me to campaign heavily for him and I enthusiastically did so. My active role in his campaign allowed me to rub elbows with the US elite and I had a fantastic time sarcastically mocking the other candidates. But when the time came to vote in November, I felt the pull of my political philosophy and voted for the Libertarian candidate. I returned to campaign headquarters and watched the results reported by the major networks. Papa Obama, obviously nervous, was pacing around as some states went red and others pulled blue. Abruptly he stopped his pacing and pulled me aside and asked me if I voted for him. I was completely honest and said that despite being his son and thinking the world of the man that I did not believe in his politics and voted Libertarian. He then proceeded to beat me, like literal biblical smack down.

To bring this blog entry full circle, the modern convenience that I would love to do without is 24-freakin’-hour-a-day coverage of the GD election. It is obviously invading my mind. The ceaseless reporting of the political race, combined with my extreme nocturnal boredom, is most assuredly the root of my baby-Bama drama. I would gladly exchange CNN, CNN Headline news, FOX news, MSNBC, even BBC America for a washing machine. Hell, I would exchange those soulless media channels for a French press. Mmmmm, coffee that doesn’t faintly taste of Bounty paper towels.

want it to be fast, quick cuts. You know, youthful, sort of, um, MTV on crack kind of thing.

If nothing else being here has provided me the opportunity to experience other musical genres. Before coming to Jamaica I was almost strictly a classic rock kinda guy. I liked jazz, a few jam bands, some folk-y guys with guitars, and pretty much anything with a quality guitar lick. You couldn’t say I had a closed mind as far my musical preferences, but I wasn’t actively seeking any new ear candy. I would occasionally stumble on a new artist or hear about a band from my sister or friends. Also during two formative university years I drove the Green Chick Mobile, a ’94 Dodge Caravan that lacked a radio, and for that matter a heater. Not that having a large van didn’t have its perks, especially when there were 10+ drunkards at your house and you were trying to get them all to the bars in one trip (p.s. whoever now owns Chicky… the mysterious stain in the back is from Dover violently vomiting on his 21st birthday… at 7:00 pm… he didn’t make it too long.) Not having a radio in your primary transportation really limits your exposure to new music, but Big Green did have a small living room in the back complete with couch and Playstation 2.

Anyway back to the point… experiencing new musical genres. Being here, for me, has slowed down life considerably. You know… the stopping to sniff flowers and all. It has also allowed me many hours to listen to artists I had never before listened. To be honest, I would not have been super-interested in giving a lot of the people I now consider staples a chance.

Many of you are fantastically busy and probably never spend any time looking for new music. I have it pretty easy as the strange mix of PC volunteers comes with a fairly wide taste in music and they provide me with new-to-me stuff all the time. I think that experiencing a new band, at least to you, is a positive thing. So I challenge you, even those of you with extra hectic schedules, to take 10 minutes, get online, and turn a couple aural tricks. Right now Josh Ritter is getting quite a bit of playtime on my iTunes. Check him out and let me know the new-to-you musical genius you find so I can check them out too.

Music appreciation is an innate behavior…its evolution…don’t fight it… Patrick

You can buy new stuff but you can't buy a new party!

I dislike Hillary Clinton. I might trust her more if her face were a bit wrinklier. So the Leukemia Lymphoma Society dinner is fast approaching. As we will clearly not be in attendance, my parents are going in our stead. Someone has to fill in at the sports table. Delicious dinner and free hoarded booze aside, I am a bit relieved to be ending my streak as a volunteer silent auctioneer. I can handle the setting up portion—I cover a mean chair—but then the actual event starts and I somehow end up with scary rich people yelling at me. It’s not difficult work, no one else has problems; I just seem to incite the rage of women dripping sarcasm and diamonds. Also some random girl in a striped dress that glared at me all night for no reason. I wasn’t being paranoid, other people saw it and in fact pointed it out before I noticed. At least my run-ins were with strangers. Patrick once found himself in the food line next to a woman who had recently stuck her fingers in his bum. I suppose I should mention that she was the nurse that had done his pre-PC physical. I am frustrated that Word keeps telling me that my sentences are not sentences. My thoughts are difficult to punctuate. Anyway, my favorite part is the ballroom readying. It’s busy and mindless and I enjoy it very much. I am fairly sure that I am alone in this sentiment. There is free beer in the evenings, but only before dinner. If you were a planner, you might collect more beers than you need before dinner and hide them under the table skirts of the auction table. Come hungry, dinner is excellent. Pay attention to the minimum bids. Even after the price has been marked down, the min bid stays the same. So remember that before you are scolded by a kind-hearted but quite frazzled Sharpie wielder. Most importantly, don’t forget your enhanced breasts and piles of subtle 4-carat . If still unsure about attire, I've included this picture of Velda (at least the important parts of her) from last year. diamonds

Thank you very much, it is from Italy-- actually, no, Bulgaria.

We have been back in Jamaica for a few weeks but we have been without Internet access for 99% of that time. We apologize for lack of blogs, emails, etc. Our trip home was fantastic and we owe a number of people a huge thank you.

Nancy Skelton~ Nancy is a very skilled therapeutic masseuse and she offered her services pro bono. She spent almost an hour alleviating the giant knot under my left scapula then proceeded to donate some money to help us buy supplies for the orphanage. Thank you Nancy for donating your time and money.

Alan “Pops” Mazi~ My father hooked us up with boxes of Costco goods (complete with Erin’s favorite brownie mix), many meals, and the skiing aspect of our Colorado adventure. He also donated the use of my old truck back to me complete with gasoline included. And to top it all off made a special last minute trip to US Toy to pick us up two boxes of golf pencils, which are the lifeline of our after-school program. Thanks Pops for everything.

Tony and Jill Smith~ What up, parents? We’re sharing the authoring of this blog. I’m pretty grateful that you still let me mooch at my old age. I didn’t even mind that you painted my old room pink. Thanks for spoiling me with Target trips and happy hours. Our plane tickets home were largely due to a sizeable Christmas donation from you, and we greatly appreciate that. Home was wonderful. I miss you guys.

Laura Whitaker and the Notorious B-O-B~ My mother and Bob did most of the planning for our Colorado adventure and paid for the beautiful condo. My mother gave me her cell phone for the time I was home so that everyone could get a hold of me when they needed me. I stayed with them when we were in KC and they never complained when it was 58 degrees outside and I was sitting in front of the fire in their living room. They also contributed many meals and made sure I was never without ice cream. Thanks guys for letting me crash your home, eat up all your tasty-treats, and see Flipper again.

Grandparents~ Notorious spoilers, you helped us obtain our plane tickets. Grandma Mean made a whole plate of extra eggs for Patrick at Sunday breakfast, and a giant bowl of frog eye salad for me. I’m so glad that the Smiths were able to get together despite our hectic schedules and cases of pneumonia. I’m gonna go ahead and throw in other family here too. Thanks for the ribs, Uncle Doug, they were delicious. Thanks to all Meschers and Smiths for finding time for togetherness. It was lovely seeing you all.

Jennifer and Jerms~ Thanks for creating the time in your busy, busy schedules to make Colorado happen. It really made the trip to be able to have that time with you guys. Also thanks for being so busy that it required my niece Caroline and namesake nephew J. Patrick to spend so much time in KC with us. They are both amazing kids and Erin and I were glad to met J. Patrick for the first time and relieved that Caroline hasn’t forgotten us.

Little Brothers~ Thanks for getting us kicked out of the bar on St. Pat’s. It was a pretty good time. I’m glad you came to CO with us. You’ll have to come visit us in Jamaica as soon as you get vacation days. I appreciate both of you allowing me the indiscriminate use of your vehicles.

Davis, Hammer, and Willie~ My wrestling coaches took me out for beer and hot wings and actually watched some NCAA basketball with me. I was caught up on all the fun L-Town gossip and told of new babies on the way (Congrats again fellas!). Thanks for making the time to hang out.

Momma Bird and Bruce Lee~ MB and the Bruce Lee provided some dinners and also allowed their house to be invaded. Thanks MB for always acting shocked when the Dover, Shaggy, Jimbo, Mo and I talk about the strange. And thanks Bruce Lee for being a good sport despite Big Buck Hunter Pro proving that I am a far superior sportsman.

The Dover, Shaggy, Mo, and Jimbo~ Thanks guys for meeting Erin and I at the airport. It was awesome to have such a posse greet us as soon as we arrived and to drink beer with in the parking lot of terminal B. Thanks for making time in your real world lives, complete with real jobs, to drink beer, catch a concert (and see Flipper do his Irish dance), play late night Halo, etc. etc. etc.

Sam, Matt, Rachel, Lauren, and Carly~ You guys did pretty much whatever I wanted despite the fact that you are the ones with jobs and schedules. It meant a lot that you made time for me. I miss you a ton.

Evans~ So being home was strange, but I was decidedly comfortable at my grandma’s and Pizza Factory. I think I spent as much time with you guys last year as I did with my family. I’m really, really glad I got to see you even if it was a brief visit. It made me super happy.

Sorry if Erin or I missed thanking anyone. There were so many people who played important roles in the fun times had during our trip home. We miss you all and can’t wait to see you again.

Thanks again,
Erin and Patrick

They say you should never mix business with pleasure. Really. Then explain to me how a put-put golf company operates.

Sometimes horoscopes seem to very accurately give insight into your life. The guidance given about my day/week/month is so vague that it could apply to everyone. Really?! I am going to have a 2-star day? Dammit! I am getting so screwed. If only Venus would move out of my sign there would not be a ‘pressure (that) builds no matter which direction (I) turn.’ And tonight’s suggestion: ‘Ever playful,’ what the hell does that even mean?

I think horoscopes have about as much insight into my life as that drunk guy that sat next to you in the bar last week. However, recent revelations about our lives have been conveyed through a very powerful medium… Television.

As some of you know, my life has given many a sitcom enough fodder for entire seasons of hilarity. Case in point… Remember the time I went to the DMV to pick up my new license plates and was given the “ASSMAN’ vanity plates for that proctologist? Or the time that I got everyone to start eating their Snickers bars with a knife and fork? Or the hilarity that ensued when I had a shop that only sold the muffin tops and I had a huge pile of the muffin bottoms and my enemy ‘Newmon’ had to come eat away the problem?

Generally something hilarious happens in my life and later someone turns it into broadcasted gold, but recently something eerie has occurred. Animated cable programs have begun to reflect my life, and even to predict it. How could they possibly know what I am doing here in Jamaica in order to portray accurate versions/visions of my life? It has invaded the subconscious of Erin too!

*Side Note* Today one of the kindergartners mentioned that he thought my name was Hola Patrick. As in Hola as a first name, how did he get that mixed up? Does he think that when I see people I have not yet seen in awhile that I just shout out my own name?

Anyway if you want an animated representation of what has been happening (or soon may happen) in our lives just check out the following shows: for Erin tune into SpongeBob Squarepants and for me episodes of South Park. Recently SpongeBob has been terrorized by a monster moth similarly to Erin’s run in with Jamaican Mothra. He also mirrored her fungal dilemma when he got infested with ‘Ick,’ a fugus covering his entire body. Plus SpongeBob’s best friend is a starfish named Patrick, what are the chances? And to view a microcosm of my tribulations concerning Cable and Wireless, watch the most recent episode of South Park. “Which lights on your modem are on?” Seriously though… just unplug the router and plug it back in, it will probably fix the problem.

On an episode yet to be aired, we had to travel to Kingston for our quarterly meetings. Every trip to Kingston comes with its own interesting story, usually on the bus ride to or from. Well on the ride home I was wedged between the window and una chica muy grande. What makes this situation more entertaining (for you readers) is that my stout seat sharer was pretty into playing corners. The ride from Kingston is wrought with hairpin turns causing the heavily perspiring, plump she-beast to smash me into the window at every bend. She gave zero effort to hold herself upright. I was gravely concerned that I would be shattered through the glass. Luckily the bus window withstood the pressure and I was spared a distressing ejection from my transportation. But my bus buddy was not the only muy grande traveling with us, it was like our bus was headed to fat camp instead of MoBay. There was so much (wo)man-mass that we were riding both axels… BOTH AXELS! The logistics of this are astounding, how is this possible with food prices what they are?


Sooo, what lessons have we learned? When piloting a TV show make it about me and check local listings of South Park and SpongeBob for a little flavor of our life.

Art does really imitate life… Tricio

p.s. If something horrible should happen to any of the main characters, such as dying, be sure to call and warn us. Also should any large amounts of ice cream be in the future, let that be nice surprise.

Not an Office quote, but the much delayed packing list!

I promised a packing blog ages ago and after long last I have finally had both access to the Internet and time to devote to getting it up. Sorry for the wait. It is still a work in progress and as more volunteers contribute their ideas it should get better (as in maybe I (we) won’t forget to tell you something important). You can go to the address below or click the link on the right.

The TRUTHINESS Will Set You Free!
www.pack4pcjamaica.blogspot.com

Wow, you are a downer. And we were having a pretty nice day. day.

So I am 24 years old now. Thanks for everybody who sent their birthday wishes. Erin will be following me to this plateau on the 24th. I am a bit freaked out about this birthday. I am now out of the college-aged group of people and have entered into the young working class. Seriously, if I were to go to a ‘Quarter-Draws’ or ‘Penny Pitchers’ night at the bars in Columbia (my college home for those of you who didn’t already know… Columbia, not the bars) I would be that guy who was just a bit too old to be there. I would be too old to take that victory lap known as the 5th senior year and too young to be the cool old guy who returned to college after a few years of world travel and working crazy Gump-ish jobs (the book not the movie). Topically this seems not to be a problem, however all of my friends have asserted themselves into their new roles among the young bourgeois. Hell, one of them is a policeman protecting the public from the criminal and one of them is an engineer actually designing stuff that if he jacked up could cause serious problems. Yep, the guys that (may or may not have) beer-bonged malt liquor with me (or not me) are now designing the bridges you drive on or pulling you over and enforcing those pesky open container laws. Sweet Jesus, my friend Mo actually has a job too (Good job Mo, we are all proud of you).

Even many of my new friends, the ones I have made here in PC Jamaica, have a plan of what they are going to do post-PC. One was pre-accepted into pharmacy school, while another has been promised a mostly free masters complete with fellowship. What am I (Patrick) going to do? Don’t worry, for those of you concerned because you can’t come up with anything, you can rest assured that I don’t know either.

Now some of you might say, “Tricio, live in the moment and enjoy your time living on that tropical island. You can figure everything out when you are back in the states.” There is a bit of wisdom in this advice. Such pearly nuggets as… Carpe Diem! Live in the Now! Blah, blah!

Okay, rock on with the cliché, but if there is one thing that I hate worse than planning ahead is being stuck waiting. If I wait until I get home, I will have to wait another year to go back to school, but if I start now I have to work around minor problems like lack of internet, spotty phone connections, and any other problems I might incur attempting the application process from a different country. Such is the problem facing me (and really for that matter ‘us’… as Erin resides in the same boat). If we want to go to grad school when we get back we have to start the ball rolling now. I have yet to take the GRE, which I probably need to fly back to the US to take. There are applications (and application fees, not an easy hurdle on our $2250 per year salary), letters of recommendation, interviews, and so on and so forth. Remember that your invitations to my pity party are in the mail, so you can expect them any day.

I am just worried about trying to accomplish all of this while teaching and taking care of 100+ pickni dem. And I think our toilet paper is lying to us. It maintains it has aloe in it and I disagree, as it feels superfluously scratchy on my crack. And if it feels coarse on my gluteal cleft on Earth, it will most definitely feel rough on Uranus too.

Galactically Yours... Patricio

WISH I COULD'VE GONE WITH RYAN ON THAT COOL RETREAT! JAN HAS PLASTIC BOOOBS! I HAVE HEMORRHOIDS !

There is a small child that lives with his family in the apartment above us. He is probably 3-4 years old and has an abundance of energy. Every morning, without fail, the thumping of his little feet running laps around his house awakens me. This usually happens around 5 o’clock, which amazes me because you hear the thud, thud, thud all day long until late at night. How does this kid run on 3 hours of sleep? How does Baby Huey make the thunderous floor pounding so loud? Does he quadruple in size when he crosses the threshold of his home because he is only like 35 inches tall and 35 pounds? Trying to figure out the physics of the huge decibels this track star in training produces, hurts my head. The only thing I can figure is he times his steps perfectly to sync with the previous vibrations and makes use of resonance and amplification… like when a moderate breeze destroys a bridge. For real people, google “resonance AND bridge.” Seriously, go do it. The video is pretty crazy.

Anyway the kid makes a ton of noise. A few days ago, Erin and I think that his parents locked him out on the porch. We feel pretty sure of our assumption as he wailed his little heart out and rattled the iron door grill creating a cacophony that eclipsed his floor thuds. This morning however he has resorted to vociferously hollering while running his requisite house laps. Oi, Ich habe Schmerz in meinen Kopf!

Sorry again for not posting in a while. My battle with Fail and Worthless continues and it seems as though I only deserve to have Internet connection two days every other week.

Erin and I are fanatically excited about our visit home. I can almost smell the wonderful BBQ and taste delicious pale ale. Oh most palatable treats of KC, I can hardly wait to imbibe upon your treasured delights! I am also excited to see family and friends. If any of you can’t wait to see us any longer than you have to, you are more than welcome to meet us at the airport or at Chipotle shortly thereafter.

Maybe Erin will post more when she gets around to writing a blog. I just wanted to post so everybody knows we are still alive.

If the oceans were whiskey and I were a duck, I’d run to the oceans and drink them all up…Patrick Mazi

ps Jesse~ Emailing questions will probably yield you more insightful answers as we are somewhat forced by Peace Corps to self-censure what goes on our blog. So if you want more detailed answers or have more personal questions, feel free to email me at pbmazi@gmail.com. Plus when you, or any other group 79er, know they are coming to Jamaica, email me about what we wish we would have packed. Who knows… if you want Erin and I could probably talk to our friends and post some sort of packing list a la the Tight Pants blog (as it helped us quite a bit, but is starting to get outdated).

pps Scott~ I am at best a very enthusiastic amateur rock climber. I spent a lot of time during my junior/senior year of college climbing. But alas climbing in Missouri is limited to mostly limestone thus my experience is fairly limited. I have gazed longingly at many exposed rock faces and wished I had brought my climbing gear (and more importantly wished I had someone to climb with). Getting to these areas would be a chinch, but getting home would be a problem unless a taxi was chartered. This doesn’t really make sense for me alone, but if you, or other climbers, end in Jamaica I would probably get exponentially more excited about making the effort.

There are four kinds of business. Tourism, food service, railroads and sales. And hospitals slash manufacturing. And air travel.

I warned all of you not to get used to frequent postings. The reason we have not posted in awhile is we have not had access to Internet. The provider of the World Wide Web here in Jamaica is ‘Cable and Wireless’ and it is my personal belief that this company has the worst business practices EVER. You may be saying to yourself, “Patrick don’t be silly, the worst EVER?! Aren’t you being a bit superlative?” No, I am not over-exaggerating. I have been locked in an epic battle with Cable and Wireless that is worthy of immortality in a Homeric poem. I realize that having Internet access in my home is a luxury not available to most Peace Corps posts. I should be thankful I am able to email friends and family regularly, look up lesson plans, and have a creative outlet such as our blog. But it is incredibly frustrating when I am used to having such amenities and they suddenly go away with no explanation. When I try to call Cable and Wireless (loving called “Fail and Worthless’) they have no idea what is wrong, can give me no idea when I can expect service again, then have the gall to ask me for payment. Why would I pay for a service I have not received?

Not a whole lot has really happened in the past week since we posted a blog. But I will try to provide some interesting commentary so that those of you that check out the ol’ blog with any frequency can get your fix.

Instead of calling February 29, 2008 ‘Leap Day,’ I am going to forever remember it as ‘The Day My Butt Went to Sleep.’ In order to find out what happened to me that caused my derriere to go numb, we are going to do the rest of this blog ‘choose your own adventure’ style.

→Okay so if you think that I spent 10+ hours on a minibus continue reading on in the next paragraph.
→If you think that I got my ass paddled like a freshmen by Ben Affleck a la Dazed and Confused, continue to the p.s. part of my blog… at the very end.

I was scheduled to arrive in Kingston for a 1 o’clock meeting of the PC student council, aka VAC. I left the house at 8 o’clock thinking 5 hours would be plenty of time to travel 110 miles. Who has two thumbs and completely misjudged the unreliability of public transportation in Jamaica? This guy! Two short jaunts in a taxi and 5 hours on a minibus later I get to the PC office only to be told the meeting was unnecessary and had already happened (side note to incoming PCVs… fill out grant request forms correctly so I don’t travel all across the freakin’ country for no reason). Well, Ryan and I treated ourselves to some Wendy’s before catching a taxi back to the bus park. Reluctantly I got back on the bus and though I was dreading the return trip to MoBay I was at bit pleased because I was able to snatch up one of the best seats on the bus.

→ If you think that I gave up such prime real estate to a flustered young mother and her infant continue reading in the next paragraph.
→ If you think I keep my head down and enjoyed what would have been a vastly more comfortable ride… slap yourself for thinking me such an asshole.

Yep. I gave one of the best seats on the bus to the young mother and her baby. What a completely terrible idea. What was I thinking? Damn chivalry, why won’t you die?!

When it comes to public transportation on island, there are good (actual) seats, the very front seat or any seat next to a window. The rows closer to the door usually get squished as more people are packed in. The worst seats are the ‘jump seats.’ They are rickety contraptions of the southern engineering variety that go in the aisles. Not only did I give up my seat next to a window, I succeeded in getting the jump seat right next to the door. So for the journey home I sat uncomfortably squeezed in the aisle on the only jump seat without a back. So yeah, my rump was completely without feeling about 15 minutes into the 5-hour return journey.

This was not my only rear related problem this week. While singing ‘cabeza, hombros, rodillas, y pies,’ I was bending over to touch my ‘pies’ and one of the students proceeded to credit card me with a large seed pod. Those of you unfamiliar with getting credit carded, think about sliding your credit card through the machine at the grocery store, now think about a kindergartner doing that with a seedpod to my gluteal cleft. Though I was feeling shocked, violated, and a bit emasculated, I was to finish my lesson. Note to self… protect family jewels from miniature fists of fury and protect the plumber parts (sorry Tony, with so much crack talk I couldn’t resist) from errant seedpods. The things one learns by teaching 5 year-olds.

We have been taking a bunch of pictures of our kids to share with all of you interested when we come home. Sorry for those of you who want them posted on the blog. Our boss asked us not to post pics of the kids and we are honoring his request. Also our camera situation is a bit of a problem. I am grateful to my father for gifting us Jen’s hand-me-down camera as we have gotten quit a bit of use out of it. The only problem is it takes 5-10 seconds to take the picture once you hit the button, it is larger than what is comfortable to carry in a pocket, and it chews through batteries like that’s its job. These three things prevent us from taking more pictures. The first two make us look incredibly touristy, a label we fight daily, or make us look like CIA. I don’t really understand the CIA thing, but it was told to me. I guess I can see it… a random white guy walking around taking pictures of people and things in places that don’t see many tourists. It doesn’t really seem that big of a stretch when I put it like that.

That’s all I have to say and I mean it… anybody want a peanut? Patricio

p.s. If Ben Affleck ever showed up at my baseball game and tried to paddle my butt I would pound his craptastic-movie-making face in.

Does anyone actually know what Sue Grafton looks like? I mean is she hot or?

So I have a tooth growing in. I'm guessing that it is a wisdom tooth. Who knows, I didn't get my 12 year old molars until I was like 16, maybe it is another of those. All I know is that the dentist said that I would make it a few more years without having to have my 3 wisdom teeth out. Liar. Now my mouth hurts and and I'm starting to look British. Also I am afraid to scratch any random itches because I am worried it is more ringworm. I had dream about Budweiser last night. Mmmm, nice cold bottles. Yeah, so not much going on, I'm diseased, Patrick is full of pumpkin cake and locked in a battle with the internet company that would make Alan proud. We're trying something new at SOS and it is a ton of work on our part. It's difficult to plan activities for all ages and abilities. I dared to search through the forest of ideas we got during training. All it did was make me feel okay about finally throwing it all away.

I just wanted to let you all know we survived the week, I don't have anything to say really. Perhaps Patrick will want to add more when he awakens from his pumpkin cake coma.

Jesse- As for the wearing of rings, we do not own them and so do not wear them. This is for personal reasons and not related to our service. We've noticed that the other couples wear plain bands. In some cases a wedding ring may cut back on the harassment, but I doubt it helps much. Most harassers don't take the time to notice your jewelry and even if they do, your marital status does not deter them. I don't think you have to worry too much about having your rings stolen. When Patrick was mugged, they were concerned with his phone and cash. Most of the theft is picking of wallets and phones, your rings will probably be safe as long as they are plain and simple.

In the wild, there is no healthcare. In the wild healthcare is 'Ow, I hurt my leg. I can't run. A lion eats me, and I'm dead.'

They have gun control in Cuba. They have universal healthcare in Cuba. So why do they want to come here? – Paul Harvey

At various times I have spouted off rants about one thing or another on this blog. You have my apologies if I have caused offense, but brace yourself for another harangue. I also apologize as this has little to do with Jamaica. Erin and I watched Barack and Hillary debate last night and made pumpkin pie. The pumpkin pie really hit the spot but the debate has me worried.

For those of you unfamiliar with my political leanings, I consider myself an independent with fairly libertarian interpretations of most issues. In short I think the government should have as little impact on my life as possible. It is my belief that the intentions of the founding fathers was to erect a minimal government that only served to protect the individual citizens when their rights are infringed upon.

There are many things that are great in theory. The most striking one that comes to mind is communism and having dabbled in the works of Marx, Engels, et al. the idea itself is reasonable. However in practice, historically, it has failed to live up to its utopian aspirations. Back to last night's debate... One of the key issues the candidates sparred over was universal healthcare. Up until last night around 9:15 I thought universal healthcare was a great idea. Like I said, "... many things are good in theory." Upon further reflection and reading details of their plans I am thoroughly freaked out about healthcare of the universal variety. Are they serious about making it mandatory? Charging fines for those not enrolled? What if I cannot afford it? What if (however unlikely it is) I place 15% of my salary into an account for future medical procedures, am I still forced to participate?

Having healthcare is great and I think it should be a feasible venture for anybody interested. BUT, the thought of the government forcing me to participate in anything severely rubs me the wrong way. To me, it seems mandates such as the ones planned by both candidates about universal healthcare, are actions that begin a descent down a slippery slope.

I have pointed out an issue that is predominately from the democratic party, but neither party is currently sympathetic to libertarian viewpoints (save Republican Ron Paul, though his candidacy is very, very unlikely).

I lieu of a sign off, here are some quotes from people more intelligent than me concerning their libertarian ideals...Patrick

-They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety. – Benjamin Franklin

-One of the greatest delusions in the world is the hope that the evils in this world are to be cured by legislation. – Thomas B. Reed

-No man's life, liberty, or property are safe while the legislature is in session. – Mark Twain

-There's no way to rule innocent men. The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren't enough criminals, one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible to live without breaking laws. – Ayn Rand

-To compel a man to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which he disbelieves and abhors, is sinful and tyrannical. – Thomas Jefferson

-I believe that every individual is naturally entitled to do as he pleases with himself and the fruits of his labor, so far as it in no way interferes with any other men's rights. – Abraham Lincoln

-The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not sufficient warrant. – John Stuart Mill

Trash talk is all hypothetical like, your momma's so fat she could eat the internet.

If by "your momma's" you really mean "Patrick's," and by "fat" you mean "hungry," and by "internet" you mean "pizza that Erin and I from scratch that is muy delicioso," then the title of this entry is about me waiting on dinner tonight. We made a pretty fabulous pizza crust using beer. It is far cry from Pizza Factory quality but not too shabby.

I wrote the following blog Saturday. After rigorous discussion, Erin and I felt as though we should wait a day or two before posting. We don't want to condition our readers to new material as often as we have been posting in case one or the both of us develop a 47 day writer's block. Anyway pretend it is last Saturday and read on...

I just returned from a downtown odyssey, which was a very bizarre experience indeed. My taxi ride downtown was pretty routine except that rather than taking ‘top road’ which is faster, the driver opted to take his passengers the scenic route through the Hip Strip. His reasoning for doing so was that it is tourist season and he wanted to see white girls. He was rewarded for his efforts and proceeded to wolf-whistle and hiss at every girl on the road.

I arrived at my destination in one piece. As I walked through the gauntlet of St. James Street—the main thoroughfare through downtown MoBay—I bumped fists with no fewer than 5 bums. I believe this is a new PR for bum fist bumping in one day, which is always cool despite an incredible urge to wash one’s hands.

Fast-forward to the grocery store. I think that Jamaican grocery stores may have finally one-upped American grocery stores in one feature, free samples. I have not been away long enough to forget that heading out to Sam’s Club/Costco on a late Saturday morning will leave you full until dinner. However, American samples can’t begin to compete with Jamaican samples, mainly because they always involve alcohol. Last week while visiting Ryan in May Pen, we were offered free beer samples and a free beer stein if we purchased a 6-er. Cha-ching! I’ll take two! Today at the store they were comparing hard liquor. I tested Bailey’s versus a local Irish Cream and good ole’ Jack Daniels versus a cheap whiskey. My day was made because 1) having a non-Red Stripe or rum based drink felt pretty damn good and 2) I also was able to find yeast so that Erin and I can make pizza dough later.

Traveling by public transport in Jamaica is a ‘trip’ (pun intended) that must be experienced by all visitors. I personally have a love-to-bitch-about-it relationship with Jamaican public transport. There is bound to be some strange and bizarre twist every time you venture out. Case in point… On my return trip a very dapper man approaches me and asks if I am going to Rosehall/Lilliput. I assumed he was the driver trying to drum up business, but soon realized that he was a loader. Loaders tend to be disheveled in appearance bordering on bum-ish, very pushy, and generally ask you and/or the driver for a tip. Okay so never judge a book by its cover… lesson learned. But, my astonishment was further extended when one of dirtiest dudes I have ever seen hops into the drivers seat. I am amazed because his taxi is fairly new (a rarity in itself) and pristine in condition. How could a man as dirty as this one keep his taxi as clean as it is? Never judge a book by its cover… lesson re-learned.

Maybe I did not notice the smell of the man/taxi because I, only a half hour before, enjoyed cocktails from the grocery store. Or maybe my beak missed out as a result of the extreme breeze that occurs when barreling down the road at mach 3. Whatever the reason, I definitely failed to detect the extreme odiferous-ness of the taxi/driver until we were stopped due to road construction AND forced to roll up the windows due to dust. Holy balls Batman! I nearly blew chunks from the over-powering pong. The driver, being soiled to the extreme, was obviously the only culprit right? Wrong. As he opened his center console, he had a pile of rotting garlic, just sitting there! WTF!? What possible reason for having rotting garlic in the center console could there be? I hope he just forgot about it because he lacks a sense of smell. Thankfully we resumed driving and I was able to roll down my window and hang my head out doggy style.

Today I was reminded that you should never judge a book by its cover. However, judging it by its stench is perfectly acceptable… as is choosing a new book if the one you have smells like crap or rotting garlic.

And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street… Patricio

So, the deal was, Dwight doesn't blow anything up and I wear a costume. And a mustache.

“Happy Friday!” Erin cheerfully announces while checking on what would be a delicious (surprisingly for those of your who are familiar with Erin’s culinary exploits) dinner in the oven. This makes me feel better as Jamaica was doing a pretty good job of beating me down today. The realization that bad people are everywhere (I mean worldwide not just in Jamaica) sometimes depresses me. What the hell folks?! That piece of crap in Illinois who swiss-cheesed his former fellow students before doing himself is beyond my scope of understanding. Feel free to help out natural selection and remove yourself from the gene pool but leave everybody else alone, tool shed. For what reason would someone possibly have to shoot up his ex-classmates at school? Or for that matter another person in a busy section of downtown MoBay? I am lost on their reasoning, maybe my pragmatism is getting in the way of identifying with bloodlust-ing creepers. “This-ism, that-ism, ism ism ism
 All (I am) saying is give peace a chance!” Thanks Mr. Lennon… I completely agree.

Give peace a chance indeed.

So Erin and I attended a little ceremony at our orphanage today. The local Ritz-Carlton Hotel was sponsoring one of our houses and they had a ceremonial ribbon cutting. Erin has never shied away from detailing her situational social awkwardness but I have never lumped myself in with her in that regard. After many evenings spent rubbing elbows with Kansas City “elite” (aka folks that are richer than god) while volunteering at Leukemia and Lymphoma Society fundraisers, I felt as if I could schmooze with anyone. After 8 months in Jamaica my ability to connect with strangers in social situations has completely disappeared. I am not saying this to whine… but as a statement of fact. I used to be able to sell ketchup popsicles to ladies in white gloves and now I babbled on for 4 minutes about the fact the Jamaica is hot. No sh*t Sherlock! I hope this social deficiency is a temporary fault. I attribute this to the bulk of my daily interactions being with people under the age 10 and the occasional crazy-ass bum. So a plea to all, when I come home in March, please be patient as I adjust to proper conversational etiquette.

In the vain assumption that new volunteers are currently or may soon read our blog (I have proof of at least one… thanks for reading and commenting Jesse), Erin and I will post commentary useful to Peace Corps newbs in upcoming blogs. This may be entertaining as it will inevitably show how ill prepared we were at times and maybe give non-PC recruits additional insight into what is required for daily life here. On the plus side, even if it fails to provide useful info or insight, it might provide respite to those of you weary of my eccentric soliloquies.

As American as Apple Pie… Patrick

p.s. Jesse~ You are more than welcome to link our blog. We are glad you got some enjoyment out of it. If you, or your husband, have additional questions/concerns/impatient ramblings about Peace Corps feel free to email. pbmazi@gmail.com

You lookin' for dinner and a movie? Cause you're not gonna find it in that box.

I feel that, as of late, both Patrick and I have displayed our vanity by rambling on about our thoughts and what you can buy us when we come home. I’ve decided to tell you a bit about what is going on here, and then I’ll indulge my narcissistic tendencies. Today, Patrick got punched in the balls by a five-year-old. He rallied himself and was able to teach 3 classes of kindergarteners Spanish. I think we should all give him a proverbial pat on the back for bravery. I don’t have balls, but I bet it is difficult to walk into a room full of potential ball-injurers after such a traumatic encounter. I may have contracted ring worm…on my eye. Gross, right? Before you condemn me for being dirty, I want to remind everyone that I fight OCD tendencies and wash my hands often. However, I do high five a lot of bums and frequently hold the sweaty hands of small children. So maybe I picked something up there. Who knows?

I’m trying a new thing. Apparently other people use paragraphs. I’m just too random to organize my thoughts, but I’m going to make an effort. I realize that many of you may be shocked by an omission from my visit-to-KC-to-do-list. Usually, both before and after any prolonged absence, I visit Pizza Factory. And I must say, I do miss me some country dressing and I will forever find all other pizzas lacking. However, I do not ‘do’ change. A visit to the Factory without helping Lindy finish the crossword just rings hollow. So there’s nothing I want more than a visit, in fact it would probably be the first place I went, I just want everything to be as I left it—which is impossible because it is now owned by strangers. Basically, all I’m asking is that the whole Evans family shows up for a couple of hours and arrange themselves as if they never left. Not too much to ask, is it? Okay, maybe it is.

Alright, who decided a poodle should look like that? This is not as irrelevant as it seems, we are (kind of) watching the Westminster Dog Show. We’ve been able to see most of the contestants despite the finicky-ness of the channel. This is one of Patrick’s favorite annual events. He was almost as excited about this as he was about the Super Bowl. But seriously, I like the little hair beret the poodle sports, but what is with the little poofs on their hips? Who first thought to do that to a dog? It can’t grow in like that, can it? The beagle just won. It was an extremely adorable beagle, it’s trying to eat the prize ribbon. Patrick wishes me to include that he called it. Congrats, Uno. I bet you wish your owner would quit touching your butt.

I'm petrified of nipple chafing. Once it starts, it's a vicious circle.

Erin and I have spent the morning cleaning our pad and running to the grocery store. It fails to amaze me the randomization that occurs when stocking Jamaican grocery stores. It is utterly unfeasible to plan to make any recipe because without fail the grocery will not have one or more ingredients. I should be used to this by now… my life is one America’s Next Top Chef task after another, at least when it comes to my culinary endeavors. I believe that meal planning in Jamaica would be daunting for even a highly trained chef. It is not that we are trying to make exotic, Emeril BAM! recipes like a turducken stuffed Amazon river bass in a Sri Lankan cinnamon white wine reduction garnished with rare Peruvian orchids. We sometimes go weeks without mainstay components like milk, sugar, garlic, eggs, etc. This not to mention the price of most produce has risen three fold since our arrival on island (with no raise in our living allowances). Needless to say recipe development is sketchy at best and sometimes we must get creative. What is the maxim I’m looking for…? Oh… Necessity is the mother of invention. I get that, but it doesn’t reduce my desire to hit up a Whole Foods upon my visit to the states in March. Along that line and at the request of my mother, here is a rough list of the things E and I wish to do while we are home. We realize that we have a lot on our list and if everything doesn’t happen we won’t be in the least bit hurt.

Where/what we would like to eat
-Granite City
-Steak ‘n’ Shake
-Margaritas (Bob-dre is in, any other Taco Tuesday takers?)
-La Bodega (I think Sam and Matt call this one)
-Stroud’s
- Ixtapa
-Sheridan’s mmmmm
-chocolate bag
-ice cream ice cream ice cream
-nice fruit
-ribs and German tater salad (G-ma Mean and Uncle Squirrel make the best ☺)
-flourless chocolate torte (P is going to make these last things, he just needs people to enjoy them)
-chili
-stuffed mushrooms

Also we need to stock up on some things like socks and olive oil. So if anyone is down with a Target/Costco trip we’ll be making a couple of those as well.

We’d love a trip to the bookstore, and some good coffee.

We’re going to need to enjoy lots of good beer, preferably while watching basketball. I dunno if anyone is down with helping us do that…

With everything, the more the merrier. If you are super excited about any of the above let us know via phone, email, or blog comment. We are also open to any additional ideas.

Good Night and Good Luck!
Patrick with input from Erin

p.s. Why does Snoop Dogg always carry an umbrella? Fo’ Drizzle
p.p.s. Great news! No longer do I feel the need to beg for blog comments. Leave one, don’t leave one, I could not care less. I (we) still enjoy your input but the new feedjit widget lets me know our blog at least gets some traffic… big brother style. The fact that a couple people are reading is all I wanted to know anyway. Plus I like the flags.

Who are the twins? Um, to be delicate, they hang off milady's chest. They make milk.

Happy Mardi Gras! A nice quasi-religious holiday of over-indulgence (king cake, booze, boobs, beads, boobs, boobs, New Orleans) that, this year, coincides with ‘Super Tuesday.’ The Super Tuesday political storm has steamrolled over every media outlet and in my opinion has led to a severe over-saturation of the candidates, the ‘issues’ and even the political process itself. I credit the argument that as Americans we should want as much information about the candidates as possible in order to make the most informed decision come ballot day. However this line of reasoning comes with certain ingrained fallacies… that the general public will absorb and use the abundance of information and that the information provided on the most accessible outlets are accurate and unbiased.

The journalistic media is shaded to the wills of media corporations and tycoons, Rupert Murdoch, et. al., and largely by the reporters themselves in whatever shtick they operate. The saving grace is that there is enough exposure leaning one way to counterbalance exposure to the other. There is no getting around biased opinions of the journalist, and I am not sure the general public is savvy/motivated/intelligent enough to sort through to the facts regarding the candidates. It blows my mind that American politics has fallen to those with enough money to pay for the best advertising. Do we really want the same marketing process that sways which fast food we raise our cholesterol with to help sway our vote of the next commander-in-chief? I have reconsidered the electoral process in recent days after watching CNN, FOXNews, MSNBC, and others interview street people to get their opinions of national political happenings. I assume news stations interview at least a couple people and choose the best ones to air (Jen, you can correct me if I am wrong). This scares me because so far I have seen 5 super ignorant people vomit misinformation for every one halfway competent response. I realize the inequity associated with the electoral college, but it comforts me a bit knowing uninformed clowns don’t have a direct say, technically speaking, in the outcome of an election. Not that leaving it up to our currently elected officials is any better. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Anyway I just felt like voicing my extreme displeasure with the stupidity of recent interviewees and my wish to karate chop their minds. Also this continues my streak of discussing things a well-mannered individual never discusses in a public forum. Last week religion, now politics, maybe next week’s fodder should be economics.
Today was my first day teaching Spanish. Surprisingly I think my time spent teaching ‘head, shoulders, knees, and toes’, “my name is…,” and the color ‘red’ all in Spanish was highly successful. My victory is probably a direct cause of my relating to the kids--which correlates as a reflection of a possible infantile regression and a similar sense of humor. Anyway I was fairly discouraged when I left the classes to go help Erin in the library. I felt like I had little control of the class and despite enthusiastic participation by the kids, they learned nothing. But during our homework sessions a few hours later, one of my little pupils came in and pointed to her head and said “bay-sa,” as in the Spanish word ‘cabeza’ (head). That’s pretty close right?! Anyway that made me feel pretty good and like my day was worthwhile. Celebrate the little things, I guess.

Have a good night all you party people.

---Patricio sana in corpore sano---

p.s. Holy balls what an unbelieveably awesome Super Bowl.
p.p.s. I am glad all of you got such a kick out of the photos of me in earlier times. I am just glad I have proof that my dashingly handsome mug is really my face and not some Dr. 90210 patchwork. That’s right… you can’t make a nose like this.

And the best way to start is to hit... Start. And up comes the toolbar. That's what she said.

As most of you probably know, I suffer from lepidophobia. I know. At times it is nearly debilitating. Like when a bird-sized moth flew into our friend’s house. I tried to hide from it while the boys (who were also freaked out, I might add, with good reason, the thing was a real-life Mothra, its nasty body was the size of a fist) attempted to usher it back into the Jamaican wilderness. Someone finally had the presence of mind to turn off the light, and Mothra went in search of brighter bulbs. I did not sleep all night, thinking that every bug, lizard, and frog bumping into the walls was Mothzilla, returning to exact its revenge on us for swatting at it with hats and dirty t-shirts. This happened months ago and I am still a bit shaken. Anyway, I’ve always been a bit ashamed of my inability to deal with the appearance of grotesque flying worms. Today I was vindicated by SpongeBob. He and Patrick (the starfish, not the lovable human) were terrified when a butterfly got loose in Bikini Bottom. The whole town was thrown into a panic until the Texas squirrel thing came and captured the monster in a jar. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed watching cartoon characters in an uproar over a “harmless” creature. SpongeBob and I both know that the scaly winged terrors are far from innocuous. If you disagree, then you should google “fear of butterflies.” There you will find long lists of losers who have formed help pages and internet support groups for those of us who keep constant vigilance for moths and butterflies. I must say that this didn’t make me feel as good as the cartoon did. I know I am irrationally afraid of creatures that most people find “pretty,” but I see this as quirky rather than weird. Especially since I embrace slimy scary animals. This makes me more interesting than pathetic like the people I googled, right? I may also be a bit scared of cats, but everyone knows they are spawn of Satan. So they don’t count. Man, Bret Michaels likes the hussies. He definitely sent the prettiest girls home first, and kept the scrappy, wily, streetwalkers. Maybe that is why he is so unlucky in love. I guess you guys are probably more interested in what is going on here in Jamaica rather than in Bret’s love mansion. We were able to watch the Super Bowl. Power only went out twice and then only briefly. However, we did not get most of the commercials. Instead, we got the same three terrible Coors (yuck) Light commercials…in Spanish. They looked lame, but maybe they were hilarious, how would I know? Pretty excited about the Giants winning. Both P and I called it. It was a wonderful end to a lovely day. We may not have had cake, Ma, but I did make Patricio a whole batch of cookies for his very own. Now, 12 hours and half a tub of cream cheese mixed with most of a can of chili later, he is incapacitated on the couch. We did make an excellent dinner including surprisingly delicious Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes. Funny story, P was in the back seat of a taxi when two other Jamaicans got in and forced him into the middle seat. The driver looked over his shoulder and began laughing hysterically, managing to stammer gleefully, “oreo cookie!” Heehee. I will conclude this decidedly hodge-podge email with yet another abrupt change of subject. So I don’t know if you all have looked at P big sis’s blog, but you should, the kiddos are pretty darn adorable. Apparently, Caroline’s baby brother is a bit of a chunk. Perhaps, but as chunky as his uncle?! You be the judge. (This is Patrick at 3 months, by the way.)


Although let's hope little James Patrick doesn't share Uncle Patrick's awkward stage. What was he wearing?

I'd like to sincerely thank my source for these priceless photos!

Question. What kind of bear is best?... False. Black Bear

Despite my track record of delicious culinary concoctions, I totally biffed on the funnel cakes that Erin and I attempted tonight. The deck was significantly stacked against us; our pans have horrible hot spots, the stovetop heats unevenly (not to mention it shocks the crap out of you if your feet aren’t insulated), not enough oil to fry in, and the mysterious ‘extra Jamaican liquid.’ What is this mysterious extra liquid? Well it seems that every recipe I make seems to contain too much liquid, even recipes I have been making for years. For example even when following pancake batter recipes to perfection they always require almost ¾ of a cup additional flour to attain the correct consistency. You may be saying that I may not be paying attention to my measurements or have lost my edge. But I say nay. Some inexplicable phenomenon is hell bent on foiling my food production. The most logical explanation, taking into account my recent Jamaican assimilation, is that a family of recipe spoiling ‘duppies’ (aka ghosts) are conspiring against me. Other possibilities to this ugly problem are; our proximity to the Bermuda Triangle, an unexplained weather anomaly, or Erin is a double agent (the prospect of a subversive, rabid KU-fan alliance partner unnerves me a bit). If I ever catch any of those damn duppies in my kitchen, they will lament they day they only half died.

***Warning: Actual Job Updates***
I am sure many of you have read Erin’s adventure at the kindergarten, despite your lack of blog comments. Anyhow we reached a compromise with our supervisor and starting this week, in addition to our after school activities, I will be teaching Spanish to 4-5 year olds. While I do this Erin will attempt to do some reading activities with some of the struggling kids. I am envisioning teaching simple concepts like colors, days of the week, and months of the year. Hopefully I may even get to simple sentences, “hello, how are you,” type of thing. I envision this being supertastically difficult as most of the kids don’t know colors, days of the week, and months of the year in English. Keep your fingers crossed.

Speaking of not writing blog comments… I have come to the conclusion that those of you who do not leave comments are bored with our blog. Thus I have decided to incite furious rages and write the first of my incendiary blog passages... The following passage from the bible has been brought to my attention numerous times, most recently this weekend, and I feel compelled to share it with you. The passage is from 2 Kings 2:23-24 (I used the New International Version). It goes as follows:

23 From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" 24 He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.

Really? Bears? WWJD? Would the big guy in the sky really endorse this? Please discuss.

---Patricio Sans Frontieres---

p.s. Man has never been to the moon… the video was a Hollywood fakery.
p.p.s. The Great Pyramids of Giza were built by aliens, aka the Greys, aka extraterrestrials, aka the Vulcans, aka 13 of our ex-presidents (Nixon, Garfield, Tyler, et. al. were most definitely not from Earth)

How would I describe myself? Three words: hard working, alpha male, jack hammer. Merciless. Insatiable.

Wow. I realize that Erin and I are not necessarily competing with my sister’s blog, but good grief has everybody checked out the new pictures she posted. My niece and nephew namesake are pretty flippin’ adorable. I suppose I may be somewhat biased as they are my blood relatives, but there is still no way that blogging about the ups and downs of Peace Corps service can compare. I feel like a b-list actor whose movie is opening up the same weekend as Spiderman 4 and Ocean’s 15. Anyway for those of you who haven’t checked out my sister’s blog it’s sweetcaroline05.blogspot.com. On to more somber things… I suppose if the US economy is going into recession I probably won’t notice it much living in Jamaica on 17 cents a day. Though there is reason to hope, we might be getting a 4 cent/day raise!!! Erin and I plan to take our newly found wealth and throw that $14ish/year into a smart assortment of stocks, bonds, and other tradable commodities. I hear gold does well when the dollar is weak. Also, no post-WWII recession has lasted longer than 15 months and it seems that oil prices fall significantly for years following a US recession. Not that we should lose focus on implementing viable petroleum alternatives. I am a bit worried that we might return to a dipping economy based on some of the plans I have heard coming from some of the frontrunner presidential candidates. It seems silly to me to essentially have two schools of thought and to have them align with the US political parties. To see a prime example of how rigidly sticking to one school of thought or the other is a foolish venture, one can look at the epic battle between gradualism vs. catastrophism. Evolutionary biologists (along with geologist, palentologists, and other specialties) have long swayed one way or the other with gradualism gaining the upper hand (until fairly recently). Sure it seems life (sediments, fossil record, etc.) will change slowly over time that is, until someone discovers that a comet/asteroid smacked the crap out of the Earth leaving a 120-mile wide crater and catastrophically altering the planet and all life on it. It seems with most things, the truth seems to lie somewhere in the middle. Life will continue to evolve slowly over a vast period of time at least until the Earth gets another cosmic bitch slap. So to the partisan politicians and their all or nothing economic plans, I say to you ‘Booooo!’ I have followed US politics more in recent months and feel well versed in the various nuances more so than any other time in my life yet I feel seriously detached. A double sword that is, the feeling of detachment, on one hand I feel as if I have taken a step back and have gained another perspective. But on the other hand detachment is not a word I feel I want to associate with any of my beliefs, political or otherwise. Combining these feelings with working with the Peace Corps (a hugely superfluously bureaucratic federal government agency… despite its hippie connotations) tempts me to upon my return to the states to live off the grid and send donations to assorted pro-anarchist organizations. I assume living off the grid essentially means to live the life of a dumpster cat. Speaking of dumpster cats… we have inherited one and we do our best to feed it our leftovers. We loving named her Oscar the Dumpster Kyaat. I suppose one could argue that the life of a dumpster cat has great variability. Oscar gets mere table scraps and roams the wild while Shebadda the Dumpster Kyaat lives indoors with us and gets premium mercury free tuna. Not to mention a great wardrobe. I may rethink this living off the grid thing. Off the grid or on it, at least I know I can still lift weights miles from any gym with the weight lifting sacks lovingly sewed and bestowed upon me by Grandma Mescher. Many thanks Grandma! Well thanks again for tuning in to the latest edition; I am going to play with my sack(s).

Eins..zwei…drei…
Patricio


This is Oscar the Dumpster Kyaat with a friend. Oscar is the cat on the right.

This is Shebadda the Dumpster Kyaat sporting a dashing Easter outfit.

Playing with my sack(s).

I am not great with kids, but I want to get better.So I put out a bunch of extra candy on my desk so the kids will come talk to me.

I taught kindergarten today. It went about how you would expect me teaching kindergarten to go. Only worse because I am in Jamaica, where all the pikni dem think it is fun to hug the white lady and laugh when she starts yelling in her funny white lady accent. I am in no way intimidating to 5-yr-old Jamaicans. Also I went into the classroom thinking (okay really just hoping) that I would be assisting another teacher and not be left alone with no lesson plans and 15 expectant children. Really I would have been excited to have anyone else in the room with me. Although any time another adult entered, it was to restore order to my extremely unruly charges, and that was quite embarrassing. But I was alone, with no instruction and no experience teaching--all day--a class of the wee ones. We colored a lot. It wasn't my idea, they just got into the coloring books and it seemed easiest to go with it. Unfortunately, they are 5, and have no attention span so coloring dissolved into fighting over crayons and ripping up the coloring books. We tried learning about the number 4, but some of the children held up 6 fingers when I asked them to show me four, and I couldn't let it go, so they all started acting out once I made them stand there with their fingers held up for 5 minutes. Simon Says worked for about 10 min, but they didn't understand the whole concept, we played a revised version. I tried reading to them, and that seemed to go the best. Except one or two children would interrupt me and I would react instead of ignoring them. I think my biggest problem, aside from lack of preparation, was that I wanted them all to behave perfectly. But there is always one. Always one. Mostly I spent hours running in small hopeless circles trying to get them to put their shoes back on, sit in their chairs, put away the objects they were thiefing from the teacher's desk and cabinets, quit hitting the girls, stop screeching. Towards the end, they were making huge dog piles on the ground. I attempted to pull these apart, but it was difficult as they were extremely wiggly. It was a colossal mess, folks. On the upside, I did not get hit by any rocks, but I did suffer from a few blows with a stick. I find this especially irritating as I lie to keep the children from getting spanked, the least they could do is not hit me. I mean, come on. I reported my failure to my boss and everyone in the office seemed amused. I don't know why because the children got zero education today. Zero. Some of them think 6 is 4, that is a terrible sign. To top it off, on the way down the hill (a journey I make twice daily) some guys decided to call out to me. This happens regularly, and I am more tolerant at some times than others. Today was not a tolerant day. I choose to ignore their ridiculous hissing (who responds to that, seriously?) and so they resorted to yelling, 'whitey', 'sweetie,' 'sweetheart' and other such nonsense. I paid them no mind at all--it was easy enough as I was brooding about my laughable teaching skills--but my stoic response seemed to irritate them. Then they called me a 'bad ass mother _____.' I'm not sure what to make of this. I know they were making fun of me, but I prefer to be compared to Samuel L. Jackson rather than called 'sweetie' by a gang of creepers. I gotta say though, my day ended on a high note with well behaved homework completers and I stayed busy so it wasn't too bad for a Thursday.

Well it is a little chillier than I had thought. So I have fashioned my hat back into my pants.

So sometimes we have cable. This means that I occasionally spend my evenings rotting my brain watching the terrible, soul-destroying crap that is on television these days. At the moment, the new American Gladiator is gracing the screen. It features warriors like Venom, Adonis, and Jeff. Jeff? No one named Jeff is going to beat someone named Adonis. I think my least favorite shows are ones that involve trashy people fighting strangers for the love of a famous stranger. On Rock of Love, they invited the girl’s parents to meet Bret Michaels. If I ever hit rock bottom or have a lobotomy and decide that that is the course on which I wish to take my life, please, do not endorse my decision by appearing on the show with me. Geez.. You know what show I do enjoy? The Playboy show. Those girls are funny. Holly is my least favorite. Aside from the fact that they have to share an 80-yr-old boyfriend, they get to do some amazing things. Tonight they were detained by police trying to visit the Prince of Monaco. So I suppose I should qualify that this is a perfectly tame show on E! and it’s real name is The Girls Next Door. It’s not indecent. School has started again. The children were a bit sore that we weren’t up daily during their winter break. I didn’t bring our bag of “incentives” (okay, bribes) one day and they were pretty pissed about that too. They’ve forgiven us though and we had a bevy of little homework completers every day. We have been keeping ourselves busy with PC paperwork. Every few months we have to fill out these long forms. They want numbers, but the numbers are totally arbitrary because everyone is doing something different. Volunteers the world over have to fill out these forms and it all gets condensed into a 2 paragraph report typed up by a Senatorial aide. We’ve adopted a dumpster cat. It is gray striped with a white belly. It likes to curl up on our porch chairs. We feed it on the steps, it is not allowed in the house. I don’t think it would let us get close to it anyway. If we have neglected to feed it, it will come and look forlornly into our house from the back door. We keep changing its name. The name I feel most appropriate is Fillippe, but Patricio vetoed it on the grounds that I already named the bird that used to live under my truck Philipo. I’ll try to get a picture of him. I just keep losing the camera. We should be home in March for a couple of weeks. Woohoo. We’re ecstatic, you should be too. As regards our return to the states, Patrick would like to request that whoever meets us at the airport bring along 1 cold Budweiser and 1 cold Sam Adams. I would like to request Maggie.