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

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



He also made a fireplace. Notice the stockings.




Get it?



Patrick enjoying his Airheads.

Poop is raining from the ceilings. Poop!

Trying not to bite it on the rocks.





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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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



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

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






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



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



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


Enjoying the eats.






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







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

-Later gators, Patricio

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

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

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

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

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