Gin and Soda

Soooo......?

2010-09-11T23:11:00.000-05:00

Does anyone check this anymore? Just curious.

I can't believe I got it back....

2010-06-03T23:15:00.000-05:00

Hackers suck. And they're SOOOO smart....so much so that all they can think of to do is steal emails and hope to get money out of idiots. So, that's an idiot talking to more idiots. It's perfect!

Fuck YOU hacker man.

Dudes

2009-11-30T20:33:00.001-06:00

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude...........seriously. What is the DEAL now? Is it just me?? Maybe I should have grown up in the 40s. Damn. Seriously.

What the hell?

2009-07-28T01:26:00.000-05:00

I might write a book..........

(The End.)

I'm a Racist

2009-04-07T21:24:00.003-05:00

Okay, not really. Really! But, I couldn't help thinking on the way to dropping the dogs off at doggie daycare this morning (yeah, my dogs are the spoiled as shit sort of dogs, they go to daycare, and point and laugh at the loser backyard dogs)...I couldn't help thinking, "WHY do the Mexicans always throw beer bottles on the ground IN their neighborhoods?!"

Seriously.....doggie daycare is smack dab in the middle of one of the many Mexican neighborhoods around our house. It's just a fact. Normally, I have to stop the car for a passing "herd" of chickens, or the occassional goat. At least once a week. One time a rabbit. I'm not making this shit up. But the thing that bugs me is, in a neighborhood where everything is essentially clean and normal looking, (well, except for all of the pink flamingos and plastic flower plants pushed into the ground) WHY are there ALWAYS beer bottles and cans in the street or thrown in people's yards?? ESPECIALLY around the railroad tracks that go through the center of the hood.

I mean, I get it. Mexicans like to drink. So do Catholics and the Irish, I should know. But we don't throw our shit on the ground. What the hell? I mean, the Mexicans are obviously throwing the REST of their trash away. There's NOT other trash out in the lawn. ONLY the beer bottles.

WTF????

Dog Graduation

2008-12-21T15:03:00.002-06:00

Francis, our great dane, was quite interesting last night.....ever since Jake has been gone (was put to sleep about a month ago), about every other night or so when we put Fran to bed in his crate, he complains. Like, little sounds...it goes something like this:

Fran: "Mmmm......"

Silence.

Fran: "Mmmmmmmmmmm......"

Silence.

Fran: "MMMmmmmrrrrrrrr.....mmm.....hummmmmrrrr....."

Me: "Fran, stop."

Fran: "MMRRRRR....rrrrrrr.......rahhh...."

Me: "FRAN, NIGHT NIGHT TIME."

Fran: "rrr...."

And then nothing and he falls to sleep. But last night it was more like this:

Fran: "HUH-UMMMMMMRrrrrrrrrrr................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr............rrr."

Short silence.

Fran: "RRRRRRWAAAAHHHH...........mmmmmmm.......WAAAHHHHRRRRAAA."

Me: "FRAN!!! STOP"

Fran: "MMMMMMWAAAAAA.............rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.................rrrrrrrrrrAHHHHHHOOOOOOH!"

Bernie: "What the hell?"

Fran: "OOOOOOOOOhhhhhhhhWAAA WAAA......rrrrrrr.........RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

Me: "Fucking shit....."

So then I said, "Maybe he's outgrown the cage thing." So Bernie suggested I put his bed by our bed on the floor and see what happens. So, I got his round bed out of the TV room and put it on the floor. Then let him out. He went STRAIGHT BEELINE for the round bed, spun around three times, and plopped down. Never said another word, slept straight through the night, even when I got up to pee he didn't get up. In the morning when Bernie got up before me to shower, THEN he jumped up in the bed and slept next to me.

So, I guess he's all grown up now.

Adding fuel to the fire...

2008-04-27T10:02:00.002-05:00

This just adds to my last post, my woes, my daily frustration at work. This also adds to my insane fear of how I will educate my own, not yet born children. I honestly already worry about how "they", "it" will make it through this monster that we have created....

Education Lessons We Left Behind

By George F. Will
Thursday, April 24, 2008; A21

If an unfriendly power had attempted to impose on America the mediocre educational performance that exists today, we might well have viewed it as an act of war.

-- "A Nation at Risk" (1983)

Let us limp down memory lane to mark this week's melancholy 25th anniversary of a national commission's report that galvanized Americans to vow to do better. Today the nation still ignores what had been learned years before 1983.

Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan once puckishly said that data indicated that the leading determinant of the quality of public schools, measured by standardized tests, was the schools' proximity to Canada. He meant that the geographic correlation was stronger than the correlation between high test scores and high per-pupil expenditures.

Moynihan also knew that schools cannot compensate for the disintegration of families and hence communities -- the primary transmitters of social capital. No reform can enable schools to cope with the 36.9 percent of all children and 69.9 percent of black children today born out of wedlock, which means, among many other things, a continually renewed cohort of unruly adolescent males.

Chester Finn, a former Moynihan aide, notes in his splendid new memoir ("Troublemaker: A Personal History of School Reform Since Sputnik") that during the Depression-era job scarcity, high schools were used to keep students out of the job market, shunting many into nonacademic classes. By 1961, those classes had risen to 43 percent of all those taken by students. After 1962, when New York City signed the nation's first collective bargaining contract with teachers, teachers began changing from members of a respected profession into just another muscular faction fighting for more government money. Between 1975 and 1980 there were a thousand strikes involving a million teachers whose salaries rose as students' scores on standardized tests declined.

In 1964, SAT scores among college-bound students peaked. In 1965, the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) codified confidence in the correlation between financial inputs and cognitive outputs in education. But in 1966, the Coleman report, the result of the largest social science project in history, reached a conclusion so "seismic" -- Moynihan's description -- that the government almost refused to publish it.

Released quietly on the Fourth of July weekend, the report concluded that the qualities of the families from which children come to school matter much more than money as predictors of schools' effectiveness. The crucial common denominator of problems of race and class -- fractured families -- would have to be faced.

But it wasn't. Instead, shopworn panaceas -- larger teacher salaries, smaller class sizes -- were pursued as colleges were reduced to offering remediation to freshmen.

In 1976, for the first time in its 119-year history, the National Education Association, the teachers union, endorsed a presidential candidate, Jimmy Carter, who repaid it by creating the Education Department, a monument to the premise that money and government programs matter most. At the NEA's behest, the nation has expanded the number of teachers much faster than the number of students has grown. Hiring more, rather than more competent, teachers meant more dues-paying union members. For decades, schools have been treated as laboratories for various equity experiments. Fads incubated in education schools gave us "open" classrooms, teachers as "facilitators of learning" rather than transmitters of knowledge, abandonment of a literary canon in the name of "multiculturalism," and so on, producing a majority of high school juniors who could not locate the Civil War in the proper half-century.

In 1994, Congress grandly decreed that by 2000 the high school graduation rate would be "at least" 90 percent and that American students would be "first in the world in mathematics and science achievement." Moynihan, likening such goals to Soviet grain quotas -- solemnly avowed, never fulfilled -- said: "That will not happen." It did not.

Moynihan was a neoconservative before neoconservatism became a doctrine of foreign policy hubris. Originally, it taught domestic policy humility. Moynihan, a social scientist, understood that social science tells us not what to do but what is not working, which today includes No Child Left Behind. Finn thinks NCLB got things backward: "The law should have set uniform standards and measures for the nation, then freed states, districts and schools to produce those results as they think best." Instead, it left standards up to the states, which have an incentive to dumb them down to make compliance easier.

A nation at risk? Now more than ever.

This just pisses me off....

2008-01-08T20:39:00.001-06:00

I don't even know where to start here....this has been a long, drawn out monologue of mine for years, and it's just getting worse. I've avoided talking about it because it just gets me riled up, but I just saw yet another example of it on TV. (Which, actually, is totally against my whole beef, but let me explain...)

We're stupid. We, as Americans, are stupid. This state of being has been a decades-long result of technology, poor education, and laziness.

Have you ever perused a McGuffey Reader? This was THE educational book for American children starting in the 1830s. They were used up until the 50s, I believe. If you open one up, what will you find? EDUCATIONAL MATERIAL. It's actually shocking what a first or second grader in the 1850s, say, was studying and learning. Go ahead, look it up online, there are ample sites about the Reader. It's AMAZING what freaking Little House on the Prairie kids were learning compared to kids today! It pisses me off! Our brains aren't made any differently now. We aren't "unable" to learn all that stuff that humans used to learn, used to be interested in, used to VALUE. So, why are we so dumb? Why is every other f'in TV show a reality show?! Because we're LAZY.

Somehow, we...society, have allowed stupidity to be cool. It's "too hard" to analyze things, think outside the box, or to be curious about the world around us. A really good example of how lazy we are can be shown in two points. One, the insane amount of reality TV shows. We're so lazy that we don't even have enough creative people to write original, thought-provoking shows. Seriously! It's insane! Tatoos, wives, kids, screwed up kids, bad wives, models, court tv, singers...it's ENDLESS. The latest one I've seen commercials for is about lie detector tests. They hook up people to the machine and them ask them questions that will be embarassing, ruin their relationships, expose secrets that really need to remain secret, etc. Are you KIDDING me?! When I think they can't add another one, there it is! Scott Baio's life on TV! All are reality TV shows, and there's so many of them that there are reality TV WEBSITES so you can keep up with them all. How do these shows, at all, further develop you as a human being? As a thinker? As anything?! They DON'T.

Second on the lazy front, we have no curiousity. Sure, I do, sure, you do...but talk to the average high schooler, none. And I don't mean the lower ten percent of a class. I mean that about 80 percent of the current high school public is NOT curious, and therefore they are apathetic. Why? I could give you endless reasons, but the biggest reason is poor parenting. Shocker? Let's think about it. What has been the norm for raising kids for the past 30 years? Daycare. What kind of one on one attention do they get in daycare? None. Maybe one percent. What else is the norm? That mom and dad's jobs are more important than their child's curiousity. Therefore, these inquiries about the world become supressed. A new toy takes place of conversation. Sitting in front of a tv takes place of going to the park. No time to make dinner because you're working all day? Fast food. (Which brings up an entirely different, yet related subject, our kids are fat.) And the new toys? ALL are instant gratification gadgets. Things that light up, need only three basic steps to achieve, require no reading or deciphering to play. So what happens? Attention deficit, bad social skills, low vocabulary. Get the idea?

This leads into my second beef with current society dumbing down our kids: technology. What sort of technology did you have as a kid?? I, personally, did not have access to a computer, cell phone, VCR, answering machine, remote control anything, cordless phone, or even more than one TV in the house. I did not have games that lit up until my junior high years when Texas Instruments made the Speak and Spell. How did my mother STAND IT?!! She had to DO STUFF WITH US! She couldn't sit my sister and me in front of a DVD or video game made for toddlers! She had to actually PLAY with us! Create with us, play outside, read to us. How insane is that?! We went to the hobby store and got new art projects, we played outside in the sand box and we rode our bikes, she read SERIES of different books to us. We went to the library a lot and learned how to use the dewey decimal system by the time we were five. Ask a kid today to read a book for a class, they FREAK, usually don't read it, cheat on the tests, or just read the Cliffs Notes or try to find the movie. My college roommate was a TA while getting her Doctorate. She had a student in her office one day and was trying to help him with the book the class was reading. She said while helping him, "The second time that you read it you can start to make a detailed outline, blah blah....". She said the student shrieked, "The SECOND time?!" It had never occured to him that maybe he was having a problem because he didn't RE-READ the book.

Lastly, so as to not make this long enough to BE a book, we are poorly educated. Being smart and going to college is not important to a HUGE percentage of our society (like all the ones who are watching Flavor Flave "pick a mate" on his TV show). About twenty years ago, the public education system decided to "give kids hope" and give them high school diplomas not based on a standard, but based on "they're doing the best that they can." I'm totally serious. The best example of this is the current practice in most school districts to not give any child below a 50 in any class. REGARDLESS of whether they actually earned a 20 or a 0, they will get a 50 on their report card because it "gives them hope" to do better next time and maybe they can pass the class with a 70. This is REEE-DICK-YOU-LUSS! When these morons walk across the stage and into their forever job at Walmart, and they get FIRED, they will not get a chance to do it over. So why in hell do we let kids do this in school? What are we teaching them??! It is also common practice to give an A to a student not based on, oh, I don't, whether they know the material or not, but rather if it's "the best that He/She can do." Therefore, an A. WHAT?! You parents need to pay attention to your kids' work...look at those A's. Is it really A work? Is your kid being prepared for college? A lot of the time, no.

So, what can we do? That's where a book needs to be written...maybe I should write one titled, "What's Really Happening at Your Child's School." The short list...trade schools, no 50 give aways, revamp our elementary education system to ingrain kids with the desire to learn.

We're in trouble in about 20 years. You heard it here first.

What the F?

2007-12-26T01:00:00.001-06:00

Don't really have anything fascinating to say...was just checking out my old writings on here in the same way that you sometimes look at an old photo album and go, "Wow, that was cool." So I figured maybe I should write something just in case blogspot tries to kick my ass off of here at some point...need to keep logging in.

So, had the usual Christmas extravaganza in San Antonio this year, lots of food, lots of liquor....I haven't stayed up this late this many nights in a row since college, I don't think. On Christmas Eve we partied at my cousin Tommy's house, who invited some friends over in addition to family...this one friend, a lawyer, wears "costumes" whenever he goes out....you're not supposed to ask about the costumes, as he apparently will become agitated with you. You're just supposed to accept the experience as it is...in front of your face. He apparently has one that consists of a large, red "one-z" and a tu-tu. Seriously, I'm not making this shit up. Last night he came as a "Christmas cowboy"....part Santa, part cowboy, part DALLAS cowboy....with flashing red and green glasses...I'm not sure which part of the costume those went with. Whatever. His trophy blond wife found it extremely funny that I would exclaim "F!" a lot...not fuck, I would just say "F!!!" Whatever.

Yeah family and gin.

Damn, I should have charged for that....

2007-07-11T21:56:00.000-05:00

So, check this out. Last night I, for the first time, for real, looked at E Entertainment online. And low and behold there's this column called, "Ask the bitch." No shit, you can ask the bitch anything, and she picks one question a day to answer. (Why the hell didn't I think of this job?! WHY DIDN'T I INVENT THIS JOB?!!!) You have the best chance if you ask a celebrity related question, but she does answer some other questions. So, I'm like, "Kick ass Bitch!" And I just so happen to have this BURNING question that's been driving me nuts for a while now....so I write to her.

"Dear Bitch, Why is Victoria Beckham such a bitch? She never, ever smiles in any of her photos or during appearances. Does she have some sort of screwed up Brit teeth? Or is she trying to project some sort of 'character'? Or is she just a bitch?"

I'm sure the Bitch gets a lot of questions every day, so I figure I have one chance in a thousand that she's going to answer mine.

Tonight I'm watching E Entertainment, the "daily news" part that comes on every day. Like I do, every day. It's live each day. I don't have a complete day unless I get my E Entertainment. And the last thing that they say each night is, of course, some lead-in to a story for the following day. So what, you say? The last thing they say at the end of the show TODAY is, "And tomorrow...why does Victoria Beckham never smile? Does she have ugly British teeth? What gives? We'll answer that tomorrow."

No shit.

New York, yes!

2007-06-15T22:20:00.000-05:00

So, we're in the greatest city of all time.....well, next to Rome...there's sirens going off constantly outside my sister's Brooklyn apartment window. Ahhhh...I couldn't sleep without them.

So we go to this Carribean restaurant in Brooklyn for dinner...most restaurants in this city, area, are small, skinny, shoved-into-crevaces kind of joints. This is mainly a walk-up stand kind of place, a take away restaurant. But upstairs are five, count 'em, FIVE tables, only two of which can seat more than two people. The staircase up into this place is SO steep and SO skinny that I comment that Mom and Dad couldn't get up into it...or if they did, they couldn't get back down. The upstairs is also so small that the waiter stands on the top of the stairs and takes your order from there...because, he IS so close to be standing next to you, only he's on the stairs.

The food was AWESOME...just excellent. And it was BYOB, conveniently with a liquor store next door. After dinner we walked a few blocks to a "new bar" that Carolee found a while back. VERY posh place in the middle of Brooklyn "not-so-nice." We sat in the window seat that was open to the street, drank ridiculously expensive cocktails and watched the local hoodlum boys play ball up against a wall that was clearly labeled, "No ball playing!"

So, we still don't have an apartment or hotel to stay at. HOWEVER, I replied to a Craig's list ad to stay in this apartment on the lower east side, share a bath with a "28 year old lawyer." I get a message back.....from a chick named "Malena." HOLY SHIT, she's HOT! There was a webpage and myspace attached to her name at the end of the email, in which said she thought it would "work out" for Bernie and I to stay in her "moroccan" inspired apartment." We've GOT to stay there...what an experience...her webpage makes her out to be a freaking star....she's a singer, model, etc., hot.

Off to New Jersey tomorrow...to see relatives that I literally have not seen in TWENTY years...and why? Because they never leave fucking New Jersey....so, you can IMAGINE the conversations we'll have....

Drinking red wine, in case you were wondering.

How's this for F'ed up?

2007-06-15T00:34:00.001-05:00

So, my new hubbie and I are going to NY for our belated honeymoon....I set up a hotel, but something about it is...well, I don't know...I have a feeling that I don't want to stay there....so I've stressed and looked and checked out Craig's list and all this bullshit, but for some reason, am not satisfied with any of them. Weird, huh? I mean, this is sort of, "she's wack on crack" weird. So, I'm canceling the hotel and we're going to "wing it." If I don't find anything, we'll just stay with my sister, which is what we're doing when we first get there anyway.....weird, huh?

I need a drink......

Analogy

2007-02-12T21:45:00.000-06:00

Putting on a play, which includes directing, costume design, prop procurement, sound and lighting design, casting, and of course, late night trips to bars, is hard. Tiring. Planning a wedding is like putting on a huge play, only once, WITH YOUR MOM.

:)

Stupid Internet

2006-07-29T10:24:00.000-05:00

Dude, why are my pictures not showing up?! WTF? I tried to reload those pictures in the entry below from Christmas and I'm getting nada...maybe it's just my computer or something.

So, a friend of mine pointed this out to me today: http://www.ginandsoda.net/
Cooking?!!! You steal my blog name and use it to COOK?! Please. Amateur.

So, I know, I know. I haven't written in a million years, you thought I would over the summer, etc., etc. There are a LOT of things that I thought I would get done over the summer but didn't. It's always the way, I guess. I did manage to paint the biggest room in my house plus a couple of hallways. AND I cleaned out the junk "room." Yes, I realize that most people have a junk drawer or junk cabinet, but no...I had a junk ROOM. Now I'm working on converting it into "the bar." Heh heh. No, really! I am. I just bought this cool, retro bar table and two stools.

Well, don't have anything to bitch about at the moment. Maybe that's why I haven't written! I'm only pissed off during the school year. Here's some pictures from my New York trip....

You know how people can "look like their pets"??? Well, have you ever known someone who looks like a fruit or vegetable? Here's my friend Aleisha while helping with the cooking at my sister's Brooklyn apartment:

Weird, huh?

And here's my sister and me... This is essentially the true progression of our relationship whenever we are in the same place. This takes all of about four minutes. Gotta love siblings.

I should have been a stripper...

2006-04-25T20:23:00.000-05:00

Seriously people, sane individuals do not become teachers. We are not normal people. We are "givers," as one teacher said on Monday during a teacher in-service. We want to make a difference, we want to change the world, we want to see that little light bulb go off in a kid's blank, idiotic face. We know that one child at a time, we can alter the future. "No child left behind!" We chant this as we race to the school building each morning at least, at least, 30 minutes early jussssst in case a student needs our help. We buy things for our classrooms and for our kids out of our own pockets because we care. Because, if we didn't, kids wouldn't HAVE a pen or pencil to complete their homework. Because, without us, without ME, the world would crumple up and die a horrid, sad, and ultimately stupid-riddled death.

(Censored, angry garble...angry, angry....)

Yes, yes. We really do want to change the world. That really was our intention when we signed up for this ridiculous hell that is so similar to sliding down a 60 foot razor blade on our bare asses. And we really are fun, nice people who want to impart vast knowledge among the young adults of the world so that everything in the end turns out not to be fucked. We are cool and entertaining. Aren't all alcoholics? Yes, trust me, we all freaking drink. Even the principals. Sure, they hide behind their fancy suits and silk ties, but at home they're blathering, sloppy drunks who eat nachos made with velveeta, drool, and shoot pellet guns at squirrels.

And yes, we're creative and insightful. But who at our work cares???? Ninety percent of our days is filled with conversations and lectures to high school kids who honest to God shouldn't be receiving a diploma. (Holy crap, should that have been "WHOM honest to God....?!...shit!) But they'll get one, by God. And I have only a 30 minute lunch break each day in which I get to finally interact with adults. THIRTY minutes. Could YOU deal with this??? And, naturally, what does this 30 minutes cover? You guessed it. The magnitude of idiocy in our classrooms, because, of COURSE, it never ceases to amaze us how unbelievably stupid our kids can be.

This could all start a whole new diatribe about the Texas school system. But that would be boring. I could go on for hours about the downfall of American society and family life, but instead, I'll make it shorter. As short as POSSIBLE. Let's summarize: Today's student has been raised by technology, such as computers, gameboys, and computer screens since the age of two. Therefore, they have the attention span of a gnat and have never learned to CREATIVELY THINK OR PLAY. Hence, once at school, they are unable to comprehend instructions that include the concepts of "think, decipher, decide, or create." Does anyone see the problem that could arise here?

So, I'm ranting because...I'm mad. I'm good at what I do, and I did not account for, nor was I taught about, the students that cannot THINK. One of my very good teacher friends actually had a student say to her several weeks ago, no shit, in relation to a worksheet, "You mean we have to think?!" Good fucking shit. How can I accomplish the creation of a 200 student, solid department that's competitive at contests when the kids don't want to think?

I should have been a stripper...or an accountant.

Oh, and kids never come to school with something to write with, or backpacks, for that matter. They literally come into class with nothing. HOWEVER, they all have cell phones, new tennis shoes, nice clothes, and manicured fingernails. But not a pen.

(Disclaimer...I do have special students who touch my heart. Several of them. And they are why I go to work every day.)

Seriously.......

2006-01-08T19:41:00.000-06:00

I can't believe none of you, out of the three, commented on my "smoking" in the New Year's Eve photos. I figured I'd get a "I didn't know you smoke" comment at least. Sheesh. No, I don't smoke. I freaking made a PROP for you people!!!

Feel Sorry for Me, NOW!

2006-01-03T22:31:00.000-06:00

I just want to whine. I realize that you can whine about the fact that I haven't written anything on here in a while, all three of you, but I want to whine about something better. I, as a teacher, had a two week Christmas holiday. I, as a big cootie magnant, was sick for one of those weeks. A whole week! And I'm STILL sick. It freaking sucks. Freaking sinus virus slash occasional fever slash I want to sleep all day slash shit. It freaking sucks a LOT. We're not supposed to be sick DURING the break. We're supposed to get sick during the school year so we can stay HOME, away from the sniveling kids. And did I mention that I'm freaking STILL sick??! I'm a snot haven.

So, my New Year's Eve was NOT the party that most normal people had. In fact, I had to skip a really cool party that I wanted to go to. Becuase who wants a snotty, whiney, no-make-up-faced, un-showered, pile of depression teacher on a crappy vacation type of person at their party? Yeah, no shit. That's why I didn't go. However, I did manage to score a free steak and champagne at the parental units' house. Score. I forced myself to shower and went over. And not to let the night die without SOME fun, I managed to get some pictures for you. Enjoy.

Dad before midnight:

Dad after midnight:

Me before midnight:

Me after midnight:

Mom before AND after midnight:

Happy New Year everybody, er, all three of you.

P.S. David Letterman just slammed the hell out of Bill O'Reilly. Bill was the guest tonight. The media will be talking about this one tomorrow. If you Tivo Dave, totally watch it!

I'm alive.

2005-09-05T22:29:00.000-05:00

Yes, yes. I made it back to the states relatively un-scarred. Unless you count my psyche. It's been a maddening world even back here, with family, unplanned trips within Texas, meetings at school BEFORE school was supposed to start, then school starting, then the kids showing up, and of course all of this leads to lots of drinking. SO, I literally haven't been still since I've been back, and there hasn't been a moment, it seems, to myself to write on here. Because, let's face it, after all of the other stuff that I have to do, free time will be spent drinking. Though, I do have a story or two to tell, and it has crossed my mind several times. But after a long day at school, doing theatre stuff after school, and getting home at 9pm, the option to watch TV and drink verses writing witty remarks on the blog will always lean towards the former. Well, actually, I can't think of something that would beat out drinking and TV....well, drinking with friends obviously. Or drinking with family. Well, that depends on the family....drinking and TV would beat out drinking with Dad's family any day. Actually, just the thought of Dad's family makes me want to drink right now. A lot. Just the thought that I am actually related to those people makes me want to give thanks, through drinking, that I'm so freaking normal.

I'll try to be better and get back to writing. Thank you all for the nice comments. I'm glad that I'm actually entertaining someone...or at least giving you a reason to drink.

Just for Mom.

2005-07-25T13:04:00.000-05:00

Mom has this weird fear of crocodiles and alligators. Kind of like how I fear the gin bottle going empty on a Sunday. I find her fear strange, since these things are not wandering around DFW. But, whatever. So, I thought of her yesterday as the bus stopped on the way back to San Joshit so we could lean over this bridge and take pictures of these crocodiles. I imagined while standing there throwing Amarante over the side.

Gotta love it....not.

2005-07-25T12:46:00.000-05:00

Here are some pictures of the "scenery" every day when we walk to school. Good times....good times. The bronze statues I have named "The sad people." They stand in front of a main bank in downtown San Jose. I don't know why they're there, as no plaque or anything exists about an artist, etc. However, I'll bet they're all so depressed looking because THEY'RE IN FUCKING COSTA RICA.

The others are just random scenes. Imagine inhaling pure diesal fuel as you walk and it's just like you're here.

Oh, and for some fun reading, see today's main story at http://www.ticotimes.net/topstory.htm.

Adios, freaks.

V

At least I got a tan...

2005-07-25T11:39:00.000-05:00

Yeah, the beach sucked. Turns out it's the closest one to San Jose. That's it. It's not neato, it's not fancy. The "hotel casino" was a dive of a motel with a small room filled with slot machines and a tiny pool where this freak guy in a THONG bathing suit kept sunning and BENDING OVER. There were two Toucans in a cage by the pool and I would plot at night as to how I could set them free. With my luck, I figured, their wings were clipped and they'd just jump out of the cage, into the pool and drown. What a shitty life.

The best time that I had there was the last night. All the others wanted to go eat at some taco place on the "strip" (yeah, strip of crap-ass stores and bars filled with sweaty people wearing bathing suits that are too small for them) that was supposed to be good, but which Alex said had flies swarming all over the salad bar. Yum! So I ate by myself at the hotel restaurant, which really was very, very good. I bought a $12 filet mignon and drank two glasses of wine while watching the ocean. It was much prettier at night because you couldn't see all of the rocks, mud, and beach peddlars. My waiter, Manuel, talked with me for an hour. It was great, as I got to really practice Spanish, and we laughed a lot. I was the only person there, so I got a lot of attention. The steak was great. Hopefully I didn't get mad cows disease.

I'm attaching beach pictures which look really good considering that crap place. You'll just have to believe me that it was nothing special....maybe I should be a photographer.

"Say lah vee"....

2005-07-22T17:39:00.000-05:00

The beach is pretty lame. I've been to several beaches in my life, and this is at the bottom. It's not dirty, but it's nothing fancy. Lots of rocks on the beach, and the sand is a murky, charcoal kind of color. And the water comes up so high that all of the sand is wet, so there's not really a place to put down a towel and hang out. The town is pretty Miami-like, but there are a lot of gringos and it feels safer than craphole San Jose. I think I'll just stay drunk all weekend and stay in the hotel casino. Buying the first freaking ticket home I can find....

V

The roof tops in the neighborhood.

2005-07-21T17:51:00.000-05:00

Meat, anyone?

2005-07-21T17:42:00.000-05:00

Just one of my views on the way to school this morning. This one was just for you, CK.

The robo light rig.

2005-07-21T17:02:00.000-05:00

My pissed off horse.

2005-07-21T16:39:00.000-05:00

Well, that’s just great.

2005-07-21T13:21:00.000-05:00

So we’re off to the beach tomorrow for two nights. Playa Jaco on the Pacific coast. And we’re in robo class this morning and start talking about it. There are two Costa Ricans that have been taking the class with us, Aldo and Camilla, a boyfriend and girlfriend. When we tell them where we’re going their faces change and they get this, “Oh, that really sucks,” look. Oh shit, I’m thinking, here we go. They proceed to tell us that Jaco is “muy sucio” or “very dirty” and that we need to very, very careful of the “thieves and men.” And that the waves are really strong and there’s a bad undertow. They said about ten times that we need to go a half hour farther to this really nice beach that’s in a federally funded park with white sand and a beautiful coastline.

So, I guess this whole trip just gets to be a total disappointment for me. There is a minute part of me that is hoping we’re not in the dirty area of Jaco, but considering how the rest of this place has been I’m not betting on it. Amarante sucks as a tour guide. Jaco is where this group always goes, and there’s even three previous students flying in JUST to go with us to Jaco. So, either their super young kids who have never seen anything beautiful in the world before and think this is fancy, OR they’ve never seen any other beaches in their lives. OR, the ultimate or, Aldo and Camille are wrong. I feel a beach blog coming on…

So last night I was awoken really violently by what seemed to be a rifle shot. I’m assuming it wasn’t really a rifle, but some sort of a gun. Dogs starting going nuts. No one in the house got up, that I know of, so I just sort of waited for something to happen. A siren, someone yelling. But I never heard anything else. So either someone next door off-ed themselves, or it’s just normal sometimes to hear loud guns being fired.

Several nights ago I heard walking on the roof. Since all roofs are tin with no attic or insulation, it’s easy to here stuff up there. It was really heavy walking, and again the dogs starting going nuts, and all I could think of was that it was a person. It was just too heavy for a cat or dog. That night, too, I figured someone else in the house would hear and get up if it was an issue. But no one did. So, I ignored it.

This morning my housemate said that she heard the walking last night and also thought it was a person. Then she goes on to say that she’s been told of robberies where men get on the roofs and pull open the tin siding and jump into the houses. Unbelievable. And then I get on the bus and Scott says that his Tico mom just figured out this morning that he’s carrying his laptop in his backpack every day. “And you’re not taking a taxi?!” she asked. I just looooooooooove this “secure” environment that we’re in. Just LOVE IT.

V

The fancy house up the street.

2005-07-20T14:22:00.000-05:00

Hopefully it will load...the green part is the enclosed patio and driveway, the pink part is the house.

Trying the pictures again...

2005-07-20T14:02:00.000-05:00

I'm still trying to put up pictures. But the internet here is not letting me. I've tried over and over. So, now I'm going to try one at a time....here's my house, if you can see it through the bars.....

Como se dice "Shoot me" en espanol?

2005-07-20T11:36:00.000-05:00

God I need a drink...

This shit just keeps getting weirder as we go along. So, the whole point of this program and my coming here was twofold. One, I would be learning to program robotic lighting instruments and and video production. Two, our five weeks of work would cumulate into some sort of a performance for the public. For example, one year the group designed a “halftime show” using robotic lighting and music for a local rodeo in San Jose. Sounds fun. So, I’ve been curious as to what our show would be. How big would it be? How many people would see it? And so has everyone else. In fact, we’ve been asking each other, “So, does anyone know what our final show is going to be?....Has Amarante mentioned anything to anyone?....Hey, do you think it will be cool like the rodeo?....Anyone?”

WELL…the people in the “Animatronics” class have been working on making stuffed animals become plugged in puppets with moving mouths for some undisclosed puppet show. We figured it's just class work, but for some random purpose. (They’re not learning true animatronics. They’re building gay little skeletons inside the animals with lame little motors. But I digress, as usual.) MY classes in robo lights and video have nothing to do with a puppet show for grade school kids, obviously.

How wrong I am. My classes may not relate to a puppet show, but oh contraire, my ability to give free labor does. So today Amarante calls a “meeting.” Oooooh, fancy. He whips out this calendar which shows that NEXT week we, WE, are going to be presenting “the puppet show” at the AMERICAN EMBASSY for school kids. He says it all serious like, very control freak-like and smug, adding, “Do you realize that’s only four days to work because we’re leaving for the beach this weekend?” Okay, hold it…. Can we please rewind? What the FUCK are you talking about? How can you tell us today, after we’ve been farting around for two weeks in this poopville, that we have some special appearance at the US Embassy to present a SHOW and you’re telling us four days ahead of time??..... Would someone please mail me a large machete so that I can break my skull open?! Oh, wait, I forgot!…they cut the grass here with those. Bueno!

So, we’re staring dumbly and Amarante mentions that “you all know the script, right?” Uhh, no, no right! We all say we have never received an e-mail with the script, and then he’s all, “Oh, well I’m SO busy with meetings all the time, I sometimes loose track of what I have and haven’t done. My bad.” Whatever…so then I’m assigned to work with Scott on building the puppet stage, which Amarante has designed, and which doesn’t make sense. But that’s a whoooooooooooole other story. So I’m all, “And how do we get the lumber?” “Well, you’ll need to start by making some phone calls.” What the f…….I don’t speak Spanish you klodnick! How am I supposed to ask for luan and 1X4s when I don’t know what those things ARE CALLED IN COSTA RICAN SPANISH?! So THEN I say, “And with what vehicle am I supposed to bring luan sheets back to the museum in?” And he acts all holier than thou as if I shouldn’t be asking and real slowly says, “Well, there are these guys who are delivery contractors who hang out behind the lumber yards that you’ll have to work with, but don’t take their first offer, you need to barter. All of this is part of your experience here, I can’t be everywhere and get to my meetings, now come on guys."

I’m really curious what the hell his meetings are about all the time. He’s always flitting off to here and there, no one knows where, and no one, including the other two professors, speaks fluent Spanish. So, who knows what he’s saying on his cell phone all the time before he leaves. NO ONE has been to one of these Embassy meetings. We just keep getting these little tidbits about, “Oh, the Embassy blah blah…script….performance space…blah blah.” And of course we’re not all really listening, just assuming that it’s all related to whatever our fancy show is going to be at the end of the program. (Yeah, yeah, assume, you-me-the ass, I got it.)

And then tonight during robo lab hours with just Scott, Paul, and me left, Scott says to Paul, “You’ve read the script, right?” And I’m all, “How did you get it?” So Paul says that he got it from Amarante last week when he was asked to come up with some music cues for it. And then Scott says he had read it because he noticed it sitting on Amarante’s desk and he’s nosey and no one was around, so he read it knowing it was related to something we’re doing. Well, they both start talking about how BAD it is, and Amarante freaking wrote it! Now, mind you, I’ve written several scripts for various projects, from City of Fort Worth commercials to a musical review, and, believe it or not, even a puppet show. And I realize I’m no genius, but I guess I’ve done a good job at them because I keep getting asked to write scripts for various things. So, I assume I don’t suck. (DON’T say it!....) But these two guys are telling me that a theatre professor at one of the premiere universities in the country for over twenty years wrote a suck-ass script? For PUPPETS?! Now, let me get allllllllll of this straight….

I paid money to come to this program on the understanding that I would be learning robotic lighting (I am) and video production (sort of) in an international environment (check) that was tropical (no tropics in hell, thank you), relaxing (maybe if you subtract the running away from crack whores), and SECURE (this word is literally on the program’s website). As an added bonus I get all of the yucky stuff that I’ve already written about PLUS now I get to go to a San Jose lumber yard and barter with some guy in a truck, build a set, help sew together puppets, and I’ll bet money that before this over I’m one of the puppet voices. Which means I’ll be an actress in an American Embassy children’s show for local school children speaking a language that I learned from a high school spanish teacher with a west Texas accent THAT SUCKS.

Soooooooo….when do we get to create a robo light public performance….?....that's fancy?......(enter cricket noise here)………anyone?.....

V

Something nice….

2005-07-18T10:00:00.000-05:00

I have to say, that coming home everyday from hell to this family is a blessing. I can leave the visions of the ghetto behind and be in a quiet, safe (due to the bars and gates everywhere), clean place where the food is awesome and there is lots of laughter. Laura, the 36 year old daughter, has one of those wonderful, infectious laughs that lights up a room. It is fun everyday to get her going on something. For everything that I can’t say in Spanish, I act out, and she and her mom seem to enjoy those stories the most. If only they were alcoholics like me, then this would be the party house.

Today, Sunday, it has rained all day. It stops every now and then for about ten minutes, but then starts up again. I’m sitting in the formal living area at the front of the house with the door open and enjoying the breeze and the sounds. Currently the Catholic church up the rode is ringing its bells like crazy, I guess reminding all of the sinners to hurry up and get to mass. A guy on horseback went down the street an hour ago, which made Jerry, the little mutt dog next door, go ape-shit. Of course, Jerry tends to go ape-shit at everything that goes by, but this was especially exciting. He’s like a cat, as he scales up the three foot concrete wall that surrounds the yard and weaves in and out of the bars that go around the rest of the place. It was a shock the first time he did this to me, as he was there so fast, barking like crazy. Now he never comes out and barks at me. I guess I’m on the “good” list finally.

Okay, nice stuff is over. I don’t know how much of this made the news in the US, but there was a major fire at a hospital here in San Jose this past Tuesday. I got an English Tico Times, and the story is awful. Yet, after being here for two weeks, no surprise. Nineteen people died, and it was all due to negligence. The fourth floor where it happened was full of patients that were incapacitated for whatever reason, couldn’t walk, and that floor had no escape besides the stairs. Plus, there were no fire hoses, or fire alarms, no smoke detectors, etc. AND, there were warnings in the past about the problems with this building related to fire hazards and nothing was ever fixed. The whole city is a fire trap, if you ask me. You can read the story at www.ticotimes.com.

Also in the current edition, but unfortunately not online, is a HUGE article about the horrific problem this country has with trash. Sixty percent of the country’s trash is not properly disposed of. It goes into streams, rivers, water on the coast, or never gets picked up. The government has passed the buck to the municipal bodies, and they only receive half of the money “asked for” from the people, and therefore there’s never enough money to fund proper pick-up, and therefore nothing happens. They don’t have the power, for whatever reason, to add a trash bill to the water or electric bill, and therefore there’s never any money. There was a strike last week in the northern part of San Jose because the workers kept asking for brooms and brushes to help them clean up sidewalks, and they’ve never gotten them. The article also went into detail about how Costa Rica boasts as a culture that they’re so environmentally friendly here, and how that’s a total deception. That tourists who come here to vacation and see a pretty country are deceived. The weekly political cartoon showed a tour guide with two depressed Americans and he was saying, “And over beyond that pile of trash we have a rain forest.” Even in the questionable parts of New York that I’ve been in, I don’t remember seeing piles of trash in front of every business, on every residential street, all the time. And that is what I see here every day. It’s sad that the people don’t have more power to help themselves. Everyone passes the buck on to someone else.

Devon, the other American in my house, is back today. She’s super cool, too. Her boyfriend was here visiting for three days so they had a fun, frolicking time at a nice hotel. Bitch. She speaks perfect Spanish, so among the four of us, a lot more gets said.

The sun is out. Amazing. Back to studying Spanish. Oh, the rain is back again. Wow, that was fast. Nevermind.

V

Irgh…ahhh…gahhffpp…ick!

2005-07-18T09:59:00.000-05:00

I’m trying to find positive things to talk about. I really, really am. I’m ignoring the daily crack whores and the homeless man that I have to step over on the way to school, just to spare you all a lot of the true horror of San Jose. But I can’t ignore today’s adventure.

So, this was Saturday. The big “hurray it’s not a weekday walking through crack whore’s neighborhood!” day, and our itinerary included a trip to a rain forest to ride zip lines over the canopy. You know, pretty birds, being high in the air with the nature of the rain forrest, monkeys, etc. Riiiiiiiiiiight. Here’s what the brochure should REALLY say.

First of all, we get there (after an hour and a half tour bus ride with seats that flatten your ass to a flatness you didn’t think possible) and you have to then ride in a twenty person boat down the “Snake River” for a half hour. Oh, and did I mention that we were SHARING our tour bus and had to stop at FIVE hotels to pick up people? Which took an HOUR and a HALF. But I digress….back the adventure. So, after dousing myself with 100% Deet, I’m ready to delve into the rain forest and the “Snake Reever.” I’m hoping to see iguanas everywhere, and toucans, and other brightly colored birds, and monkeys etc., etc…..Please insert snickering little munchkins laughing from the forest because they know more than me here.

The Snake River was nothing more than the Guadalupe River in Texas, except it’s a little bit wider, and we DID see one sleeping crocodile. And two iguanas. And a turtle. Ooooooh, a turtle!...And like, five monkeys, which were so far up in the trees that I’m not sure how the tour guide spotted them in order to point them out to us, unless he had stapled deceased monkeys up there earlier in the day. “Howler monkeys,” he said, though they were dead quiet, which lends more support for the stapling theory. Not much for a half hour boat ride through a rain forest. We eventually arrived at the canopy joint and I hadn’t taken one picture, NOR have I seen one damn snake, thank you.

We have to get harnessed up for the zip line, one if those rock climber, total body get-ups, with straps wrapped around your butt, up your crotch, separating your boobs, etc. Nice and snug. Then they hand you a helmet. “Dad would be happy I’m wearing a helmet,” I think. I put it on, and in about 1.4 seconds my brain suddenly says, “RETREAT! Back up! Back up! Whatever you just did, make it stop!! For the love of all that is HOLY!!!” What my brain was referring to was the overpowering odor that my nose had picked up on emanating from the helmet. Good God, I have never smelled such a putrid stink before in all of my life, and it was WRAPPED AROUND MY HEAD. Please imagine, if you can, the foulest smell that could possibly come out of someone’s ass, and then magnify that smell by a million, and then get a big handful of the smell and spread it all over your face. You’re close. The sweat and stench of who knows HOW many previous canopy zippers was imbedded in those helmet straps, and a trip to the bathroom and subsequent washing, WITH SOAP, did nothing. For the love of God, I wondered how I would manage for TWO HOURS with this shit on my face.

So, yeah! Off to a ten minute horseback ride to the starting point. I lift my assface onto my horse just a moment after I had watched it lovingly run and bit another horses’s ass. (Yes, ass is today’s theme!) Mind you, I’m remembering back to the day when I was around 13 years old and I’m on a trail ride with my parents just like this, one horse following the next, and my horse kept putting his ears back in pissed off mode, and suddenly my 13 years flew by quickly as I was bucked into the air and landed on my ass. Mom was bucked, too, and literally broke her back, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. But here I was again, same sort of follow the leader horse ride, and my horse doesn’t just put his ears back every now and then. No. He’s got them back the whooooooooole time. And I have four pictures to prove it. Ah, when will the joy end?

So I manage the ride with Grumpy, and we’re at the first platform. We have to climb 60 feet into the air, all while the harness straps are causing crotch wedgies and my thick gloves, which of course, also smell like ass, are making it hard to grab the ladder. At least everything was super detailed in the safety department, as you are constantly being clipped and double safety-clipped on every part of the zipping and climbing. But, of course, I guess the actual ZIP LINE could break as you’re flying through the air at twenty miles an hour, in which case your safety harness is total crap, but I left that one up to the Universe to decide. Hell, I had ass on my face, what the hell did I care if I crashed 60 feet to the ground?

Now, did I mention that the rain forest is freaking hot? Well, it’s sweltering. It’s hahhhhhhhhhht. So we’re all sweating like ass pigs as we trudge through this adventure. The zip lines consisted of five ladders, nine platforms, and eight zip lines. Every time the seven of us, plus two guides, did a zip, we then all had to wait on the next platform until everyone was finished and a guide started first on down the next one. So, you know about the ass faces. Well, let’s imagine all of our bodies starting to stink like hell, too, and then all nine of us crammed onto a roughly five by eight platform in between each line. EIGHT times. EIGHT little platform parties. I don’t know what the hell I used the Deet for, there’s no way a mosquito was coming near us.

So this zipping took freaking two hours. One of the girls in the group actually had a mini- heatstroke and had to sit and have water poured on her, etc. while we all waited in our ass-state on the platform. In my head I’m thinking, “Just push her down the zip! The air will cool her off more than baking ass stink is going to help!” But I kept my mouth shut.

FINALLY, it was over, and I didn’t see ONE damn colored bird or snake or monkey or shit the whole damn time. And I was looking for them, mind you. Every time we were baking asses on a platform, I was hanging off to one side trying to breathe clean air while looking for SOMETHING to take a picture of.

When we got back to the outdoor pavilion place to get un-harnessed, I rushed to the bathroom and washed my face three times. Gawwwwwwwwwwwwd it was gross. Our lunch was there at the pavilion thingy, and then we had to take the boat ride back to the bus, and then the hour and a half ride home, re-flattening our asses.

I want the power, just for one day, to design a Costa Rican vacation brochure. Just one.

V

Oh well...

2005-07-15T20:45:00.000-05:00

Didn´t allow me to post more pictures. Won´t be able to try again until Monday when I´m back at the museum with my computer. So, just pretend you´re looking at a lot of pictures of a third world country neighborhood. Ready, go.

F&$%! SH*#!

2005-07-15T17:46:00.000-05:00

Stupid Costa Rica internet. AH-HEM.......let me try this AGAIN.

I am trying to, HOPEFULLY, post pictures of the neighborhood. Hopefully this will explain the shitty scenery that I have to look at every day. Thank God for the weekends. The green wall with the bars in the close-up shot is my house. The street with lots of bars and buildings is my street. The pink two-story building is a "fancy" house in the neighborhood. And all of the buildings shot from above with the tin roofs is a clump of houses from the neighborhood. I will probably have to upload pictures in seperate entries.......

All of the bars everywhere make everything so glum.

Be careful what you wish for.

2005-07-14T13:11:00.000-05:00

I am not a negative person. Ha ha…okay, you can stop laughing. No, really, I may bitch a lot, but I’m not actually a negative person in the sense that I hate life, or people, etc. Well...maybe I hate a couple of people, and hopefully they will die soon, but that’s another story. My point is, that I dont' mean to keep harping on the same thing, BUT….

Numerous times during my adult, traveling life I have said to myself, “Self, it would be awesome to live in ‘this’ major city.” These thoughts were of course occuring during vacations in New York, Boston, London, etc. However, there’s this funny little fact about life. It sucks. And IT will screw with you because it’s fun for Life to do that to you. Life will sit up on its fancy mountain top, sipping on a cocktail with a little umbrella in it, and think, “Haha! This is fun!” So, Life screwed with me and took out “this” big city and put in “a” instead. Hence, I get to live in San Jose for five weeks…the fifth city of my life to live in, and along those lines, if we think about vices, number five is avarice, yes? Well, I'm feeling pretty greedy right now, as I want everything that's not here.

So, I’m stuck in San Jose for another three and a half weeks, and I need to start concentrating on the NICE things about this hell hole so that it won’t become a suicidal tendencies catalyst. So here goes.

The biggest one is gin. They have gin here, they call it “ginebra” and I can order it in a restaurant or bar in Spanish, thank you. They even have “ginebra Bombay Saphire.” And you can buy it at any grocery store. Handy. Another cool thing is that I opened my big mouth, as usual, and got myself out of that first crapville of a house. Now that I’ve been in the new one, it is SO clear what a cheap deal that last place was! That cola cabeza (butthead) only fed me white toast and fruit every morning. But my new Tico mom gives me beans and rice (surprising, I know), eggs, cheese, FRENCH toast, fruit, and tea EVERY freaking morning! AND, my bathroom has new towels in it every day. AND she’s washing my clothes every day! I freaking have only one pair of socks, a t-shirt, and underwear in the dirty clothes, she washes them. Maybe I should test her with ONLY one pair of underwear and nothing else…..hmmmmm. Too bad I didn’t bring my boots, they need shining.

We’ve eaten at this “Americanized” restaurant a couple times, but it’s been yummy. It’s called “Café Mundo,” or World Café, and the food is muy yummy and the portions are big. I was able to have dinner the other night and still brought enough leftovers home for the following night. Lots of Gringos eat there, as it’s in the “nicer” part of downtown by the Mexican Embassy and several nice hotels, etc. It’s in a big, 1910 Victorian home, which makes it feel very Austin-esque. However, compared to the Tico prices that we’re getting used to paying, these American tourism restaurants start to suck in the “I’ll take my check now” category. Why? Because they charge the same prices that you’d find in the U.S., and after you’ve had a freaking steak here in a Tico restaurant for six bucks, you don’t want to pay $2.50 for a gin and $8 for a salad. Well, okay, yes you do on that first part, but that’s beside the point. Food here is cheap, and it’s going to be weird going back to the states and ordering fucking nachos (chips and beans people) and the price is $7.95. I mean, what the crap?! I moved into a new neighborhood in Fort Worth before I left that’s right by a Carnival grocery store, the “poor Mexican store” by Texas “standards.” I am SO going in there when I get back to see if I can get groceries at Tico prices. If Ticos pay so little for food, why aren’t we? Is a hamburger really worth four to six bucks? Really?

Well, I’m sleepy, and I need my sleep in order to keep up with those young bastards. This Saturday we go to some other rain forest and ride a zip-line across the tree tops. That, along with a ten minute horseback ride and vertical wooden ladder climb up to the zipping staging area, all surely equal death for me in my parents eyes. You never stop worrying about your kids…guess I can’t stop that.

On a side note to Dad - we learned all about electricity here in my robo class. So, I’m all cool with that volts verses amps verses wattage thing. I’ve had to apply it several times. Soy muy inteligente.

V

Solomente Picturas

2005-07-12T16:16:00.000-05:00

Estoy inteligente!...mas o menos.

2005-07-12T13:19:00.000-05:00

Today was another rough day of classes for me. Partly because of all the gin I drank over the weekend instead of being a computer geek, and also because I’m just plain older than these 19 and 20 year old kids in my class who WHIZ through every new lesson like it’s “sooooooo easy.” I hate them. Okay, not really. Well, maybe a little.

Today was also the first day since we’ve been here that it rained from 2pm until 9pm straight. It wasn’t in a constant storm, just a continuous rain. But at least this damn place will be “clean” in the morning when I walk to school. Which brings up another thing, my legs freaking hurt. We walk about seven blocks to the bus station in the morning, uphill half of the distance, and then once we get off we walk about a mile to the school, which is pretty much up hill the whole way. The last stretch of about 200 yards is at a freaking 45 degree incline. Alright, alright…35 degrees. But it’s freaking hard, and every day by the time I reach the top, the museum door, I’m literally wet with sweat showing through my shirt, front and back thank you, and am panting like Katie Holmes on the end of her Tom leash. And not to mention the leg power needed to beat off all of the beggars and pickpockets that swarm around you constantly from the bus drop-off to the museum. So, my legs are sore as hell. I feel like I’ve been on a Stairmaster for three hours all the time. This BETTER be improving some muscles, somewhere.

So, all of those things today, plus Bernie e-mailing that he was trying to get a ticket here for this weekend, but then the cheap fare he found couldn’t be found again, got me to bitching on the way home to Alex. He’s the twenty year old that lives across the street. Yes, one of the smart bastards. But what made the night a huge freaking stress reliever was that he came over and explained everything we’ve learned reeeeeeally slowly, and I totally understood it all. He made better analogies than the professor and drew pictures while he talked, and that’s how I get things. So my homework tonight made total sense, and now I feel smart. I just hate that it takes me two hours compared to these kids’ freaking twenty minutes. Or, as our Costa Rican video teacher would say, “Twenty meenoots.”

Enough bitching. I haven’t said anything about the excursion this past weekend. It, naturally, was a peek into what so many people have been calling, “the beauty of Costa Rica.” Because I cannot stress enough, there is none of it in the center of the country. We went first to a live volcano. It’s wildly impressive and exciting because it really can blow at any minute. The opening looks like this gentle sea of white water, which is actually swirling gases. Sections of it even become yellow from sulfur being in the mix. We stood up on a huge platform overlooking the opening and the crater-like whole that surrounded it. Our guide suddenly said, “Can you tell that it is actually a mile in diameter?” It’s freaking huge.

We then went to the “La Paz” waterfalls and surrounding rainforest and gardens. There is a fancy hotel there that runs the show, all of the bridges and walkways and gardens, so it’s like “Natural rain forest waterfalls over Texas.” On the grounds of the hotel is this huge butterfly sanctuary and an insane humming bird population. There’s a large garden with dozens of humming bird feeders and there are so many birds and they swoosh by your head so fast and so close that it’s like mini jets flying by. I wish I had another day there because it was really not until the following day that I figured out Bernie’s digital camera better, so several of the bird pictures were out of focus. Sucks, because they could have been super cool.

And then we all got back on the bus and gleefully rode back into hell. At least I now know that there’s gin here.

V

I’m moving on up!

2005-07-12T09:39:00.000-05:00

It’s amazing how much a CLEAN HOUSE can change your whole outlook on life. My new house freaking rocks, and it’s clean and more “upper class” for Costa Rica. Now, you have to understand, housing to Costa Ricans is solely a necessity to stay out of the rain, to have a place to keep your stuff and eat and sleep. And along that idea, Costa Ricans don’t care much about wealth or having a bunch of stuff or anything like us. They pretty much just live in the now, and work only enough to make sure they eat and have a “house.” Now, houses, 90% of them, are what we would consider shacks, really. They are all crude buildings made of simple plywood walls on the inside of most of them, and stucco on the outside while they paint very bright colors. And all of them, ALL of them, have bars on every window, every door, around every yard, and some with that curled up “do not enter” wiring stuff that we put around prisons and shit. They are not very large, and the ones that are truly “rich” houses are few and far between compared to the rest of this city. I will be sure to take some pictures soon of the neighborhood and post them so you can see how the places are made. All roofs are made with tin for some reason, I guess because it’s so cheap. Remember, houses are purely for necessity. Three of us went walking today and saw two very rich houses in one neighborhood and one of them was very Spanish-looking with the red roof tiles. We figured an American lived there. The house actually had a yard. Which is another point. Yards are not that big of a deal here. Most people, and again I’m meaning 90%, only have the small enclosed yards in the front and one inside. Houses with yards by our standards are maybe one in every 200 or so houses. They really just wouldn’t believe how we live.

So, my new house is much nicer in construction, though still a fire trap, as they all are, and is in a much nicer area. When we walked today we learned of the much nicer area around us than most, and found some great restaurants, an internet café, and several shopping centers that were nice. I’m only about eight blocks away from my old place, but it’s just a different world over here. My new family consists of Laura, a 36 year old accountant, her 18 year old son with some name that starts with a “D” (I only met him once), her mother. No men, and I didn’t ask why. There is another homestay person here, a Spanish teacher from Boston, but I haven’t met her yet. She’s visiting friends in the northern part of the country. I’ve got the freaking biggest room in the house in the back, with my own private bath. Outside my window is the inner patio, and outside my door is a room with a sunroof and some nice furniture. This must be the grandmother’s room when they are not renting to homestay people. It’s super clean and they are very nice. When I came back this evening, they had already emptied my trash in the bathroom, apparently clean my toilet, and done my laundry! It was all hanging outside on the indoor patio! Oh, that’s another thing, Costa Ricans rarely ever have dryers. Don’t know why. Well, maybe because they think electricity is expensive, though they pay way less for it than we do. Amarante’s rented, four bedroom house which IS on the very nice side (it actually has sheetrocked walls) had an electric bill of only $35.

So, things are looking up. I feel so much better about everything now that I’m out of that first place. I went to two other houses today where Barbara and Scott are living and I’ve definitely got the best deal now with this huge room and private bath. They were jealous. And there are four of us now that live within blocks of each other. We’ll be walking each other home now all the time.

Time for bed. Class manana.

V

La casa tiene RATS, es la verdad!

2005-07-11T13:08:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, definitely rats in this here house. So, I come home this evening and my “Tico mom” and her son are gone and it’s just dad and me. He’s in the kitchen and I go in there to say hi to the dog in the laundry room where she “lives.” I feel sorry for the poor thing. I would bring her home if I could. She can go “outside,” but it is an all-concrete, totally enclosed patio. I hate shit like that. But anyway, just as Tico dad is leaving the kitchen, but is definitely still within earshot, two rats run along the rafters in the laundry room and start fighting. SQUEEK! SQUEEK! So I didn’t get to have any eye contact with ol’ dad, but he knows that I know. Hell, the dog knows. She looked up casually like she hears it every night.

Now, like I said, I’m not a rodent hater. But, it’s just like if you had a house in the states and you suddenly had feral cats living in your attic, pooping and peeing and spraying their male stink everywhere. You just can’t have it. These are uninvited, non-cleaned-up-after rats. No esta fresca.

But, all is well, as I’m moving to a new home tomorrow. I talked to the homestay lady in charge this afternoon. She told my family here that I wanted to be closer to the other American students, that I was having some stress with the school. I was glad to hear that she put it that way, so things aren’t awkward tonight. However, Linda, the homestay American chick who works here, said she would investigate the home at a later date because this family wants to have more exchange students. AND, with a large emphasis on AND, this family did have a bad rating in the clean category by another American girl in the past. But, for whatever freaking reason, Linda didn’t take it seriously enough. Well, let me help you make it serious, then. I’ll have a chance tomorrow to tell Linda about the rat cha-cha in the rafters.

She did tell me about my new home, however, and it’s right across the street from this other student that I like. He’s from Austin, a twenty year old kid that works at a theatre there and he grew up in Mexico. He’s forcing me to speak in Spanish with him only. It pisses me off at times because I can’t get the words right, but I know he’s doing me a favor. So, he’ll be able to walk me home. At my new place I will have my own room again with an attached bathroom, fancy. Plus, it’s a mother and 36 year old daughter who live together and the daughter speaks some English. And since my main issue has been cleanliness, I’m assuming that Linda really checked this place out. Hopefully my next entry about living here is mejor, no mejor que nada.

Now to more interesting stuff. I was hoping to lose some pounds here, or put on some calf muscles or something with all of the walking, but DAMN, the food is freaking fattening and GOOD and CHEAP! I want to eat all of the time! I want to eat when I’m not hungry, it’s insane. These people eat rice and black beans every day in everything. They just make up different names for it. There’s rice and beans with chicken, rice and beans with pork, rice and beans with beef, rice and beans with eggs in the morning, rice and beans with beans, rice and beans with rice…it’s nuts. And what are the sides, you may ask? Well, of course some queso, or guacamole, or more beans and rice, or some pico, or some rice, or some beans. But I have had fruit every day. Pineapple, mango, melon, oh, and damn….that banana thing that isn’t a banana. They eat those fresh, or fried up lightly in a pan. They’re freaking good.

Tomorrow we visit a rain forest with waterfalls and then a live volcano. With my luck, the freaking thing will blow. I was better at robo lab today. At least that’s one thing. And I made this thirty second video where the letters in my name fly around in space and then come together in the correct order at the same time. I’ll have to show you later, however. Can’t e-mail it to you. BUT, what’s cool, is that this program we’re using, Adobe After Effects, is like expensive and kick ass, and we all got it free on our computers. Yeah, illegally. We get Photoshop on Monday. Sweeeeeeet. Breakin’ the law! Breakin’ the law!

V

Thursday things will fall apart???

2005-07-08T14:04:00.000-05:00

"Thursday, I don't care about you....."?????

What’s the "Thursday" part of that song from the Cure? ….. “...Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart, oh Thursday shouldn’t even start (?), it’s Friday, I’m in love.”….?? I can hear it in my head, but not reeeeeeeeeally. Obviously.

Well, new developments on the home front today. At least the beginnings of them. I had a moment with Amarante today by himself, and he asked me why I looked so sad today. “Well, a lot things,” I was thinking.

I can’t hide how I feel on the inside, Mom has always pointed this out. What was on my face at that moment was: 1) I’m sick of breathing diesel fuel with every freaking breath when I’m outside, 2) my house is dirty and it’s stressing me out, ME, the messy one3) Robo class, robotic lighting, went really fast today and I’m only one of two people starting from scratch and I couldn’t keep up and I hate it when I can’t figure something out, and 4) at lunch time I found out that a friend of mine, Mike McClure, dropped dead of a heart attack yesterday while jogging on the trail. The last thing depressed me because he was a fucking cool person, extremely intelligent and funny, was in the Texas Exes group, and helped me with getting the banquet together this year. He’s also Stan’s best friend, and Stan is a super close friend of mine, so I was sad for him. And obviously for Mike’s wife, etc., and the Exes are going to the funeral tomorrow, and so on, and all of this put together made me miss home a lot. SO, when Amarante wanted to know what was up, I told him about Mike, got a little teary eyed because of all the stress and my wanting to escape for just ten minutes, and then I said there were rats, or mice, or something in my room. He said I can move and that he would call the woman in charge this evening.

I didn’t want to be a Costa Rica wimp, I told him, nor did I want to be rude to this family by bailing, but he said rodents weren’t acceptable. So then at dinner, I went into detail with the other students about my house, and they ALL said that I had a shitty deal and needed to get out. And they’ve got a point, it’s going to stress me out in relation to my work. Then they all walked me home and said how my house was definitely shady looking even from the outside, and that theirs are definitely in a different class. Barbara pointed out that I did PAY for this, so it shouldn’t be this yucky. True. She has a freaking gated community with a security guard at the front. So, I’m going to tell Amarante tomorrow that I want to move. He thinks that I would be put in a house with one of the others, Katy. That would be good, because we would always be together, could help each other with homework, etc.

I am very sad about Mike. Cool, generous, funny, excellent people do not deserve to check out at 40-something years old. It’s just not supposed to work that way. It’s just not.

I wish his family peace, somehow.

V

Interesting night…with gin, of course

2005-07-07T13:51:00.000-05:00

Well, I’d just like to say that I am not a rodent hater. I’m not. I’ve had lots of rodents as pets. Weird, but true. Even rats. WHICH, I’d like to bring to the forefront, I am apparently sharing my room with. I’ve heard distinct rustling in the closet each evening, but I figured it COULD be large roaches, whatever. Tonight, there’s squealing. Not from the closet, but from the corner of the room at the end of the bed, where a large bean bag lives. I wonder if there’s perhaps a NEST in that bean bag. Lovely. I’m not afraid of them, but you have to admit, it’s kind of, oh, I don’t know, lower class and icky…

Speaking of which…today in class Amarante, my professor, wanted us to each talk about our experience so far. I brought up the “lower class” homes we were staying in compared to home in Texas and that I would appreciate so much my own when I was back in the states. He then proceeded to say, “Did you all realize that you are all in upper middle class homes?” There were a few “wows” and such to this. HOWEVER…

So we go to this bar that we saw on the way home yesterday in the nicer “neighborhood” with the mall. Very clean, very much like an American bar, ala Austin, with a big, outside covered patio, lots of tables. And we stay for about three hours talking and eating. Yes, yes, and drinking. The gin was PERFECT. Anyway, so all of the sudden the owner comes over to talk to us, and I was thinking, “Oh shit, we’re being American loud and he’s going to tell us to be quiet.” No, he came over to point out that the President’s brother had just come in with some friends. He wanted us to know this so we’d think it was cool, etc. I did read in my Costa Rica book that this is very normal, and that the President of Costa Rica goes wherever he wants all the time, and it’s not a big deal at all like it would be in America. So anyway, and then the "Commissioner of Tourism came in, blah blah, and “Be sure to come back tomorrow night when we have live music!” His English was excellent, and he told me he lived in England as a child and learned it there. But my POINT is that I asked about the area around his bar, because I noticed the house across the street was very fancy for San Jose, and that I had seen a maid come out and water the plants. He said it was a rich area. I told him the neighborhood that we are all staying it, and he said, “Oh yes, that is all lower class.” I KNEW it! And you wanna know where Amarante is staying?! Oh yeah, in the neighborhood with the mall. Bastard.

Interesting San Jose fact #2
Because this used to be a “small town,” there are no addresses. Literally. Nowhere. No street signs, no numbers on anything. If you want to go somewhere, you have to describe or name a landmark and then say where you want to go in relation to it. So, if I want to go home in a taxi, I have to say in Spanish, “Please take me to the Sabanilla neighborhood on the main road, two hundred meters east of the La Cosencha intersection, the white house on the right.” La Cosencha is the main street light area/intersection below my house where the gym, pharmacy, etc., is and it’s known simply for that name. So, if you want to MAIL something here, you cannot, literally, give an address. You would have to write out the paragraph, or whatever, needed to get the mail there. So I guess if I was to mail something here to my family, I would have to tell UPS or whoever, “Please deliver to the white house on the right side of the main road in Sabanilla about two hundred meters east of the La Cocencha intersection.” And I guess I’d have to write it out in Spanish and English. Nuts.

Hope the rats don’t want to cuddle. (Don’t worry CK, I’ll mail ya one.)

Adios, until manana.

P.S. I'm a little homesick today. :(

It's scary, but we're making it...

2005-07-06T13:50:00.000-05:00

Que lastima! Necesito praticar mi espanol mucho! Todas las personas que hablan MUCHO rapido, entonces yo tambien, “Uhhh…que?......Que?”

The second day in San Jose was much easier to handle simply because we are learning our way around better. Well, at least we’re learning exactly how to use the bus to get to school and to get home, and where some landmarks are (like the bars with gin). At this point, I cannot imagine ever wanting to live in this city for an extended period of time unless absolutely necessary (like this class), nor can I think of a reason to vacation here. And I’m talking about only San Jose and the surrounding area, which is the biggest hub of the whole country. Again, I can’t wait to see the rest of the country. If only we were living and working in the rest of the country. There are four million people here, and two million live in San Jose. And everyone is on top of everybody else.

I’ve noticed that there are not “neighborhoods” here, like areas where there are only homes, as we do it. Everything is smashed all together everywhere. My house is in the middle of about eight houses, and then on one side is a pharmacy/gym/gas station, on the other side a grocery store ala Tom Thumb, but not as big, of course. Also, buildings mostly are not separate here, as you would find in New York and such. My strip of houses is all built with the houses attached to one another, with tiny courtyards inside each house, on one side or the other. Dad will hate this…every window and door has bars on it, even though you can only see the street from one of them. The others, like mine, face the courtyard, which is maybe eight feet by thirty, from what I can see out my window. I haven’t had time yet to check out how the dog really lives out there. But I’m pretty sure it’s all concrete, as outside my window this morning was her poop. Surely she would go on the grass if she had any. But anyway, every window has bars obviously for protection from crime, even in the courtyards I guess so thugs know to not try jumping the roof and into the yard. So, if there’s a fire, this could suck. But, this is a very small house, maybe 900 square feet, and my bedroom door is next to the garage entrance which is the main way in and out. Actually, I think it’s the only way, as the master bedroom is in the back, and there’s no door to the outside from it. I only have to leave my bedroom, turn to the right and there’s the door to the garage. So Dad, I could go out one door and hit the garage door opener and THEN run away screaming from the fire. Well, run away into the insane traffic ten feet down the driveway and be hit by a bus.

Who would ever think I would be happy to see a mall? Well, I was this evening. We went to the main mall for dinner because there is such a big food court and because it’s on the way home. But it’s so CLEAN in there! The mall is the main place where the richer Ticos shop (Ticos is what Costa Rican’s call themselves). So, I guess this is why it’s so kept inside, and it’s spacious and all, just like one of our malls, just not so big. Funny, it’s as clean as one of our malls would be, but when we go to one back home we don’t think, “Nice! It’s so clean in here! Kick ass!” Plus, the mall here is air-conditioned! Nothing much is. I’m thankful that it gets cool in the evenings or I couldn’t sleep.

So we have dinner there, and I wasn’t very hungry as I had a snack at happy hour (woo-hoo, one of the college students in our group is a “normal drinker” by my standards!), but three in the group had steak. And I mean, STEAK. A Chop House, or other fancy kind of restaurant, steak. And they all paid around 3000 colones. That’s freaking six bucks, people! And not little steaks, more like 15-20 ounces. I’m so getting the filet mignon next time, it looked awesome! And HUGE.

Tomorrow we begin our classes. I downloaded the manual today for the first robotic lighting instrument that we will be working on, so I’m going to read a bit before I go to bed. I envy all of you with cool bedrooms, ceiling fans, and grass outside your windows.

Oh, and we students made a pact today that no one would ever ride the bus home or ride in a taxi alone. I was thrilled that one of the guys suggested this, and then we all agreed. Even if someone wanted to stay after dark at the school to work, one of the rest of us would stay with them and work on stuff or whatever, so we would always be together.

Buenos noches,

V

San Jose interesting fact #1
The bus drivers like to drive with both of the bus doors fully open most of the time. Sit close to the door and the bus goes over a really good bump, adios amigo!

Hola de Costa Rica!

2005-07-05T15:45:00.000-05:00

Well, it is my first night in San Jose and I figured I should take my last waking moments to write about my day.

San Jose is nothing like I thought it would be, not really. It is very humbling, and I already know that I will appreciate SO much when I return. The closest place that it is similar to in my travels is the far north side of London, the cheaper, scarier area of that city. Or perhaps a cheap and crowded area of Miami...another student said it's just like Mexico City. That makes sense. It is very, very dirty, crowded, and noisy. All of the cars and vans and buses, etc., are so loud! Not just honking, but the engines. This is a medium to low income country, heavier on the low side. Flying in, there were beautiful mountains and valleys and trees, but the city is dirty and hot. My house is on the main road “up” the mountain from downtown, so there is the constant traffic sound outside. However, once San Jose sleeps, starting around 11pm, it becomes amazingly quiet! Nothing moves!

The house… The houses are very simple, cheaply and poorly made structures, one on top of another. The biggest investment are the huge iron gates and doors that keep the outside out on each one. Crime is apparently a huge deal here, as we have not even had our official first meeting yet with the group, and already I’ve been warned about ten times to be careful, to not walk alone at night anywhere, and to watch like crazy for pickpockets. One of the girls from the previous group last week was robbed at knifepoint, but she gave the guy 2000 colones and he was satisfied and left. That’s four dollars to us. Enough for a decent meal here. Tonight I had tortilla soup, which came with a side of chips and quacamole, and a beer (the famous “Imperial” of Costa Rica) and my bill, with the tip and tax included, was 2800 colones. But anyway… My house is very small and crowded by our standards, reminds me of my crazy cousin Rita’s trailer home! It is also dirty by our standards, dust and dirt, bugs in corners, etc. The walls appear to be just a thin plywood on a cheap frame. I can hear home fireworks going off somewhere right now, perhaps an American for the 4th. Hope this damn place doesn’t burn down. These are simply poor people here. I have pictures of my new place in Fort Worth on the computer, but I wouldn’t dream of showing them to this family, as it would look like I was very, very rich. My parents’ house would be a mansion! Ha! Living here will definitely be very humbling, and I don’t think I’ll be apt to bitch much when I get back if my kitchen isn’t finished being remodeled or my tub still leaks.

Our classes are actually in the “Museo del los Ninos” in the middle of the city, the Children’s Museum. The building used to be a prison! I haven’t learned when it was remodeled yet, but recently, I think. You can find it online, I’ll bet. The museum really only takes up one wing of the “prison” while there is a theatre in another section, and a library, a cafeteria, and offices. We have two classrooms and an office. The museo is about a 30 minute bus ride from where I’m staying...well, plus a twenty minute walk, partly through the red light district! The bus stops very close to my house for the ride in the morning, but drops off a little ahead of my house on the ride back, so I will have to walk a couple of blocks at night. Not too thrilled about this after all of the warnings already about the crime here, but I guess I’ll get the hang of it. Tonight one of the teachers, who I’ve met before, walked me home. He, Robert, has been on the program before like me, but now is hired by Amarante, my professor, to come back and help teach others. Adam, a grad student at UT with Amarante, who has come here three times I believe, is a quirky nerd guy who did not seem to care that he was getting off five stops before me on the bus line. Robert should have gotten off with him, but being a married, older adult, he made sure the rest of us got to where we needed to go. That Adam guy is easy to talk to, but definitely in his own little nerd-land. I was irritated that he didn’t care to make sure we were getting home safely when that’s what Amarante told him to do, but was relieved when Robert just did it. Adam is a little out there. If it’s not technical, he’s not really tuning in.

Today we just got acquainted with everything, got some money, and got home by 8:30pm. (We are only one hour behind Texas time.) Robert and I went to the store about five blocks up from my house and I got some water. Not supposed to drink the tap water. Hope the tortilla soup doesn’t get to me…. Tomorrow we begin our studies. This Saturday we travel to the volcano, a butterfly sanctuary of some kind, and a coffee plantation. Sunday is for resting.

More tomorrow hopefully. I will post pictures of my room today. More pictures in the next couple of days. Adios.

V

Where the hell have I been?

2005-06-30T16:49:00.000-05:00

Not that anyone has been reading anyway, but as some may start, I'm putting in a quick note.

I'm off to Costa Rica on Monday for five weeks to attend classes with the Institute for Digital/Performing Arts in San Jose. This program was designed by a favorite professor of mine from UT who I have kept in touch with for the past ten years. (If it's supposed to be "whom" I've kept in touch with, just bite me.) So, I obviously had an edge for getting into the program. Or maybe it was my pure genius. Yeah, that's probably it. Anyway, I'll be writing here about life in Costa Rica, as opposed to sending lots of e-mails to everyone. So, enjoy, and let me know if I'm keeping you amused. Adios!

Blog you!

2004-11-15T11:48:00.000-06:00

Wow, I actually have people looking at this thing, as I have friends and family asking why I haven't updated it in months. Well, I've been busy. It's not because I haven't been drinking, Lord knows that...as do most bar patrons in Fort Worth. No, I've been busy, and computer-less and such, but all is changing as I just bought a laptop online last night. Woo-hoo!!! So, more to come...but first, let me freshen up my drink.

Wine and Waxing

2004-09-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

When your personal life goes south, friends and family feel obligated to cheer you up with food and beverage. Because, let's face it, what could be better than adding on the pounds and increasing your dependency on liquor during times of personal introspection?..... If you said "more liquor and free food" then you get an "A," my friend.

So, I'm on the way to free-food-and-wine friend's house, but I stop at Kroger to pick up some chicken. This is what I was told to bring. Not wine or an appetizer, but chicken thighs. While I'm there, I also get other stuff...cat liter, cat food, cat hairball remedy, and shower cleaner. You know, regular groceries. Now, it's known to all of us that shop at Kroger that they regularly hire sackers who are "special needs" adults. (For those of you up north, we actually hire people in Texas to sack our groceries...I know you're jealous.) Meaning, adults with down syndrome, mild forms of mental retardation, etc. I find this to be a wonderful practice and wish these individuals were more commonly working among us. I've had the privilege of working with special needs children many, many times, and they are joyous and kind people. They are also verrrry direct. But back to my story...

So I'm at the check-out stand and there's not a sacker available, so I go with the "up north" approach and start doing it myself. Suddenly, a large man with an extremely loud and high pitched voice taps me quite fiercely on the shoulder and says, "EXCUSE ME PLEASE." I, of course, move out of the way and let him do his job, knowing he is enthusiastic about getting it accomplished. Everything rolls along for a minute or two, and then he says, "IS THIS WAX STRIP HAIR REMOVAL KIT YOURS?" Nice....Yes, yes it is. "HOW IS YOUR HUSBAND?!" I don't have a husband. "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET MARRIED?!" Not for a long time, I say. I didn't mean to perplex him, but I was being honest. He didn't ask any more questions after that.

Dinner was great, and so was the wine. I haven't gotten to the waxing yet, however.

Drat.

2004-08-29T01:10:00.000-05:00

Carlton is "married." Damnit. This is what I was told last night by my other bartender, Chris. He just happened to mention "Carlton's wife." (Note that I said "my other bartender," as if the other patrons in the bar are merrily borrowing them from me.) Carlton was there but wasn't working, apparently having been off the clock for an hour or two but was hanging out with friends. He came up to me eventually and was talking about how he lived in Dallas, blah blah, and "his girlfriend" blah blah they live together blah blah......so, it's been one of those long term things, apparently, and Chris being a man associates long term with "marriage." Wew, I can still dream naughty things about him without guilt! The dance continues.

He talked to my friend and me for a while tonight. I had never been on the same side of the bar with him before, and in addition to my gin and soda, I was drinking in everything that was him. A sweet thing. He just bought a classic Mustang...I told him I was a classic Chevy person. He's a republican, I'm a democrat. Oh well, never the two shall meet. It was difficult to concentrate on what he said, as I couldn't help but stare at his lips.....grrrrrr. He mentioned having a dream about me last night, something about me reading a book, as I oftentimes do at the bar when I'm not meeting someone. Our conversation progressed, I asked him something about college, and then suddenly he was gone. Zip zagging away as usual. Maybe I'll learn more next time.

On a side note, the manager Paul was talking to us frequently as well. Seriously, I should just get a part-time job at this place. But anyway, he hands my friend and me our bills, and she notices that one of my gin and sodas is on her bill. So we point this out to him and he takes them both back. I had eaten and had three drinks, we were there for about four hours. The ticket I returned to him was for $18.50, but when he handed back the new one he had comped everything but one drink and my bill was now $3.50. My girlfriend and I just sort of gasped and then looked at each other's bills...he had done the same thing to both. No reason, no explanation, he just winked and said "See you next time." God, I LOVE this bar....

I love this bartender...

2004-08-26T21:12:00.000-05:00

Have you heard that song? The "Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm, I love this bar" song? It's by Toby Keith. Sexy sound. I love that song because I completely know what he's singing about. That home away from home kind of place where you feel like Norm and recognize people. We all love bars. Who doesn't? Well, I guess people who don't drink. We feel sorry for those people.

Sure, I love the bar. But the reason why I love the bar is the bartender. It's a known fact that the more you frequent a drinking establishment and the more the bartender gets to know you, the less he starts charging you for the drinks. It's extremely handy. I am female, however. That must lend its benefits. Regardless, I've got these two main places I go to in town. I go for the atmosphere, sure, but most importantly because I can sit down and have a drink within 3.5 seconds without ever ordering. At one place in particular, I only get charged for every other drink. It's sweet.

I dated a bartender once. My friends and I always went to this same country joint in Austin. Every Friday night, dancing the night away. We were super buff back then. We worked out, hard, Monday through Thursday at the gym. Sweat pouring down the stair-climber, upping the weights to a heavier set for fewer, harder repititions. And then on Friday we danced. We did not go there to pick up men...actually, I was the only non-married one. We went there to dance. All night. And then one day this hotty bartender was there. He was hot. Hahhhhhhhht. I flirted for over a year across that bar. I had already decided to move out of Austin for a job when we all went dancing one night. He and I met in the bathroom hallway, him coming out, me going in. And he gave me "that look" and touched my oh-so-flat and tight tummy that was peeking out of my shirt (it was the style, you know). Just a quick touch, as he passed by. It was one of those moments when everything stops, and you're only aware of the two of you. I melted. It was very quick, and then he was gone down the hall, back to work. I stayed until closing that night, and we kissed on his driveway as I dropped him off at home. His roommate had borrowed his car. Convenient. We dated for two and half years. My family was thrilled when they first heard about him. We're Irish. We love all bartenders. But eventually the two of us changed and went our seperate ways. We still e-mail. He's married now and lives in New York.

So this other regular place I go to now in Fort Worth has a hottie bartender. His name is Carlton. An old-fashioned name, but you've got to admit that it's hot. He's not an actual, datable kind of guy. He's a safe, "I just want to look at you and drink my gin really slow" kind of guy. The "I'm just going to do naughty things to you in my mind so we never have to date and break up and realize we wasted our time" kind of guy. Besides, he's younger than me, a Republican, and is, well, a bartender. I don't know much else about him. He could be a nuclear physicist for all I know, but I'm thinking he's just a bartender. He talked about college tonight, about being in a play once. I learn these short, fleeting facts about him now and again. He moves so fast while working...I only get these short sentences out of him and then he's rushing down to the other end, filling drinks, serving food.

And this is all perfect. For I don't want to know much more. I go to be with my friends, to have great conversation, eat good food, and to watch that sexy little thing zig and zag all around that bar. Well, and to flirt outloud in a naughty way now and again. He just smiles. You'd do the same, I'm sure.

Bad blog writing and lesbians

2004-08-22T19:05:00.000-05:00

Liquor makes people do funny things. Well, of course, there are the not so funny things... like driving your car into a ditch or over your cat in the driveway. Or, even worse things. But all in all, we get a little ballsy when we're tipsy and we do things we wouldn't do otherwise...and funny things happen.

Take my friend Matt, for example. He was singing and dancing on top of a table in a Houston bar last week. This weekend, he ticked off a large, burly boyfriend of this girl that he chose to dance with, who subsequently decided to make out with Matt's neck. Matt, obviously, allowed the neck-make-out to ensue, and thus burly boyfriend caused a "bar scene." Even better, two weeks ago this "older woman" came on to him pretty hard in a bar. They got to talking, she said she was from "deep Europe" and that her name was Rossette. Eventually ol' Ross got tipsy crazy and suddenly yelled, "I hate women!" and some other expletives that even I can't write down. Come to find out, good looking older woman was really a heavily make-uped man in a dark bar. Funny shit.

A couple of years ago I went to a favorite bar with a girlfriend of mine. It was a Tuesday night, I think, but we didn't care and ended up drinking more than expected and having hours of great conversation. She's a lesbian, which lent for even more colorful conversation once our inhibitions were down. Because, let's face it...when you get to really drinking and talking, you're going to talk about sex. It's like an unsaid rule of drinking. And I don't mean sex jokes. I mean you talk about sex. So, this guy that we now call "Moby Dick Man" was sitting close to us at the bar reading, of course what else, Moby Dick. He's there a lot, always alone and always reading. Moby Dick was his companion for quite a while. But that night, sitting closeto my friend and me, I noticed he hadn't flipped a page in a looong time. So I quietly signaled my friend in that sly way that only girls can do, and we sauced up the lesbian conversation just for fun. He got an earful.

So I saw Moby Dick man Friday night. He only had a newspaper with him. He circled the bar at least five times, as there wasn't an open seat, and I guess he thought that if he just circled it onnnnne more time that a seat would be available. He always sits at the bar. It must have been pretty stressful for him.

Anyway, my lesbian girlfriend was there, and her partner, and Matt. We drank a couple and then headed downtown. Ended up in an Irish pub, McIntires, though the only thing Irish about it was the neon sign in the front window. We find a spot at the end of the bar right in front of one of those dollar trivia game machines. So, naturally we have to play trivia. And since I've been drinking, I of course put in the five dollar bill instead of the one. Just a funny little thing you'll do while drinking, spend a lot of money. Luckily for Matt and the lesbians, there was "Erotic Trivia." And I say lucky for them because every now and again when we got a question right a picture of a naked woman popped up on the screen. Much cheering was had. And I'm sure much talking was going on among the group of frat boys that were standing behind us. Ahhh....just another night on the town.

Three happy hours later....

2004-08-01T12:59:00.000-05:00

So, in sharing with others that I've started a blog, I've learned something very important. No one gives a shit about my blog. Or blogs in general, for that matter. Well sure, if you're the Rude Pundit or something (http://rudepundit.blogspot.com), then people what to read your blog. But if you're just some normal person with self-adulating dreams of being reeeeeally interesting, you're one in a million. Only your mom will call you and tell you how great it is. Figures.

So I've been to a couple of happy hours since my first posting, and to my surprise, nothing really interesting happened. Usually when you get together liquor and, well, anybody, something entertaining is bound to happen. But not to disappoint, I do have something to write about. (Hi mom.) Last night interesting things happened that caused me to NEED to drink, so I'll talk about that.

I don't have children. Maybe some day I'll be lucky enough to be married to someone who is totally dedicated to family, and together we'll start one based on love and commitment. But for now, I just get to watch other people with their kids and wonder what it's like, or take notes on what I don't want it to be like.

Which brings me to my very important point....what if you have kids and they're fucking ugly? I met two of the ugliest kids on the planet last night, and amazingly and horrifically, they were related. I mean, what's the chance that BOTH of your kids will scare rocks back into the dirt?

I was taken to this play performed by 120 students of a "summer theatre camp." At one point, the woman next to me taps me on the shoulder and says, "That's my son." Good God woman, why do you point him out to people?! The kid is only around 10, so hopefully he'll grow out of it, but daaaaaaaang.

His mother is the typical Texas soccer mom...very pretty, long blond hair, manicured nails. The father is less handsome than she is, but not "fugly." I tried my best not to stare at this kid during the show. LIke it would have really been obvious in an audience of 500 and a cast of 120 where I was staring. But it was kind of like when you're at a social event and in walks some women with huge boobs that she's barely covering up with a dishcloth of a shirt, and you don't want to look because you are a straight female, but she's obviously wearing that shirt because she wants people to look, so you do your best to nonchalantly stare at them several times. (If you're male, take out the "nonchalant" part.)

So the show ends and I'm chatting with parents of dog face and up walks the 13 year old daughter. Holy CRAP she's ugly. GOD, how is it POSSIBLE that these two people spawned these rodents? It's like every microscopic aspect of possible ugliness from the parents all got together for a party on these two kids' faces. Minutes pass, and the instructions in my head become deafening, "Exit promptly and consume large quantity of gin."

Which is what I did, of course. It was difficult eating my breaded and baked orange roughy to not compare it to those kids' faces, but the dirty martini helped me smile. Here's a toast to not having kids yet. Ooh, and here's another toast to having another drink. Wew.

There were, however, some nice moments during the show. It was quite trite, and haphazardly put together, but some of the music and singing was actually quite beautiful. There were several themes throughout, about love and loss (the show was dedicated to an 18 year old who died from cancer), parents and kids, things like that. The one line that really stood out to me was during a song about how life isn't really much without love.

A little girl sang, "Can you still dance, even when you are far away?"

I smiled and closed my eyes. Yes...yes, you can.

What to say...

2004-07-29T11:21:00.000-05:00

My sister is the real writer in the family. In my silly dream world that plays out in my head before I fall asleep at night I'm an actress, a famous poet, a rock-n-roll singer, a lottery winner, a famous inventor, and of course, a published and revered writer. I won two dollars once in the lotto. I'm still working on the rest.

My mother and grandmother tried to be writers once, producing a seedy Harlequin-esque novel called "Dawn of Desire." I remember clearly as a 1o year old watching my mother type away on this huge manual type writer with stacks of paper all over the dining room table. One publisher was interested, but informed my mother and grandmother that there was already a trashy sex novel called "Dawn of Desire." The publisher also suggested that they needed to re-write some chapters. I don't remember any writing after that.

My father can write very well, but only does so every now and then. For example, when he has inspiring words for his daughter away at college, in a poem about his love for his youngest daughter, or in calm responses to his brother's moronic and frequent hate mail that outlines how everyone in the family, except him, sucks.

But my sister, she's truly a writer. She's the reason I'm even starting this blog, because hey, I want to be cool, too. I want to have a cool blog with genius commentary. So, let's not talk about her.

The first thing you're faced with when beginning your blog is its title. It took about 1.3 seconds to chose "Gin and Soda" because, well, I drink a lot of gin and soda. No, not tonic. Too sweet. Blogs usually have a theme, a purpose behind the entries...like politics, or travel, or some other pertinent topic that results in dramatic entries that inspire and teach. I'm pretty inspired by happy hour. So, I figure my entries will center around the people and happenings of happy hours that I attend in Fort Worth, Texas. Stay tuned, I'm going to one in six hours.