Pig City

All is quiet in Cajamarca as every one is home from work and school and eating massive plates of rice, meat, and potatoes. It is thundering and is only minutes before it starts to downpour. It does this every afternoon. Oh here it is. The rain falls hard. In my opinion there is no better time to disclose information than during a rainstorm. Here is some new information and it has not been copywritten.

Today I met my neighbor. His name is Valentino and he is 6 months old. He is also a monkey. The black and hairy kind. He made a good first impression on me.

Some people call me psycologo and most people call me professor. Most of those people are little girls.

My shower count is up dramatically to 2.5 showers in total. I have only been here 10 days so that is a shower every 4 days. If I would have known that I could shower that much here then I would have brought soap and shampoo. Oh well!

Sometimes I say things like, "I want to see a pig." Then sometimes I see a pig.

There was this kid who we named comida boy for obvious reasons. Once he was done eating he spun around in circles and tried to leave the cafe. However his father lured him back to the table with a 2 liter bottle of Inca Cola. Comida boy has since to be seen, but I am pretty sure I saw his vomit on the street last night.

First for Every Thing

Right now I am living in Peru and trying to improve my Spanish skills at a rate that may not even be possible for the most brilliant minds in the world. To say the least, I am suffering from a short term disease that is called over-stimulation. This disease can be contracted in more ways than one, but I do not feel the need to explain the more perverse ways. With that being said, today the disease progressed to an entirely new level. A level that can only be compared to being high on heroine (disclaimer: I have never tried heroine, and will never unless it is snuck into my cereal).

Today was a day of firsts!

At approximately 9:03 am I took my first shower since arriving in Peru. I have been here a week already so one can imagine how stimulating the shower was. The moment the water touched my skin, I forgot all the Spanish I knew. Seconds later I applied soap and instantaneously forgot the English language. From there I applied shampoo and conditioner and lost my entire chilldhood. Fortunately in Peru the streets are extremely dusty and as soon as I was exposed again I became less stimulated and began to remember all the things I once knew.

A few hours later I was in a 15 passenger van on the way to the country and before we could leave the streets of Cajamarca we crashed into a taxi. This was my first real car accident and by real accident, I mean the first car accident I have participated in, in which both vehicles were moving. Nicolas the driver said it was his first car accident as well.

Finally after driving around the city aimlessly for half an hour, stopping at the police station to pay for the accident, a market to buy beer and ice, and someones house to get something else, we left the city. As we climbed and climbed, reaching an altitude of over 10,000 feet we crossed many bridges. But these were not ordinary bridges. These were bridges made out of wood panes that bounced up and down as cars drive over them. This was the first time I feared for my life. But after driving over 3 of them I got used to the shakyness and stopped living bridge to bridge.

The destination was a birthday party on top of a mountain. This was my first Peruvian fiesta and perhaps the most overstimulating event of the day. The party started with lots of drinks. Once every one was content with their level of intoxication the first course of food came. I should mention that their were places set at 4 tables for about 50 people. Then their were another 30 or so people eating in the lawn which looked out onto an incredible view of a typical Andean farm with pigs, donkeys, horses, two giant peaks, and a green valley separating them. The first course was chicken, beef, ham, potatoes and some purple vegteables that looked too purple to eat. Then came the second course which was guiney pig, rice, and potatoes. The woman to the right of me was persistent in trying to convince me to try the guiney pig but I reasoned that in my country guiney pig is a pet and I have known too many respectable guiney pigs throughout my life to consume them. The next course was a bland vanilla cake. And the next course was two more cakes, which we all crowded around and sung happy birthday in 3 different ways upon the cakes presentation. Many speeches were made and we were led to their private church to admire its beauty.

And tonight was my first earthquake. This actually was a bit humorous because the waitresses in the cafe who were all Peruvian started screaming upon feeling the room tremble and watching the chandelier shake vigorously. The chief waitress yelled at the screamers to remain calm. The customers sat calmly and watched with pleaure the paintings on the wall tilt back in forth. The earthquake was like a weak amusement park ride. It lasted about 30 seconds, a few people screamed, and I felt ripped off once it was over.

Buenas Noches desde Cajamarca!

Mira

Hello every one and welcome to Cajamarca. Today it is 75 degrees, partly cloudy, and extremely dusty.

I have very little news so far other than I am psychologist, a teacher, and a father. Two of those are true.

Home is now a luxerious apartment with 1200 square feet, a working toilet and a bird named Mercadito. One of those is true.

Even though Peru is said to be a third world country, I witnessed some of the most progressive events of my life. A gay and lesbian child parade, a lot full of solar powered cars, and a talking monkey. None of those are true.

Thank You Mr. Cookie

Happily, I write from that vulnerable transition stage of my life, the one where I don’t yet have financial security nor do I have plans to dig myself out of potential bankruptcy. The stage where I am taking a year to find myself, climb to the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs- reaching the ultimate goal of self-actualization. However, I realize embarking on a yearlong adventure to South America is not traditional. And I feel nothing but lucky and privileged. This is the ultimate opportunity!

But before I embark on this mighty experience, and all the while seeming ungrateful, there is someone I must thank. This someone has been behind the scenes of my life for 15 years now doing all the nitty-gritty work, and rarely ever receives so much as a small token of appreciation. Not a day goes by that parents, siblings, and friends don’t overshadow him, but he remains quiet in his modesty, never saying a thing. He has been a friend, a brother, a dentist, and a decision maker. But most importantly, this individual has made it all possible. He has done the work. Although 7 years younger than I, he has reared me to become a strong, confident individual. One who can leave the home and not crumble at the site of adversity, rather embrace it as a challenge. I cannot yet prove that he is my biological father, but the day awaits when technology is advanced enough.

Allow me to publicly introduce and thank Cookie.

For those of you who have not yet had the pleasure to meet Cookie, you should know that he is a cockatiel (species of parrot family, native to Australia).

I thank Cookie for the long talks, the showers, the teeth cleaning.
I thank Cookie for his honesty, his critique, his input.
I thank Cookie for his whistling, his loans, his patience.
I thank Cookie for his open-mind, his ideas, his ability to fix toilets.

Thank you Mr. Cookie!

Consumerism

Last night I sat in the upper deck of Busch stadium surrounded by 47,900 baseball fans. A subtle breeze crept across my nose, a foul-ball landed just seats away, and the outfield glistened green. It was a perfect night, as every night seemed to be at the home of the Cardinals. The arch peaked over left field, the aroma was that of $6.25 bud light, and the bleachers were filled-in red. In a night where my days left in St. Louis had been limited to fewer than the Cardinals magic number, I fought hard not to cry at this beautiful site. But before I get sappy and sentimental, I would like to change the subject to the profound realization that I stumbled upon during the game.

While trying to keep my composure during a 2nd inning, 2 run cubs rally, naturally, I built up a bit of gas inside my colon. During a normal game, perhaps against the Giants, Mets, Red Sox (anyone besides the Cubs), I would have either held-in the gas and waited for an appropriate time for its release, or I would have slowly let it out, muffling it against the back of my seat. However, this game happened to be against the Cubs and there happened to be a young woman sitting in front of me, dressed in all blue and cheering obnoxiously for her consistently inconsistent squad. In this scenario, the scrupulous thing to do was neither of the above-mentioned options. This was a special situation and it called for special measures. So I scooted up a tad, so that I was nearly at the edge of my seat. I pushed off with my toes so that my knees were elevated and the proper airways were free, then I pointed at her ear and released. This way the gas wouldn’t get blocked by the back of her head, rather the breeze would twirl it around her cheek and into her sniffing zone.

To my surprise, and probably to hers as well, my passed gas smelled like urine does after eating asparagus. I thought back to lunch and realized I consumed some small pieces of chopped up asparagus in a stir-fried vegetable dish. I remember my urine smelling shortly after, but I hadn’t farted yet all day so I had no basis of comparison. Once I finally put two and two together, and realized that it was in fact the asparagus that affected the odor of my gas, I was in tears. Not because I was happy about this groundbreaking, new scientific law, not because Mulder had given up two runs, and not because Busch stadium was just weeks away from being blown up. I cried at the miserable feeling of betrayal. I have known asparagus for so many years, but have never known it in such a way. I thought we had an honest relationship, one based on nourishment and smelly piss. But worst of all, asparagus let me down when I needed it most. After all, she was a Cubs fan. When I committed to the point and fire, I was counting on a bitter, rancid result. Not the sweet, flowery, inviting smell of asparagus.

So here we were, asparagus and I. In a way we were consuming each other, yet ironically, we had never felt so far apart.

Child Labor Day

Tomorrow is Labor Day. And although it continues to be one of the year's most anticipated and highly regarded holidays, this year I thought we would throw a monkey wrench into the system. Switch it up. Add another shade of blue.

Here is my proposition: while all working adults are at home barbequing, sitting in traffic on the way home from their quaint weekend getaway spot, or sitting in a sweltering baseball stadium- all children (that means anyone under the age of 18 defined the national government, arbitrary or not) will go to their parents place of employment this labor day and carryout their parent's contracted positions to the best of their abilities.

I recognize this could cause some serious problems. For example, I know very few six year olds who are tall enough to perform open-heart surgery. I realize that there are stools and steps on wheels that are manufactured specifically for these types of situations. But the bottom line is that they are extremely unstable and, therefore both the doctor and patient would be at great risk.

And what about a truck driver? Could a 12 year old have the discipline to drive all the way from Charlotte, NC to Milwaukee, WI with a trailer full of hostess cupcakes and be trusted not to delve into the stash? In Wisconsin, this kind of shortage could result in a riot. But with all risks considered, I still think the United States of America will benefit more than they will lose from what I would like to deem from here on out as Child Labor Day.

Let's now consider some of the benefits. This is not intended to be a stab at the federal government, but if elected officials were replaced with their children (well, maybe not their children, but a few 7 year olds would do), necessary apologies would be made and troops would come home. This is about the age when children start seeing in colors other than black and white although ostensibly, this ability occasionally skips a generation.

Now lets turn to professional sports. Many children would be willing to sign a one-day contract for right around $20. Assuming the players will not be paid on Child Labor Day, the total money saved will amount to somewhere between 3 billion and 16 gazillion dollars. This extra capital could be put towards hurricane relief efforts, Tsunami victims, energy conservation programs, and national baklava day. Baklava is extremely underrated.

And for my last example I would like to consider the unemployed family. In this odd but increasingly common situation both a housewife mom and a stay at home dad are fused together to become an overly attentive parenting unit, undoubtedly causing all sorts of psychological problems. On Child Labor Day the parents and the children will switch roles, ideally resulting in a newfound sensitivity and appreciation for each other's positions that could evolve from no amount of therapy. The child will begin to understand the reasoning and theory behind swearing at the vacuum then downing a glass of brandy. And the parents will begin to understand why computer games and television are more rewarding than interacting with live human beings.

But risks and benefits aside, I truly imagine the greatest part of Child Labor Day, the part that will make it all seem worthwhile, as being the visual and auditory imagery. Teenagers speeding to their corporate offices in Mustangs and Saabs. Toddlers, post toddlers, and preteens, pacing the sidewalks, sweating through their formal wear. Slang full shrills coming from all different directions. Dirty diapers and peanut butter and jelly sandwich crusts, sticking to copy machines, examination tables, and file cabinets. Limbless GI Joe's and perfectly groomed Barbie dolls cluttering conference rooms. Subway toll operators sitting on a countless number of phone books, lawyers trying to sue for candy, and cameramen filming each other pick their noses. Finally a day of purity.

If all goes well, a year from tomorrow we will be able to wish each other a happy Child Labor Day!

Some Advice

As I write from the tropical streets of St. Louis, Missouri there is nothing more soothing than the thought of strolling through a flowery meadow in the Andes Mountains or paddling up the Amazon River only to be greeted by a pack of rabid monkeys and a flock of green-tailed macaws. But as an experienced traveler I am aware of the novice yet detrimental mistake of not planning ahead. This means failing to make a list of essential items that you may need while living abroad. In effort to prepare myself for my upcoming excursion to South America and to edify others, I have compiled a short but valuable list of the less obvious essentials.

Jelly beans- A delicious snack and will cover ransom in most developing countries

Water color paints- For when you stumble across a beautiful sunset

Two kinds of deodorant- Often our bodies become adapt to deodorant chemicals after using it for a while and thus the once fresh scent becomes masked by our horrific body odors. I learned this the hard way.

Willy Wonka Golden Ticket- You never know who it might impress

Baby Picture- Nearly all cultures are fond of babies and it could be a good source of backup identification.