BART: Bay Area Rapid Transit. The subway system sewing the San Francisco Bay area patchwork of cities into one coherent easily accessible piece. While riding, one will find all sorts of people from business men, students, messenger boys, kids, schizos, tards, fringe elephants, slut puppies, patchwork pansies, and my favorite, the drunken vagrant.
I sat across the aisle from him on a San Francisco bound train from Daly City. He was a large fellow of 6'2", short curly hair, sunken red eyes, wearing a black Lakers jacket with purple sleeves. Yeah yeah, he shouldn't be wearing that in the Frisco Bay, but no one wanted anything to do with him and his drunken slurs, ramblings, philosophies on relaxation, sex, and fatherhood. Except me. I began to write discretely in my notebook. His feet were up, relaxin' on the seat across from him. Anything in brackets [] is my interpretation of his slurs.
Greetings, Relaxation & Money:
Man, I'm just gonna sit here and relax. I aint gonna sing, i aint gonna talk...just relax. If you can't relax man, life ain't worth living.
I don't care 'bout money. Money aint nothing. I just want to relax. Don't worry bout that money shit. I go to my sister...all she wants...Respect.
Philosophy sharing on love:
You [gotta] find someone who loves you man, [otherwise] you aint acting right.
If i want to make love to my woman...I eat her ass out. I go all out...shit i go all out. We be doin' that 69...[all night]"
She said "who you wanna sleep with." Go like this *begins to sing* "lovin' you..." And tell her that you love her.
You're a lover and a gentleman. You're a daddy. I wanna look like you.
Advice on fatherhood to a man with two kids:
Thats why they respect you...cuz you there daddy.
You know what big daddy, let me tell you something...i wanna be a daddy.
The children gonna bring the best out of you.
Go to my son's...tell the mother lets make it right. I'll bring him a blanket.
I never told him this here, "I need you." I never told him i need him.
My son want one thing. My son want me to be his father...father for real. I aint no father.
You know what man...I gotta tell you something. See how it got quiet...[yeah] you already know. You already know.
Relations with the old lady:
I'm gonna shut up...not gonna say nothing.*begins to sing*
She said I talk too much. I can't ride around and not talk to anybody. She be telling me to shut up.
She say, "all you gotta do is lay it out baby...and be quiet."
Ramblings on being a fighter to a businessman on his cellphone:
They got a boxing gloves...see my hand...see my hand *pointing to scars on his knuckles*. This hand is bigger than the other...this one hit harder. I was built for fighting man...I'm a slugger...I be knockin' niggas out with this one.
Big Daddy, we fight and then we kiss. Aint that right Big Daddy *gets up to try and kiss the businessman on the cellphone*.
See my face...SEE MY FACE! Knock yo ass way out!
Why he takes the train:
Its a Rolls Royce. I just chill. Let someone else drive for me. I go all the way to Daly City. Does yo mama do that? I go anywhere i want to go.
For young girls...
Hey young man. Big Daddy. Me and my woman make love. Doin'...sneakin... Know what i do on the back of the train? Why don't you come back and see. She come to back [with] me...she about to get fucked! Aint that right.
I can ride the train all night.
Cordiality:
Big Daddy...Sir...put your legs up here. You ain't doing nothing wrong. Nobody say nothin'...Come on, put em up here. *The business man reluctantly puts his legs up on the seat across from him*
Merry Christmas!
Sadly I had to transfer to the Richmond line at 12th St, Oakland. For all i know he's still riding the rails. Maybe that makes him a hobo...hmm. The characters on subways are the best. Much love to the bay!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
SF State on Winter Solstice
It is a lovely day. Even though i had lost my iPod the night before with 30 gigs of music, photos, recorded concerts, interviews and conversations, the day felt special.
I take the Daly City shuttle to SF state with a full-lipped, Edie Sedgwick haired, English grad student. Like a character from the old school arcade game, Rampage, she came to demolish her last final; a test on Will the Shake. I'm left to wander the campus for an hour and half before i'm suppose to meet her along the path between the student center, coy pond, and humanities building.
I stalk, follow, shadow an animated girl in a blue t-shirt over a long-sleeve Fubu orange undershirt. Her bright arms wave spastically as she talks to friends on either side. The sky is blue and clear but its still rather chilly.
She's excited, either because she finished her last final and is now on her way to the campus bar; or she finished her last final yesterday, nursed the bottle since this morning, and is now on her way to the campus bar. No matter, thoughts of finding this elusive watering hole intrigue me. Plus she has a cute doop, wrapped in faded blues.
After several more character chases across this seemingly dead commuter campus devoid of vendors/booths, i end up atop the Student Center.
Bustle tranquil
Diatribes of the wanderer
Hustle to and from
Wandering eyes of the searcher
Maniacal Fascination
Bastion for the lost
Hemostatic Elevation
Gaze below the glass to the mass of minds
Enthralling studious entrapment
I am transported to the fine arts department, critically looking upon black and white photographs in plexiglas display cases. Crap crap lovely pretentious college crap living behind a 35 mm lens.
Hallways adorned with oil paintings on canvas discarded upon the floor, some face down to hide the shame of a fledgling artist, others leaning against the wall in awkward display, try to solicit my eyes. "Look at me," they urge, "Appreciate meeeeeeee..."
Down a set of stairs, I come across a piece to my liking. I study the 1st floor evacuation plan, a collage of symbols, dungeons & dragons labyrinths, and green dashes. A fine piece of workmanship, beautiful and practical...as well as in brail. Walking along the secondary evacuation route, i exit to a winter afternoon sun beginning to bathe the damp ground in warmth. I seat myself on a wooden bench downstream of the coy pond.
Pathways of hope
Leading away from listlessness
Towards the salvation of education a new generation learns to march
Rank & File. Rank & File.
Between the paved cracks, splayed by roots
March On. March On.
Slipping in the dewy glen, brushed by grass
March On. March On.
Gazing, glancing, growing tall beneath the pines
Rank & File. Rank & File.
As soon as that last line is written, i am greeted by a joyous, bouncing beauty with a chest slightly bigger than what her petite frame would suggest. Our timing is impeccable.
"Lee, i kicked sooo much ass on that final. I even got all the ID's."
"Awesome baby doll. Do you want to hear what i've been up to?"
"No. I'm hungry. Lets eat."
"Ok. I can dig."
When am i not hungry? Post eating, and post physically dragging this girl away from the make up and shoe departments at Nordstrom's, her lithe frame wiggles free of my anti-consumerism grasp and dashes into the San Rio store at the mall. I sit below the escalator, whom i like. Because when he breaks down, he can only become stairs. The out-of-order sign would read: Temporarily Stairs - Sorry for the Convenience. I wait momentarily outside the store.
Colors of childhood
Blankets of gender
Molded & pinked into fashion
In route upon the bus away from campus and its nearby mall, i notice the date displayed on the LCD screen behind the drivers seat. "December 21, 2007. I don't know why, but today feels like a special day." "Ehh, what about your iPod?" she says in reply.
"Whoever has my iPod is one lucky ass bastard. Not only do they have a kick-ass collection of tunes, they have in their possession a lovely picture i attained when i first bought it. You know, that one with apple stickers?" "Oh my!" "They better appreciate all it has to offer."
If you find a black iPod with a picture on it that loosely resembles the drawing below, contact me.
I take the Daly City shuttle to SF state with a full-lipped, Edie Sedgwick haired, English grad student. Like a character from the old school arcade game, Rampage, she came to demolish her last final; a test on Will the Shake. I'm left to wander the campus for an hour and half before i'm suppose to meet her along the path between the student center, coy pond, and humanities building.
I stalk, follow, shadow an animated girl in a blue t-shirt over a long-sleeve Fubu orange undershirt. Her bright arms wave spastically as she talks to friends on either side. The sky is blue and clear but its still rather chilly.
She's excited, either because she finished her last final and is now on her way to the campus bar; or she finished her last final yesterday, nursed the bottle since this morning, and is now on her way to the campus bar. No matter, thoughts of finding this elusive watering hole intrigue me. Plus she has a cute doop, wrapped in faded blues.
After several more character chases across this seemingly dead commuter campus devoid of vendors/booths, i end up atop the Student Center.
Bustle tranquil
Diatribes of the wanderer
Hustle to and from
Wandering eyes of the searcher
Maniacal Fascination
Bastion for the lost
Hemostatic Elevation
Gaze below the glass to the mass of minds
Enthralling studious entrapment
I am transported to the fine arts department, critically looking upon black and white photographs in plexiglas display cases. Crap crap lovely pretentious college crap living behind a 35 mm lens.
Hallways adorned with oil paintings on canvas discarded upon the floor, some face down to hide the shame of a fledgling artist, others leaning against the wall in awkward display, try to solicit my eyes. "Look at me," they urge, "Appreciate meeeeeeee..."
Down a set of stairs, I come across a piece to my liking. I study the 1st floor evacuation plan, a collage of symbols, dungeons & dragons labyrinths, and green dashes. A fine piece of workmanship, beautiful and practical...as well as in brail. Walking along the secondary evacuation route, i exit to a winter afternoon sun beginning to bathe the damp ground in warmth. I seat myself on a wooden bench downstream of the coy pond.
Pathways of hope
Leading away from listlessness
Towards the salvation of education a new generation learns to march
Rank & File. Rank & File.
Between the paved cracks, splayed by roots
March On. March On.
Slipping in the dewy glen, brushed by grass
March On. March On.
Gazing, glancing, growing tall beneath the pines
Rank & File. Rank & File.
As soon as that last line is written, i am greeted by a joyous, bouncing beauty with a chest slightly bigger than what her petite frame would suggest. Our timing is impeccable.
"Lee, i kicked sooo much ass on that final. I even got all the ID's."
"Awesome baby doll. Do you want to hear what i've been up to?"
"No. I'm hungry. Lets eat."
"Ok. I can dig."
When am i not hungry? Post eating, and post physically dragging this girl away from the make up and shoe departments at Nordstrom's, her lithe frame wiggles free of my anti-consumerism grasp and dashes into the San Rio store at the mall. I sit below the escalator, whom i like. Because when he breaks down, he can only become stairs. The out-of-order sign would read: Temporarily Stairs - Sorry for the Convenience. I wait momentarily outside the store.
Colors of childhood
Blankets of gender
Molded & pinked into fashion
In route upon the bus away from campus and its nearby mall, i notice the date displayed on the LCD screen behind the drivers seat. "December 21, 2007. I don't know why, but today feels like a special day." "Ehh, what about your iPod?" she says in reply.
"Whoever has my iPod is one lucky ass bastard. Not only do they have a kick-ass collection of tunes, they have in their possession a lovely picture i attained when i first bought it. You know, that one with apple stickers?" "Oh my!" "They better appreciate all it has to offer."
If you find a black iPod with a picture on it that loosely resembles the drawing below, contact me.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Witchcraft: 11-10-07 @ Slim's in San Francisco
Since travels are over...here's a music concert review.
The first time I see the Swedish band, Witchcraft, they are sandwiched between the fire-breathing outfit, Rosemary’s Billygoat and the inanely dressed rockers, Green Jello. This is a Saturday night in Hollywood. I am one of only three fans positioned stage-front when the set starts. Seven songs later, I am one of 25.
A year goes by and Witchcraft has just released their third album, “The Alchemist” on Rise Above Records. In celebration of their rising flame in the aptly named stoner-rock genre, the band makes a stop at Slim’s in San Francisco as they travel north on their 2nd U.S. tour. I am not missing them.
This will be my second experience with Witchcraft. I realize I am now one of over a hundred fans. The show plays out like this.
Witchcraft: Four wart nosed ladies with ratty coarse black hair, streaked grey with the screams of their victims virginal countenance, gather 'round their cauldron of toil-trouble boil-bubble to pound doom-e psychedelic swirls upon my ears so subtle. I'm lost. Without the help of pearly stones to guide my way home I wander the paths of the occult between skeleton-branched trees and clinging fog shimmering beneath the wane of the yellow moon.
They reveal their origins to me in spine shivering warmth: "I was born past midnight, 'neath the gloom of the darkest moon-ah. Oh my mother was a burning wiiitch, and my father was a preacher-ooorr," as well as their intentions. "Chylde of fire burn the liar noooow!"
I stumble, unable to run. Upturned hands with spell-crooked fingers gather around me, as if the audience grasps an orb that foresees my doom. Other hands display the typical devil horns with pinky and index finger held up to mock the heavens and revel in the heavy majesty of sweltering blues-tinged guitar solos over 70's Sabbath drenched riffing. The thunderous drums impending thump chases one, as the Cream-laden bass tones engulf thee. The occult like lyrics delivered in sinewy Swedish accented charm, entrance and weave their magic (The 70’s band Pentagram comes to mind). Helpless I am to Witchcraft.
I knew coming here would spell the end for me. To travel to Slim's in San Francisco to see this 4-piece Swedish stoner-doom-metal outfit was not of my own volition after being enchanted by a listen from their 3rd release, "The Alchemist".
At first glance, you'd never suspect their dark background; the band consists of 4 guys, rather lanky & tall, with manes of long hair, in bell-bottom jeans and vintage t-shirts. The bassist Ola Hendrikkson looked exactly like David Gilmour from “Dark Side of the Moon” era Pink Floyd, while lead guitarist John Hoyles resembled a blond Jimmy Page. I couldn't help but notice the vocalist/guitarist, Magnus Pelander, was wearing a "TooL" t-shirt; when he wasn't playing guitar or singing, he was pointing to it.
At one rather light moment during the set, Hoyles rattles off a solo, while Pelander gives a shout, “Washing Machine!” The singer proceeds to swing his hips in circles as if trying to keep afloat an invisible hula-hoop.
With Fredrik Jansson on drums, Witchcraft worked the whole crowd into a beer-swilling, head-pounding frenzy.
Beer cups thrown on stage: 3
People kicked out: 1
Fellows completely and utterly possessed out of their minds and half naked: 1
Times Witchcraft came back out on stage to appease the screaming masses: 2
Times "WITCHCRAFT" was chanted, screamed, yelled and hollered: hundreds
Check out the band’s other albums "Witchcraft" (2004) and "Firewood" (2005) at Rise Above Records. Until they make their 3rd U.S. tour, I wait once again to be placed beneath the fiery spell of Witchcraft.
http://www.myspace.com/witchcraftswe
http://www.riseaboverecords.com
- Lucifer Sam
The first time I see the Swedish band, Witchcraft, they are sandwiched between the fire-breathing outfit, Rosemary’s Billygoat and the inanely dressed rockers, Green Jello. This is a Saturday night in Hollywood. I am one of only three fans positioned stage-front when the set starts. Seven songs later, I am one of 25.
A year goes by and Witchcraft has just released their third album, “The Alchemist” on Rise Above Records. In celebration of their rising flame in the aptly named stoner-rock genre, the band makes a stop at Slim’s in San Francisco as they travel north on their 2nd U.S. tour. I am not missing them.
This will be my second experience with Witchcraft. I realize I am now one of over a hundred fans. The show plays out like this.
Witchcraft: Four wart nosed ladies with ratty coarse black hair, streaked grey with the screams of their victims virginal countenance, gather 'round their cauldron of toil-trouble boil-bubble to pound doom-e psychedelic swirls upon my ears so subtle. I'm lost. Without the help of pearly stones to guide my way home I wander the paths of the occult between skeleton-branched trees and clinging fog shimmering beneath the wane of the yellow moon.
They reveal their origins to me in spine shivering warmth: "I was born past midnight, 'neath the gloom of the darkest moon-ah. Oh my mother was a burning wiiitch, and my father was a preacher-ooorr," as well as their intentions. "Chylde of fire burn the liar noooow!"
I stumble, unable to run. Upturned hands with spell-crooked fingers gather around me, as if the audience grasps an orb that foresees my doom. Other hands display the typical devil horns with pinky and index finger held up to mock the heavens and revel in the heavy majesty of sweltering blues-tinged guitar solos over 70's Sabbath drenched riffing. The thunderous drums impending thump chases one, as the Cream-laden bass tones engulf thee. The occult like lyrics delivered in sinewy Swedish accented charm, entrance and weave their magic (The 70’s band Pentagram comes to mind). Helpless I am to Witchcraft.
I knew coming here would spell the end for me. To travel to Slim's in San Francisco to see this 4-piece Swedish stoner-doom-metal outfit was not of my own volition after being enchanted by a listen from their 3rd release, "The Alchemist".
At first glance, you'd never suspect their dark background; the band consists of 4 guys, rather lanky & tall, with manes of long hair, in bell-bottom jeans and vintage t-shirts. The bassist Ola Hendrikkson looked exactly like David Gilmour from “Dark Side of the Moon” era Pink Floyd, while lead guitarist John Hoyles resembled a blond Jimmy Page. I couldn't help but notice the vocalist/guitarist, Magnus Pelander, was wearing a "TooL" t-shirt; when he wasn't playing guitar or singing, he was pointing to it.
At one rather light moment during the set, Hoyles rattles off a solo, while Pelander gives a shout, “Washing Machine!” The singer proceeds to swing his hips in circles as if trying to keep afloat an invisible hula-hoop.
With Fredrik Jansson on drums, Witchcraft worked the whole crowd into a beer-swilling, head-pounding frenzy.
Beer cups thrown on stage: 3
People kicked out: 1
Fellows completely and utterly possessed out of their minds and half naked: 1
Times Witchcraft came back out on stage to appease the screaming masses: 2
Times "WITCHCRAFT" was chanted, screamed, yelled and hollered: hundreds
Check out the band’s other albums "Witchcraft" (2004) and "Firewood" (2005) at Rise Above Records. Until they make their 3rd U.S. tour, I wait once again to be placed beneath the fiery spell of Witchcraft.
http://www.myspace.com/witchcraftswe
http://www.riseaboverecords.com
- Lucifer Sam
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Doctor
Braden, a fellow from New York i met in Hostel Tamarindo in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, took us out to eat. Ronald from Germany had just arrived from Miami. "The girls are so dressed up. Miami is crazy sexy cool." Dusty & Sarah from Bellingham, WA recognized me from the Bearded Monkey Hostel in Granada, Nic...though i didn't recognize 'em. "You remind me of a friend of mine," said sarah. And me...still deciding whether to go to the bay islands for my open water diving cert, or to head west and see if i can squeeze in Guatemala.
Pecos Bill is where he took us, because the Bohemian bar we wanted to mingle in was closed. Braden works in the ER of a local hospital as well as at a girls orphanage. He didn't much like the ER, because a camera crew films all the operations and traumas for network television. Hospitals have to make money somehow. "i'll be working on a patient and a camera is right there intrusive and if you tell them to get out of your way, they'll start arguing that they have a right to be there and it gets you nowhere. I feel bad for the patients...i just try to keep my face off the camera."
"Everyone carries machetes around here. But the gangs carry shotguns. We had a fellow in here who got his groin blown off by a shotgun blast." The camera filming it all. I'd rather be dead than live on network television without my bits and pieces.
"We once had a whole crew of fisherman helicoptered in from the bay islands after their shrimping vessel exploded. They came in with roughly 80% burns over their body. Its the rule of nines. Each leg is 18%. Your front and back are each 18% as well. Each arm is 9%. Your head is 9%. the groin is 1%. The worst part was they had severed ears, hands about to fall off, and major cuts and lacerations across their bodies as well. We come to find out they were drinking and since everyone carries machetes, they started hacking eachother up. This probably led to the ship exploding."
We ended the night with Port Royal...hondura's Premium Lager....and some words of advice. "if you ever get stung by a stingray, the best thing to do is soak the afflicted area in hot water. As hot as you can stand. This will denature the proteins in the poison and it won't be able to bind to the skin."
The following day Dusty, Sarah, Ron and I left for Copan. Braden was sad to see us go. A lone gringo in a sea of Hondureño. Cheers to Braden.
Pecos Bill is where he took us, because the Bohemian bar we wanted to mingle in was closed. Braden works in the ER of a local hospital as well as at a girls orphanage. He didn't much like the ER, because a camera crew films all the operations and traumas for network television. Hospitals have to make money somehow. "i'll be working on a patient and a camera is right there intrusive and if you tell them to get out of your way, they'll start arguing that they have a right to be there and it gets you nowhere. I feel bad for the patients...i just try to keep my face off the camera."
"Everyone carries machetes around here. But the gangs carry shotguns. We had a fellow in here who got his groin blown off by a shotgun blast." The camera filming it all. I'd rather be dead than live on network television without my bits and pieces.
"We once had a whole crew of fisherman helicoptered in from the bay islands after their shrimping vessel exploded. They came in with roughly 80% burns over their body. Its the rule of nines. Each leg is 18%. Your front and back are each 18% as well. Each arm is 9%. Your head is 9%. the groin is 1%. The worst part was they had severed ears, hands about to fall off, and major cuts and lacerations across their bodies as well. We come to find out they were drinking and since everyone carries machetes, they started hacking eachother up. This probably led to the ship exploding."
We ended the night with Port Royal...hondura's Premium Lager....and some words of advice. "if you ever get stung by a stingray, the best thing to do is soak the afflicted area in hot water. As hot as you can stand. This will denature the proteins in the poison and it won't be able to bind to the skin."
The following day Dusty, Sarah, Ron and I left for Copan. Braden was sad to see us go. A lone gringo in a sea of Hondureño. Cheers to Braden.
Friday, October 19, 2007
just piss on it
If you get tangled with a jellyfish, the poison is a base. Remember chemistry class in highschool? Remember the experimental volcano of vinegar and baking soda? Well you should.
Now, recall that beloved croc enthusiast. Yeah, you know him. Crikey! He´s really pissed off now! The world mourned him when he tragically pissed off a sting ray. Startled, the large sting ray whipped the spike on its tail right into his sternum...and his heart.
It must have been painful...the poison, slowly seeping, spreading, making things numb and unbearingly fiery at the same time...similar to a jellyfish sting. I know. But the ray, missed my heart...that bastard.
At remanzo beach yesterday, i realized my surfboard didn´t have enough wax on it, so i walked back into shore. At first, it felt like a bite upon my ankle...like teeth, then for a split second...nothing. then Wham! Something sharp drove itself about a half inch into my ankle. It was worse than falling down wet tile stairs in your hostel. The water was a tad above knee deep.
I limped out and saw oxygen rich red blood spurting out. I probably should have gone to get help, or perhaps even asked more people what to do. Not me...i manned up, waxed the board, then headed back out.
If you get tangled with a jellyfish, the poison is a base. Urine is an acid. If you drink water, eat food, are alive, you likely have a supply of it.
Two hours later, i could barely walk, a swedish girl told me you should pee on it. Its much easier for a guy to pull off, than a girl. Or perhaps a girl can squat and piss on my ankle. I didn´t find any takers. Lotta, the swedish girl once got stung on her face...she made her friend squat and neutralize it. A lovely golden shower.
Perhaps beer would help. In the Canadian owned bar, Republika, i tell them my woes... Remember high school chemistry? Remember mixing vinegar and baking soda to create a volcano? well you should. They suggested vinegar...i reached for a lime.
Squeezing and rubbing half a lime over my ankle looked like a better alternative to pissing on myself. After 10 mins of intense throbbing pain...and 3 beers later...i suddenly realized it was gone.
(Dude, look at this thing, this drink is tropical. Look at the limes, look how they float. Next time i´m in a boat and it capsizes, i will reach for a lime. )
Next time i´m stung by a stingray, i will...
Now, recall that beloved croc enthusiast. Yeah, you know him. Crikey! He´s really pissed off now! The world mourned him when he tragically pissed off a sting ray. Startled, the large sting ray whipped the spike on its tail right into his sternum...and his heart.
It must have been painful...the poison, slowly seeping, spreading, making things numb and unbearingly fiery at the same time...similar to a jellyfish sting. I know. But the ray, missed my heart...that bastard.
At remanzo beach yesterday, i realized my surfboard didn´t have enough wax on it, so i walked back into shore. At first, it felt like a bite upon my ankle...like teeth, then for a split second...nothing. then Wham! Something sharp drove itself about a half inch into my ankle. It was worse than falling down wet tile stairs in your hostel. The water was a tad above knee deep.
I limped out and saw oxygen rich red blood spurting out. I probably should have gone to get help, or perhaps even asked more people what to do. Not me...i manned up, waxed the board, then headed back out.
If you get tangled with a jellyfish, the poison is a base. Urine is an acid. If you drink water, eat food, are alive, you likely have a supply of it.
Two hours later, i could barely walk, a swedish girl told me you should pee on it. Its much easier for a guy to pull off, than a girl. Or perhaps a girl can squat and piss on my ankle. I didn´t find any takers. Lotta, the swedish girl once got stung on her face...she made her friend squat and neutralize it. A lovely golden shower.
Perhaps beer would help. In the Canadian owned bar, Republika, i tell them my woes... Remember high school chemistry? Remember mixing vinegar and baking soda to create a volcano? well you should. They suggested vinegar...i reached for a lime.
Squeezing and rubbing half a lime over my ankle looked like a better alternative to pissing on myself. After 10 mins of intense throbbing pain...and 3 beers later...i suddenly realized it was gone.
(Dude, look at this thing, this drink is tropical. Look at the limes, look how they float. Next time i´m in a boat and it capsizes, i will reach for a lime. )
Next time i´m stung by a stingray, i will...
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Me Encanta la LLuvia
In costa rica, it consistently began raining in the late afternoon. In nicaragua, it consistly pours in the morning. Me encanta la lluvia.
The rain washes the dog shit off the cobble stone streets. It pits the dirt roads. It wets the tile side walks. My new pair of flip flops don´t do so well on wet tile. Its more like trying to walk across ice in sneakers. The rain also wets the tile stairs.
I slid down the stairs in my hostel, CasaOro, this morning...it wasn´t fun, but it was funny...to others. It was a slide of about 5 feet, and 7 stairs...however, going down, i said ¨motherfucker¨instead of ¨weeeeeeeeeee¨.
(As an adult, if i find myself at the top of a slide, i have to pretend i got there by accident. Oh well, guess i´ll have to go down. When having fun, its also common to refer to yourself and other people. - MH)
I met a local in a bar, Luis, who knew a little more english than i knew spanish. We helped eachother out...in exchange, he took me to a late night local bar where we drank with 20 other locals and 1 girl in little black shorts and a revealing white top who enjoyed gyrating against a stone pillar that supported the wood planked ceiling. In exchange, i gave him my pair of reef flip flops...the ones with a bottle opener on the bottom. Turns out he´s the local salsa teacher and hosts classes for two hours each day. In exchange for being a good drinking buddy, i get free salsa lessons...my first one is today.
I only meant to stay here 2 days as a restover after being treated like a beached carcass torn apart by hermit crabs as i crossed into nicaragua. My backpack makes me a huge target. I had up to 8 people following me around, selling me ¨services¨. It was an entourage without the perks. But now, after meeting so many amazing people...locals, travellers, ex-pats...i keep finding an excuse to stay another day.
San juan del sur has delved its hooks into me. I hope to writhe and wriggle free tomorrow, head north to granada...and perhaps take a week of language courses in Esteli before heading into honduras. Peace.
The rain washes the dog shit off the cobble stone streets. It pits the dirt roads. It wets the tile side walks. My new pair of flip flops don´t do so well on wet tile. Its more like trying to walk across ice in sneakers. The rain also wets the tile stairs.
I slid down the stairs in my hostel, CasaOro, this morning...it wasn´t fun, but it was funny...to others. It was a slide of about 5 feet, and 7 stairs...however, going down, i said ¨motherfucker¨instead of ¨weeeeeeeeeee¨.
(As an adult, if i find myself at the top of a slide, i have to pretend i got there by accident. Oh well, guess i´ll have to go down. When having fun, its also common to refer to yourself and other people. - MH)
I met a local in a bar, Luis, who knew a little more english than i knew spanish. We helped eachother out...in exchange, he took me to a late night local bar where we drank with 20 other locals and 1 girl in little black shorts and a revealing white top who enjoyed gyrating against a stone pillar that supported the wood planked ceiling. In exchange, i gave him my pair of reef flip flops...the ones with a bottle opener on the bottom. Turns out he´s the local salsa teacher and hosts classes for two hours each day. In exchange for being a good drinking buddy, i get free salsa lessons...my first one is today.
I only meant to stay here 2 days as a restover after being treated like a beached carcass torn apart by hermit crabs as i crossed into nicaragua. My backpack makes me a huge target. I had up to 8 people following me around, selling me ¨services¨. It was an entourage without the perks. But now, after meeting so many amazing people...locals, travellers, ex-pats...i keep finding an excuse to stay another day.
San juan del sur has delved its hooks into me. I hope to writhe and wriggle free tomorrow, head north to granada...and perhaps take a week of language courses in Esteli before heading into honduras. Peace.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
to Killer Yo
I find myself stuck in san juan del sur, nicaragua. I only meant to stay for a couple days, but now its 4. I suppose its the people that make you stay, not necessarily the place. However, i´m still searching for a companion as awesomely positive as killer.
Killer was my dog in quepos. He was a superior mut to all the other muts out there. After the night of being in a discoteca with a frog, a german, a whore, and her friend...surrounded by disapproving locals (they all knew she was a whore...they all knew we were turistas, we all knew we were drunk)...i headed off with the frog to wander the streets til dawn.
Thats when killer befriended us, wide eyed, panting tongue...hopeful. Leading us through the streets he would look back every so often to make sure we were still alright. He warded off any other dogs with a ferocious bark and would be muggers with a fiery sneer. I´ve never seen a dog so happy.
Sitting next to us on the beach, he dug around in the red dirt, licking it for minerals, then finally laying beside us. Heading back to the hostel however, we lost him to a trash can that held more promise for food than we did. He found a new friend to protect with his ferocious bark and billy idol sneer.
I miss him. To killer B!
Killer was my dog in quepos. He was a superior mut to all the other muts out there. After the night of being in a discoteca with a frog, a german, a whore, and her friend...surrounded by disapproving locals (they all knew she was a whore...they all knew we were turistas, we all knew we were drunk)...i headed off with the frog to wander the streets til dawn.
Thats when killer befriended us, wide eyed, panting tongue...hopeful. Leading us through the streets he would look back every so often to make sure we were still alright. He warded off any other dogs with a ferocious bark and would be muggers with a fiery sneer. I´ve never seen a dog so happy.
Sitting next to us on the beach, he dug around in the red dirt, licking it for minerals, then finally laying beside us. Heading back to the hostel however, we lost him to a trash can that held more promise for food than we did. He found a new friend to protect with his ferocious bark and billy idol sneer.
I miss him. To killer B!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Its somewhat hard to leave costa rica.
I´m staying now for a 3rd night in La Fortuna. I missed the bus at 8 am this morning to Tilaran, which from there, i can take north to Liberia, and then the Nicaraguan border. I did a "don´t attempt to bike to the waterfalls unless your Lance Armstrong" (lonely planet) trek to la catarata...using a bike i rented that had stickered to its side, a decal that read, "Born to Be Wild". On the way, people around us would scream "animales!", "ustedes locos", or just shake there head, laugh and wave as they would pass us by taxi. All i could do was grin and let the seeping nicotine and alcohol roll down my cheeks and soak the ground. I slept well.
There´s a place called Gringo Pete´s, owned by this portly guy in his 60´s who strikingly resembles David Crosby...$3 a night. Lovely Lovely. I stay, because tonight, there is a Feria de Turista which in spanish, means drinking & dancing. I need to get the hell out of here...i hear its less expensive as i head north.
I don´t have a usb cable for the camera...no pictures...sorry. I´d love to write more about the characters, clowns, whores and slut puppies...but perhaps i´ll have to tell you myself. Ahora, voy a una fiesta. Peace.
There´s a place called Gringo Pete´s, owned by this portly guy in his 60´s who strikingly resembles David Crosby...$3 a night. Lovely Lovely. I stay, because tonight, there is a Feria de Turista which in spanish, means drinking & dancing. I need to get the hell out of here...i hear its less expensive as i head north.
I don´t have a usb cable for the camera...no pictures...sorry. I´d love to write more about the characters, clowns, whores and slut puppies...but perhaps i´ll have to tell you myself. Ahora, voy a una fiesta. Peace.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
This won´t have any pictures. This won´t be pretty. By the time you read this, i´ll have been in Costa Rica for 6 days. I´ll have spent 6 hours on planes, 9 hours on buses, 1 hour on a surfboard. I´ll have drank an average of 7 beers a day, taken 4 shots of tequila, smoked 4 joints, self-administered 2 anti-nausea "tokacitas" and have met numerous characters/clowns/slut puppies/dogs/frogs/whores from around the world.
By the time you read this, Quepos, a fishing town with a population of 13000, where the curbside gutters are 2 feet deep, the local crackwhores have a combined 5 teeth to bite with, and mujeres carry sombrillas while hombres carry paraguas...will be flooded. I am to blame.
By the time they read this, i´ll have left quepos by bus to San Jose, headed north to La Fortuna, side tracked to Monteverde, then escaped across the border into Nicaragua.
By the time this is read, quepos with its drainage system unable to handle heavy rains and its sewage system unable to handle heavy solids will be looking for the man who caused this all. A man who through force of habit, put his TP into the toilet bowl, even though when you sit on the throne, the sign hung on the door facing you reads "do not throw your paper in the toilet, the system can´t handle it." Its my fault. I can´t even claim not to have read it. I flooded quepos. Pinche gringos.
By the time this is finished, i´ll have spent 6 days in Costa Rica. I´ll have spent 40000 colones, gone to a discoteca with one whore, one german and one frog, danced with 2 local girls, and learned the difference between a ketch, a schooner, and a sloop. I´ll have seen 3 lemurs, 2 sloths, 1 monkey fall from a tree and an iguana doing push ups for 3 cameras belonging to japanese turistas. I´ll have eaten 37 plantanas fritas, 6 empanadas, 7 camarones, 2 piñas, 1 PB&J sandwich, and drank 8 cups of costa rican coffee. Here it is awesome. I´ll have also played a guitar purchased in India for 3 hours and most importantly, gained confidence in my spanish.
Costa Rica is beautiful and the short amount of time i have to spend here i must measure out carefully. It is not nearly enough. Which quite gleefully means i must one day come back.
Manu Chao was playing over the stereo in the Hostel Pangea when i first walked in. 6 days later Led Zeppelin plays. Peace.
By the time you read this, Quepos, a fishing town with a population of 13000, where the curbside gutters are 2 feet deep, the local crackwhores have a combined 5 teeth to bite with, and mujeres carry sombrillas while hombres carry paraguas...will be flooded. I am to blame.
By the time they read this, i´ll have left quepos by bus to San Jose, headed north to La Fortuna, side tracked to Monteverde, then escaped across the border into Nicaragua.
By the time this is read, quepos with its drainage system unable to handle heavy rains and its sewage system unable to handle heavy solids will be looking for the man who caused this all. A man who through force of habit, put his TP into the toilet bowl, even though when you sit on the throne, the sign hung on the door facing you reads "do not throw your paper in the toilet, the system can´t handle it." Its my fault. I can´t even claim not to have read it. I flooded quepos. Pinche gringos.
By the time this is finished, i´ll have spent 6 days in Costa Rica. I´ll have spent 40000 colones, gone to a discoteca with one whore, one german and one frog, danced with 2 local girls, and learned the difference between a ketch, a schooner, and a sloop. I´ll have seen 3 lemurs, 2 sloths, 1 monkey fall from a tree and an iguana doing push ups for 3 cameras belonging to japanese turistas. I´ll have eaten 37 plantanas fritas, 6 empanadas, 7 camarones, 2 piñas, 1 PB&J sandwich, and drank 8 cups of costa rican coffee. Here it is awesome. I´ll have also played a guitar purchased in India for 3 hours and most importantly, gained confidence in my spanish.
Costa Rica is beautiful and the short amount of time i have to spend here i must measure out carefully. It is not nearly enough. Which quite gleefully means i must one day come back.
Manu Chao was playing over the stereo in the Hostel Pangea when i first walked in. 6 days later Led Zeppelin plays. Peace.
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