Veracruz and Today

I hang in hammocks on late nights and dream of loves long since past. I answer emails from memories and we brush over their dreamscapes; they say they know something, and I wonder what it all means...as if destiny never stops making mix tapes to dance to; we know each other too well and somehow that never ceases to be true. I wonder why we are so transparent yet cryptic?
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I stayed up late on Thursday afternoon and made copies and plans. I left the sub handouts and instructions and I went home to pack. I went home to pack, and went to the park. I came home from the park and blogged, and finally at 11pm I packed. The next day, I went to school in dirty clothes and hiking shoes. I loaded a bust in a whirlwind of confusion and various languages. I went to sleep after a conversation about friends and feelings...

I started this post several days ago. I left it until now, to finish, and well, so much has happened since, I find it hard to recount it all.

In any event here it is, shortened down.

Veracruz: Arrived by luxury bus, after two good movies. Got off said bus, and stepped up to the lunch buffet. Day One's food set the bar, and every meal following was a notch up--the food was phenomenal. I bunked with three other chaperons: Alejandro, the photography teacher and ASF grad; Mauricio, the cunning Chilean who never ceases to make me laugh and or think; and Omar Ugalde, dean of students for the high school. It was a great bonding experience, sharing a room with them. After bunking up, came ice breaking, and I felt sort of odd, but fell in the groove. Ice breaking lead to dinner which lead to sleep. The folks running the trip did everything, and we were merely an insurance policy.

Day Two, early rise, and another spectacular buffet. Good conversation and the excitement of rafting. We geared up and began our lessons. In groups of 5 we had to flip the raft over in the pool, have one person get on the overturned boat, and flip it back over, then pile all back in. I was the flipper, and our teamed rocked, a good omen for the day. We created teams--5 students, 1 teacher, and 1 guide. Matthias, a hip Colombian sophomore dubbed us, The Toronto Rafters. Sergio and Juan Pablo were brothers, whom both had a quiet humor about them. Katy was loud and from Maryland, and Nicole was southern shy, from Virginia. We rocked class 3 and 4 rapids, and had a blast.

After the long trip back from the river, we gorged on lunch. Then, I found a hammock off in the shade and took a siesta. I awoke an hour later, and we headed out to zip lining. 5 segments, all awesome, a freakin blast through and through. Mauricio, the relentless negotiator, finagled the deal so that we could ride on top of the truck heading up the hill. On the way back, we shared the roof with the Mexican outdoors team who sponsored our ziplining efforts. We had to duck branches as we came down the hill--regardless of language--laughter is laughter.

Dinner, amazing! Sleep even better. The next day was a good day, a day ready for road riding. We piled into the Bus and strapped in for two more movies. The terrain on the way back, perhaps because I was awake, was beautiful. We passed through jungle, to mountain tops, to foggy washed out roads. It was great. The ride home went quick. I rode next to the faithful and fearless Siri Berman. We had good conversations.

I came home, I slept, I sat, I enjoyed the dogs, I said hello to home.

Well that was an awful shorthand account, but so it goes. During a stop, I watched the gentleman hanging out of the red truck, tazer the livestock. They were a bunch of rowdy bulls, and he had a long yellow electrical stick to humble them with.





Today was awesome. This entire week is taken up by standardized testing, and well basically I don't have to teach. That being said, it has allowed me to catch up on a plethora of needed crap. Blah blah blah, the day kicked on. At the end of the school day, Vanessa called me. Vanessa is the forward young Mexicana who picked me up in the park. She does make-up for commercials and has the day off. I, although interested in seeing her, was not dying to do so--I really wanted to just go the park and chill. We made plans for Friday, though she said, she may go to the park. Great.

Waiting for a taxi, my phone rings again. This time Julia the Catalan calls me. She says she has another Spanish friend that wants to practice her English, in exchange I will practice my Spanish. So we make plans to meet at the park. Julia brings an army of Spanish folks with her--actually three others: Vanessa, Ana, and Pablo. We introduce ourselves, and Pablo and Julia go to get art supplies, while Ana, Vanessa (a Spaniard, not the Mexicana), and I find a bench to discuss. In the back of my mind, I imagine the other Vanessa showing up, and the odd scene that this may appear as. In any event we practice English, which basically amounts to sharing life stories. Both women are here for their partners livelihood, and currently are unemployed and bored. Ana, is a 3D animator, and Vanessa is an economist. They are both qualified, but cultural and situational difficulties are making employment hard. We talk for about 40minutes in English, and then Pablo and Julia escort us to a new section of the park, where they draw us and the dogs, and we switch to Spanish. Their lisp is funny, and it makes me work hard at understanding. In the end, this is perfect.

After 2 hours at the park, we head to a cafe/pub and get some Michelada Cubanas. This is the style michelada in Guatemala, and I dig them. My dogs are freaking angels, while Lucio is a little riled up. We have good conversation and I feel an overwhelming sense of, "Hell yeah, Life!" I exchange info with Pablo, who is really good at correcting my Spanish, and I exchange info with ana too. We all have an eager excitement about meeting again. We are now friends on facebook.

I am happy to hook into an artistic group outside of school. The situations are continuing to rock.

I am tired, and no time to correct. Ahoy!

A Week at the Park: Two Numbers

Well, it is you and me again. Hello. It is so nice to see you, seeing me and all. I mean, what does it take to make us connect: a bottle of words; a wireless connection (pirated for good measure); the mystery of the internet; blogspot; emails; morbid curiosity; the desire to be creative, and so forth. We come together through waves, wires, and wonder.

Week two has been a quick one. It started, and I took this big breath, like, "Okay. Here we go. This is no longer a cute vacation. This is your job now, please enjoy." And to be honest, for the most part, this week was super enjoyable. The classes went well. I made headway with young minds and their knowledge. My classroom is a goddamn explosion of creative personal flags, suspended fluttering photos of baby students, and posters of quotes and people that I like; for five days a week, from 7-3, it feels about as homey as institutional uniformity will allow.

I have spent the last three afternoons in Parque Mexico. I have gotten home from work, thought about sleeping, grading, or planning, and then opted to load the dogs up and go to the park for a few hours. Every day has proven to be perfect. I have figured out my root there, and have found a sweet little pocket, where through the grace of some god somewhere, I find a parking spot within walking distance to the park. The drive has been exciting, a taste of home, and a release. Driving here is a big whirlwind, where you can basically do what you need to do, to get where you need to go, and although you may cut someone off, they may honk, you may stop out of nowhere...it is all accepted and the beat moves on. Its a great release of stress, surprisingly. You are sort of on this offense/defense mentality, and in the end, if you are comfortable with your car and how it moves, you can have a damn good time. But I digress, back to the park.

Tuesday, it was raining; what do I care? The dogs like the water and I own a rain jacket and flip flops. I arrived to no dogs and the slight misting of the ground. I hung around only to meet another wandering soul, Julia the Catalan and her Jack Russel, Lucio the Spiritual. She moved to D.F. 12 years ago for a 6 month trip...she never left. She is a hippy sort, but not the hollow type that has goofy jewelry, hangs out in trees, and dangles organic teabags from their armpit undergrowth. She is a hippy in the sense, that she has a crooked smile and it works, because she hasn't lacquered her face in various ointments and remedies. She is a hippy, because she sheepishly smiles when she says she is a graphic designer and she has some paintings up in restaurant near by. She has to be around 40 or so, perhaps younger and her natural hippyness makes her look older. She brings laser beams for Lucio to chase, and she calls commands in Catalan and Spanish. The dogs have been without a doubt, my greatest liaison to people who speak Spanish and people who have nothing to do with ASF; this fact, has only deepened my love for them.

Wednesday was nicer. School ended at 12:15, but professional development made a long haul to 3:45. The park was at the forefront of my mind. I took 1984 to read, and headed out. Parking, once again, was satisfyingly available. Parked; Walked; Released the hounds; Found a bench and sat down. Chops, as previously mentioned, is a legend in the making. Everyone wants to know about him. So, Irish Wolfhound = Lobero Irlandes. Great Pyrenees = Gigante de Pirineo. Raza = Breed. In any event, a curious young lady by the name of Vanessa, began to inquire. I stopped reading, and started running through the vocabulary I have picked up around this topic. She sits down. We stop talking about dogs and start talking about me. What do I do? Where did I come from? Where do I live? How long am I here? What's your number? Do you want to go out sometime? WHAT!?!?! From what I have gathered, the Mexican women are go getters...and in my book, that is alright with me. In fact that is just grand. So I gave Vanessa my number, and we shall see. She quickly changed from getting together with the dogs, to going to la cine. She was cute and spunky. Not totally my type, but at this point I am just embracing the flow of life. I have met more people in the last two weeks, than I had in the last two years of living in Santa Cruz. Now that is not to say quantity outweighs quality, because in Santa Cruz, I got to know and love some truly amazing people (you know who you are, you silly little sweet spirits), but it is a trip to meet all these new faces and revel in the possibilities. Vanessa, got my number and left. Julia and a dude from Uruguay rolled through. We talked again. Julia was flashing the laser beam for Lucio and he was disappearing in a flurry of Catalan gallops. Then, a true Lobero Irlandes came through the park, by the name of, Lupito. I have seen this dog countless times around the city...not just the park. This fucker is BIG! He strolls up to Chops, and I tell you, Chops looks average, minuscule, regular-run-of-the-mill puppy. Lupito, belongs to an old long haired grizzly faced man. He seems jolly and smells of the sweet herbs, the man, not the dog. The dogs play, and the Spanish flows forth.

Julia and I departed the park at the same time. We walked and talked, she said there were good art classes near by. I think I shall inquire further about this, and see if I can get in. We kept walking, and I realized we were not diverging paths. I made the comment, "Just so you are not worried, I am not following you home, but my car is this way." She cracked the goofy hippy smile, and said, "No, it is fine El-lee-oat, you can walk me home." Awkward yet amusing laughter followed. We hit the round about, and I pointed to my car, and she pointed to her street; We split up, I stubbed my toe, and went home. Currently Beck's "Odelay" has been in my car for a week, and I don't see an end in sight.

Today, Thursday, Park again. Headed over. Sat and read my book, though I never really read, because I am too enamored in the world of dogs and people; the park is prime for watching both. So I sit and observe, and in between lulls I read quick rips of 1984. From behind me, "Hello El-lee-oat." I turn, "Hola Julia Catalan y Lucio el Spear-eh-two-al." We chop it up about the book. She checks it out for a comparison to the Spanish version. She hangs tight for a minute and then announces that she needs to leave. I tell her that I am going to go check out her art next week, possibly with one of my fellow teachers. By the way, my fellow teacher in reference, Tess Wheelwright (affectionaly dubbed "Make'em Feelright") is awesome. She is a writer and an artist. She is going to critique my paintings and I am going to critique her writing. She is going to introduce me to people from another realm of life...a non ASF life. We are also co-sponsoring the Literary Magazine at the High School. Good people. Back to the park: Julia says, "well perhaps I can take you to lunch at the restaurant where my art is." Perhaps. She asks, "do you have time for lunch during the week?". I reply, "Unfortunately, no. I could do dinner." She retorts, "Unfortunately it is expensive for dinner, but we could do that if you like?" I concur, "Yes, I could do that, or we could do it on the weekend." We exchange numbers. She spells her name, I spell mine, and now we both have digital records that the other person exists outside of this park. She leans in, as is customary here, and we do the side cheek kiss and the "Hasta luego/Nos vemos" exchange. I feel like an awkward American. She shouts, "You have to bring three of your paintings, so I am not the only one showing their stuff". I feel good about the paintings I have, and I think that will be just fine.

So that is that. Three days at the park, and two opportunities to hang out with someone from a completely different reality. Who knows what the romantic implications are. Vanessa, she was on the hunt. But Julia, Julia I just think is a life tripper, someone who enjoys a bit of the random. So it goes, and so I go.

TOMORROW: I do not teach. NO! Tomorrow I load a bus with all of the new students in the Upper School. We load and we ride north east to Veracruz. The new students are going on a retreat and I, and several other fine young teachers, are the god-sent chaperons. I left my sub plans and I am heading out. Sarah, the most awesome neighbor next to The Klines, well actually, you can't really compare the Klines, because they are on another level of awesomeness...regardless, Sarah, who is cool in her own right, is going to watch my dogs for me. I am going to find it hard to leave them, but I need to get over it, quit being super attached, and I know it is going to be a blast. Three square meals a day, a hotel room, river rafting, zip lining, and life.

To the ramshackle in us all.

Sunday: Sundreary

The soft hum of a poorly played didgeridoo sneaks its way into my house; the stoner teenagers next door spend most of their lives on the room adjacent to mine--harmless, high, and psuedo-hippy-esque.

The weekend flew by. It is Sunday night and my body is still sore. Saturday morning was spent playing Ultimate Frisbee with a bunch of the other Gringo teachers. We played six on six, with two subs for each team. The altitude and the pollution made breathing fiery. It was great to get out there and play a physical sport. One girl played for University of Michigan. She apparently keeps frisbees in her class, so hopefully some time this week, I can get out there and practice my flick. After Frisbee, I took the dogs to the park in the Condesa. It is a blast letting them play, and it is good for practicing my Spanish, because everyone is curious about Chops.

Saturday night I enjoyed my mom's dinner party via Skype. I sat in my house, and engaged with people through the wonders of the 21st Century. It was good seeing folks, and the familiarity of my childhood house.

After that I met up with some friends and we headed to a party in the South of the city, in Colonia Coyoacan. It was 20 pesos to get in, and 20 pesos for rum and cokes. I don't typically drink hard alcohol, but it felt right. The party was eclectic mix of artists, scenesters, hippies, and beat junkies. In various rooms in the house, artists were displaying their work. A live band, followed by a DJ spinning House music, made for good times. I bobbed and swayed, and rocked and rolled--I talked to a few chicas, but when the closing bell rang, I left with the people I came with. Mauricio, Katie, and I hopped a cab back to Condesa. Upon entering the cab, I realized that the drinks were strong and my blood was permeated with alcohol. I was definitely not enjoying the bumpy ride.

How I remember the rest: Stopping at Ticzoncito for tacos, I ate one taco and couldn't stomach the next; Went to the bathroom, tried to relieve myself, but was locked up like Fort Knox; Began walking back to Katie's and singing loudly with accompanying rhythm claps, "That's the sound of the men (get back!) working on the chain....gay-yee-yang!" I watched some movie with Charlie Shehan when I was little kid, and he played the one white private with a bunch of black soldiers, and well they sang that song with one another, and I have known it ever since. In any event, we got to Katie's, I laid down and went immediately to sleep. I awoke in the morning, Mauricio was already gone, Katie was haggard, and I was bewildered that I had slept till 11. I believe we made it to her house at around 4am.

Long story short, today was spent on the couch. I had big plans, and they all sort of vanished. I took the dogs for a walk, found the local super market, dropped them off, and went shopping. I was in the market for about 40mins, and towards the end I started sweating and feeling a little antsy. The poor bastard bagging my groceries, a young brown skinned chap, no older than 14, wrecked four of my bananas. I tipped him anyway, and got the fuck out of the noise--Mexicans are engulfed in a constant fanfare of fucking buzzers and whistles--THEY LOVE IT!

Came home, got some water from the corner store, cooked dinner on my camping stove, and watched "The Office",

Now here I am. Still tired, and a little smelly.

Happy Sunday.

Week one is Done: My Posture Needs a Reminder

Another walk through the city to cap off my week. The dogs tugged hard on the leash, and it was a walking meditation in not sweating the small stuff. Dusty diesel dries the rain that is to come. Night falls, and the pachucos call from the sidewalks--Teatro Aldama has a show, and every young joven is barking at the passing traffic. Every man for himself, they hustle cars into public spots for small wages. They cry repetitive mantras of "Teatro Aldama! Pasele! Pasele! Adelante! Boletos!" Between the mantra, the distinctive Mexican whistle slices the night air. Its all one big titanium symphony: the barkers are the melody, the exhaust backfire the bassline; the rumble and screech of the local buses provide a tumbling brass section. Somewhere a dog dodges the wheels of a brakeless taxi, and the night presses on.

Week one is done, and on the whole it was good. My sophomores finally figured me out. My Freshman, got me right away--maybe my humor is geared towards 14 year olds and not 15 year olds. In any event, the classes went well. I spent this week doing nothing but introductory group bonding activities. My classroom is now decorated with personal flags made by each student. The flags are filled with symbols to represent their respective lives. From the light fixtures hang baby photos and quotes from each pupil. We finished the week with an "I am From" poem, in which I implored students to embrace the beauty of abstract descriptions. On the wall I posted a quote from Robert Frost, "No tears for the writer, no tears for the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader." On the whole, the students really went for it.

Every class will have challenges--deuschbags, braggarts, know-it-alls and ring leaders. From what I can tell, that is just life.

The English department got together today for drinks and snacks. I truly think the English Dept is a great bunch of people. We hung out, drank some mescal, had some chips and dip, and talked a whole bunch of trash. Like any other school, gossip seems to be a favorite pass time. Some of the juicy bits were face melting material (I wonder if I will ever find the words in Spanish to translate such a sweet slang ridden sentence?). Tomorrow a few of them, and a bunch of other upper school folks will head out to play some ultimate frisbee at the high school. It should be a damn good time. I am excited to enjoy some physical activity. Tonight the party pressed on, but I kept my drink to a minimum and departed at 6:30. Somehow I just can't feature getting really wasted with coworkers, not yet at least. It is exciting, but it is also prime territory to be the talk of the town. I am keeping it reserved for this first round of "how do you do's". It seemed as if they intended to make it an all night thing, but I felt obligated to get home and let the dogs out, and to just decompress. I don't think any offense was incurred.

The Librarian gave me a rad book for my Sci-Fi class, The Matrix and Philosophy. She also gave me a few movies: Bladerunner, Total Recall, The Matrix, and KPAX. I am excited to watch some Sci-Fi tonight and mellow out.

I started a painting, FINALLY, yesterday. It is not quite right yet, so I have hung it up to look at it for a while. I think some layering of new colors is going to provide the clarity I want.

I live with mosquitoes, and I have the bites to prove it. I also really like scratching them in the middle of the night.

Well that is all for now. I need to sweep, sweep, sweep, and clean, clean, clean...tomorrow!

Here is to Friday and no spell check or rereads...perhaps one day I will be a no-typo kind of guy. Tonight is not the night.

Blessings

The Sabbath before the Storm

Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow I unluck doors and melt faces. Tomorrow is the day that has been a finish line, albeit a beginning. My room looks nice. My motto is: If I am spending the majority of my week in this room, then I am going to make it my home.

I bought a printer from WALMART. I did not read the fine print. Who in God's name, sells a printer without the USB attachment cable? WHO? Hewlett FUCKING Packard, that's who. In any event, tomorrow I shall hunt for a free cable, if it can be found.

The Sabbath (for me at least)

I finally slept in! I slept till 10am. It was a slightly restless sleep, but on the whole a good one--I think the wine helped. Last night I went to a dinner party at my friend Katie Quach's apartment. Katie is a hip Chinese lady from San Francisco, by way of Minnesota. She made all the fixin's for a roll-you-own springroll shenanigan. They were really quite tasty. A few other teachers were there: Lindsay and her boyfriend, who currently his name escapes me; Micah and his boyfriend Daniel, who is a hairstylist and can tell you where your hair texture hails from, regionally speaking. Side note: Amidst conversations about hair and hair care came up the topic of Japanese Straightening. Apparently, all Asian women indulge in this sacred art; truth be told, most Asian women do not have naturally silky straight hair, in fact, it is wavy, and they use chemicals, but I digress, back to the people in attendance; although she is not pictured, she was there, Nancy, who is 32 but looks 23, and I have dubbed her Pants--as in Nancy Pants.

I was supposed to go hiking today with fellow teachers, but I bowed out yesterday. I realized two things: A) a 6 hour round trip, door to door, event was more than what I was prepared for or truly desiring. B) I still have school shit, shopping, and relaxing that I need to do. That being said, I have just eaten breakfast after returning from a morning walk with the dogs. On Sundays, there is a great local art show in the park, and the Paseo de le Reforma is closed off to pedestrians, cyclists, dogs, and rollerbladers (they are still alive and well down here). My hope is to eventually put my own art up in the park, but also if I could just get in with helping out, I would be stoked.

Now I sit at my computer preparing for my second adventure. I am going to take some posters, and some digital pictures to be blown up and laminated at the Copymax--assuming it is open and I can find it. My search for copy centers was fruitful the other day, but they didn't laminate, and I left without asking about enlarging some digital photos.

After a hopefully successful Copymax adventure, I am going to saddle up in the 4Runner and head to work to put some finishing touches down: a little guitar and stand for the classroom, a little poster completion, a little tidying up and then I am out. After that, I am going to head to the all mighty Walmart for some purchases: a printer, some speakers, and various groceries.

I hope to be done around 4pm. After that I intend to play guitar, paint, and enjoy my evening in quiet reverence--it is the Sabbath for Christ sake.

Yesterday I took the dogs to Parque Mexico for a couple of hours. We walked the 50min walk there, and then hung out. The dogs played with any and all dogs, and I realized they are pretty damn well behaved, especially when I compare them to all these dogs belonging to these rich yuppie Mexicans who know nothing about dog training. All the yuppies here send their dog to be trained in the park while they are at work. The walk back was a little brutal, and because I was walking with my mentor and her friend, and we were under a crunch to get to school, I felt as if I couldn't stop. However, Chops was struggling. I think he had exhausted himself, and as soon as we hit shade he laid down. He did this a few times, and on the last block, he began to look not well to me. He was sort of loping in a gallop and it looked labored. I kept my concern to myself, and as soon as we got back, I dumped water over him and gave him a wet towel to lay on. He is fine today, but he definitely met his limit yesterday. Here is a pic of the big fella greeting two Sharpei/Pitbull pups:

Friday: I Feel Sublime!

Friday, no matter where you are in the Western world, is a goddamn blessing. The only other thing I know to be a true blessing is, Shimmy. I always try and tell him, "Simmy, what a fucking blessing you are. Thank you, Simmy." Friday is like a Shimmy sort of day. I am pretty sure Shimmy is loving his Fridays in Oregon. He wrote me not too long ago about the subtle strokes required to milk an utter--it was not an update on his sex life--it was a literal account of life on the farm.

Anywho, my classroom is getting there. I am definitely going into work tomorrow. I want things to be rad on the first day. I got to finish writing out my cool quotes on posters, the vocabulary for the walls. I tried to get my Obama poster and some rock concert posters laminated today, but I had to goto another copy center, and well I had already walked around for an hour with the dogs, and it was Friday, so I said, "tomorrow!"

Yesterday, I caught a cab home with Sarah as I always do. At 3pm Olie, her son, turns into a little bit of a terror--a cute little terror, but a terror none the less. In any event, he was pulling on me and Bella, and then he tripped, and then he hit his nose, and then he had a sweet bloody Hitler stash. I got hysterical looking at this little cherub licking his bloody upper lip singing, "It tastes good! It tastes good!"

I think this week has been a goddamn freaking talk-a-thon. So many meetings. This morning was two hours of windbags belaboring points and picking their butts. While the administrators try and navigate egos, the teachers snicker and hiss like a group of coked out Catholic School girls. I sat quietly, and noticed the slight dusting of dandruff across my shoulders. I attempted to swipe it off by mocking a personal shoulder rub. Who knows if anyone cared, but it gave me something to do while the beat pressed on.

Lunch was a local specialty, Chiles en Nogada. Basically you score a pepper stuffed with sweetened ground beef and topped with a creamy nut sauce, which is garnished with cilantro and pomegranite. It was quite tasty, a little too sweet to make it a weekly favorite, but it is seasonal for Independence Day (notice the colors), so it won't be around long. Note: This is not the Chile en Nogada that I ate. Mine cost $50 pesos and came on a faded orange plate that was scratched to shit with years of service.

I left school today with Kenneth. Kenneth needed help putting his bicleta back together after shipping it here. I brought my tools and helped him out. I didn't do much, I just popped the back wheel on, adjusted the brakes and derailers. His rear wheel is sort of wobbly, but I didn't bring it up. He will figure that out over time. I left Kenneth, who I believe had a stroke at some point, for half of his body is a little limp, and headed home. I waited for the right cab. I feel I have a sixth sense for picking the right cab. I hopped in, and the gentleman was bumpng Michael Jackson. His cab was covered in CD's and I knew it was his personal music, but I asked him in Spanish none the less. We sturck up a conversation and began talking bands. I played a little harmonica. He likes Los Credence a.k.a Creedence Clearwater Revival, Led Zepplin, The Bee-Gees, Stevie Wonder, and Pink Floyd. Basically, musically speaking, I found my soulmate. We rocked out to MJ for the rest of the ride and then I headed home.

Tonight, is the big Happy Hour shindig. I neglected happy hour for a walk and photocopy hunting. I stopped in Jardin Del Arte and ran into Fernando. I met him the other day, he has a pure bread Belgian Shephard. He is an economist. He has been to San Francisco and Santa Cruz. He speaks English, but he lets me speak shitty Spanish. He lives in the neighborhood. I was stoked to let the dogs off in the park. I realize now, that they won't run into the streets, there is too much cool shit in the park to sniff. Flow definitely ate something unedible and began vomiting, but she recovered immediately.

Blah blah blah, I am getting ready to take a shower and get up out of here. My mentor, The Bermanator, is having a party at her crib. So I shall hop a cab soon enough, and be into the night.

Tommorrow, I will take the dogs to UNAM with Siri and plan crap for school. Then I will go to school and fucking make a half day of work.


Here is a sick picture of the pups courtesy of The Beast herself, Marissa Gorlick:

Once a Foreigner Always a Novelty - Carissa Hope Lynch

My life: Is an odd mix of new conversations, second languages, confusion, naps, laughter, goals, and moderate insanity. I'm that tall gringo, wearing shorts in cold weather, that talks to himself and his dogs. I walk fast. I look at some people; I ignore others; I quickstep gutters and potholes, and my New Balances aren't going last the year. My feet smell--note to self, don't reuse socks.

In the evenings it rains, typically. Tonight it sort of just got anxious about a storm. The sky coughed and sneezed a few times, but ultimately Mexico beat the U.S. and there was no need to cry today. (Beatriz stopped to pose in front of all the salivating Mexicans as they watched the game. We took the subway home today and walked through Zona Rosa).

I started watching the game on my computer. I thought laying down would help me settle into the game. I settled into a deep sleep, we all did. I awoke late. I awoke late for a Spanish lesson. I thought about excuses, but honesty prevailed, and it turned out Hector forgot as well. All is well.

I walked the streets for awhile, let the dogs do their deeds, and watched Mexicans, like little Ninga turtles, jump and cavort in the streets. The Policia was there--they always are.

Anywho, the other day I drove to the south of the city. I took Sarah's kids and my dogs in my car. I am the cool neighbor right now and my car is a spaceship. We drove through traffic, which was not as bad as I thought it would be, to UNAM--the National Autonomous University of Mexico. I swapped kids for a their dog, and I took the dogs to the main esplinade of the University. I was wary to let them off, but after asking a few people about the situation, I let them go. Buster, el perro de mi vecino, is deaf. I was really praying he didn't bolt, because I don't know how you call a deaf dog back--not like my dogs, who can hear, always listen either. In any event, the dogs had a blast. People were really friendly, and even when I thought they were bothering them, the people said it was okay. Chops made friends with a lot of little groups of college co-eds. Flow snuggled up to a sweet dame who fed her bread--the young lady was mistified when the other dogs began to crowd her. Buster took a diahreea by some folks. I met two Law School Students, Armando and Stephanie. I traded numbers with them. Chops and Buster began playing. Flow laid in the shade. And so it went. It was great. A lot of hippy folk, a lot of freedom, a lot of fun times.








Other than that I have been getting down at work. I am organizing my room and meeting the department folks. To the right you see Siri Berman, my mentor and social guru. She has been insanely helpful. She really has showed me the ropes, and done it with a smile. Today she took me to the bank to pay my rent, and tomorrow we are playing some ultimate, and on Saturday a bunch of us are going to head to Ajusco, a sumit somewhere on the periphery of D.F.




Megan is the AP English teacher at the school. She is from Michigan. She has got some fire in her. She is rad, but I sure as hell don't want to get on her shit list. That being said, she has been super helpful with curriculum and units. We are teaching English I (9th Grade) together. She is standing in my little room, room 102 (ciento y dos).




I have intentions of decorating my room immaculately, posters from Marissa's pics, concert posters, etc. However, the school, who is far more concerned with appearances than practicality, says we aren't allowed to put things on the walls, except for the bulletin boards. I am beginning to understand the picture. I will explain what this means in a metaphor:

The highschool building by all appearances looks like a posh testament to post modern, 21st Century, progressive thinking. It is clean and white, and abstract in concept. It is a certified green building, and it has certain benchmarks to make it such: such as no heating or air conditioning, because it allows outside temps to regulate it. It has large windows with transluscent blinds that allow natural light in. Aside from the "greenness" all the rooms have nice new desks and chairs; the lockers are all nice and shiny; there are common sitting areas for the kids, and so on. However, cabinets don't have nobs on them. Structural cracks and plaster already need repair. Some of the lockers are already busted. The green blinds, let so much light in, that projectors are unusable at times, and the Trustees and financial officer won't allow teachers to put paper in their windows, because it doesn't look nice. They will try and find money for better blinds soon. Until that time, they are blowing thousands on relandscaping the Founder's Garden.

What it means is this (and I nervously proclaimed this in a bullshit talk back with a spineless administrator by the name of, Juan de Jesus): I get the impression that this school is preparing us and the facilities to appear very nice and progressive, but at the foundation we are not recieving what is needed to be successful, e.g. computers, projectors, planning time, academic guidance, tech training, etc. Basically the building is a metaphor for where the powers at be are putting their priorities: shit looks great, but it is a facade. Blah! THEY DO GIVE US ALL THE FREE SCHOOL SUPPLIES WE NEED! YAHOO!

Go Green Go!

I Have Been Mentored

So Day One of the official shit has gone down. All the teachers, new and old, ugly and pretty, skinny and fat...they were all there. The ASF management brought us a box breakfast, and a hell of a lunch buffet; they are really into first impressions. On the first day of new hire orientation, they gave us an amazing lunch. After that, we had cookies and coffee for the rest of it.

In any event, I hopped a cab this morning with Sarah, Olie, and Bella. We headed to school and arrived right on time. I headed to the middle school and signed in. I met my mentor, Ms. Siri Berman (I will only call her Berman or The Berman). I think it is a perfect match: she is goofy, spunky, fluent in Spanish, into the outdoors, and generally just has a good vibe. She showed me the ropes and got me in the mix of things. I am really digging the people in the English Department. Our department head, Guy Cheney, sort of has a gaunt Indiana Jones look from the Temple of Doom. His demeanor is subtle and agreable. After The Berman showed me my room, we got our supplies sheet signed by Guy and headed to the Bodega.

For anyone who has worked in public education, we all know that at this day and age, what little supply money they give us, is a virtual joke. Well at ASF, these rich SOB's have a goddamn stockpile of supplies. Basically, I walk into a supply store and get everything I need for my class at no cost. I'm talking about: staplers; staples; glue sticks; scissors; tape; tape dispensers; colored paper; lined paper; thumb tacks; 5 boxes of Kleenex; dry erase markers; 10 packs of colored markers; and so on. It was like Navidad for me. I was sort of just in awe of the whole thing. After my shop-a-thon, I dropped my crap off at my room, which happens to be Siri's old room. It was nearing the end of the day, and I decided to head back home. I met Sarah and her kids, adn we hopped a cab. Little Olie was throwing a fit--he is an obstinate little fuck sometimes. Bella, who definitely can play that card, decided to be in a good mood.

I returned home, the dogs wiggled in delight, and we took our ritual collective nap. I really am a dog, and I mean that in the best way possible. We slumbered, each of us occasionally casting an eye on the other, just to make sure we were in the right to continue our nap.

After the nap, I hit the streets, and we walked through Jardin del Arte and and on down Paseo de La Reforma. Reforma has these sweet walkways and landscaped garden areas. There are well beaten paths through the wooded areas, and the dogs finally got some non-concrete love on their paws. We walked down for about a half hour, and back tracked on the other side. I made it home in a little over an hour. I am always reluctant to go walk, in fact sometimes I plain just don't want to. Whether it is my presumption that they need to go out or just a fact, I am always moved to get up and go. Everytime I get back from the walk...I feel damn good.

After the walk, Hector and I went to a cafe and I had my first Spanish lesson. For an hour and a half he is charging me $150 pesos ($11 roughly). I am going to have classes Mondays and Wednesdays. We started at square one, ser and estar. At first I scoffed, but it was definitely where I should begin. Hector is a really good teacher. He has the ability to constantly steer me on the right track, and to translate as we go. I am stoked to be studying something again. I feel as if this year is going to be about the quiet meditation of study.

As we wrapped up our lesson, the waitress struck up a convo with Hector, and apparantly I, based on my looks, am welcome anytime. I asked if my dogs could come too...they are in. STOKED! (Yes, I have a problem, but I am going to be a real good dad).

In any event here I am. Ready and willing for the moment. I think I am going to hop in bed and try to review some Spanish, and get to bed early...though my siestas are definitely giving me an unnecisary second wind.


CALL ME (818)356-8330

My Car is a Haven of the Old

So many things have transpired since last I wrote, but I will start in a non-chronological fashion, and begin with my latest triumph.

I have been feeling slightly distant, stuck, unable to move freely, and slightly on the outs. This by no means describes all of my feelings, but it is a reoccurring one. In any event, I talked to my mom on Skype (she loves it and so do I), I talked to Gloria on Skype (she loves it when she can), and I had expressed my duress of feeling like I should drive. I head out for a walk with the dogs, a walk that feels uninspiring, and so forth. I look at my car: my faithful steed, that logged 3000+mi in 12 days; my trusty Toyota, rusty and lovely. It sat there covered with branches, bird shit, and other droppings from the trees. I looked at it and it looked at me, and it whispered so clearly, "Drive Me!" (that's what she said, Andy). That is all I needed; I unlocked the door, and the dogs hopped in like it was home; it many respects, that car is a symbol and a token of home, and it feels damn good to have it.

The Runner was a little musty and dank from the roadtrip of a lifetime. I popped in a The Meters Greatest hits, and eased her into 1st. As I rounded the corner to the major street, I had no intention of heading out to Condesa. I thought I would just do an around the block, but with all the one ways, I had no idea how to make a loop, so I charged down Insurgentes. I continued on. I have walked this area quite a bit, and I have stared at the maps countless times. There was no GPS for this mission; how was I to know it was going to be such? I thought it was just a neighborhood, or rather colonia, joyride.

I followed Insurgentes to the Condesa. I found a parking spot, which is apparantly unheard of. I parked, we walked, they went off leash in the park. Chops had a little pis and vinegar in his situation, and he charged a few other dogs. I smiled and ran towards him. We walked back, and headed back with the beats of The Meters.

Now I would have been home in no time, but I missed my one clear opportunity to cross over to the left of the street. THERE ARE NO LEFT TURN LANES OR ARROWS! We took a scenic tour into Centro Historico and then down again, and then back up. Finally I made my way to a street that was going my way. I felt amazing upon exiting the car. TRIUMPH!!! I returned home to a text from Gloria which read, "Drive" and an email from my Aunt, reassuring me that I am where I should be--she included an anecdote that I won't recount here, but it was perfect.

Before the car episode, I setup some stuff on skype: I have purhased for one year a phone number, that should allow you to call me from your phone. You will be calling my skype account. However, I setup Skype to forward my calls to my Mexican cell phone. So hypothetically, you will call the below number, and if I am not at my computer, it will head out to my cell, and we shall talk for cheap rates...hypothetically. I will let ya know once I try it, or you can call me and find out.

MY NUMBER IS: 818 356 8330
(Not Currently forwarding to my cell, but you can still call the number, and it will go to my computer.)

So call me up and lets chat. My father also got me something called a magicjack, and when I get that hooked up, I will send you that number as well.

Before Skype ingenuity, I went shopping with my neighbors, Sarah and Hector, and their two kids, Oliver and Beatriz (Olie and Bella). They took me to Wal-Mart (I know, I know, but it was the easiest thing and the closest...lame excuse, but there it is). I purchased a microwave, a toaster oven, some bath towels, and some grub. STOKED!

After Wal-Mart, we went to a Japanese outdoor BBQ that sits in front of a Japanese market. You basically walk up to an amazing display of BBQ, point and they reheat it for ya. I will gladly take any of you there upon your arrival, but it is only on Saturday and Sunday, so time your arrivals carefully. I had quail eggs wrapped in bacon, chorizo, teriyaki chicken, veggies, and some meatballs. There are tons of other exodic things, such as squid, and other odd seafood.

Last night, I went out with three fellow new arrivals: Mauricio, the Chill Chilean PE teacher, Josh, the Illinois House Husband, and Tricia, The Lower School Socialite. We met at a tiny dive bar in Escandon and chopped it up over some rum and cokes. After that, Tricia's housemate, Jason (High School Art Teacher) was at a house party for his girlfriend. We rolled through. It was international: a filthy Frenchman was quite genial, there was a British Indian, a Midwest buclic bilingual, and a sea of Mexicans. We cracked cervezas and mingled. About an hour in, wafts of green smoke infiltrated the party. I personally had no need for smoke, but Mauricio sniffed it out. When he returned about 20mins later, he looked a little off. As we stood in a sea of languages, the kitchen started to turn on Mauricio. He turned to me, with a clam shell colored face and whispered, "I think I need to get out of here, man." Well I informed Trish the Dish of the situation and we strolled into the night air. We called Mauricio a cab. As we waited, he needed to pace the sidewalk...he was without a doubt in a bad place. I chuckled to myself, because it is a funny sight to see, but we have all been there on some level or another. We got him in the cab and he slipped into the night air.

I walked Tricia home and snagged a cab. It was nice to not be an island. It was nice to meander in conversation. Thoughts of synchronicity abound, and I felt pleased that I was here.

The other day, I bought a blank canvas after a two hour walk to the dog park. I am going to paint tomorrow...or the next day...or tonight...who knows.

Much love to all of you. I really can't thank you enough for being human beings in my life. I feel as if those who have reached out to me in communication (Marissa, Annie, Mom, Aunt Tee, Gloria, and so forth), you all have acted as the voice of the Universe, giving me the exact write information at the exact write time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So it goes.

Its All In a Day's Work: Solo and Thinking

Well, The slow trickle has begun to pool; I am here, officially. Sure, we arrived a week ago, but now its just me and the dogs--Marissa has departed for her next chapter and I have begun mine. With her exit came the realization and the gravity of what I have begun.

I've always considered myself an individual, jazzed on the idea of alone time. I have always been one to exit the party early, for a retreat to the safety of my own room. However, in a home of my own, there is no escape from myself. So, today I came home and napped a good nap. I awoke from my nap, and took the dogs for an early evening stroll--once again Marissa's absence was noted, as I had to wrangle Chops and Flow, but it worked. Came home and stared at the tossed salad look of my apartment. I Skyped with my mom, and as always she gave me a little of the guiding light; I went to work after our chat.

I moved books here and there; I put things in cubby-holes; I swept the floor; I used iTunes genius to create a playlist or two; I talked to myself; I placed pictures on the walls; I wrestled Chops to the ground; I found my debit card; I sat in the middle of the room and stared; I ate some rice; I answered an email from my bestfriend (he did it, like I knew he would).

The waiting of the beginning: so many weeks spent hurling forward, it is a wonder to sit. With sitting, comes the wandering of my mind, and the wandering brings a myriad of emotions and thoughts. I am going to be social tomorrow night. Tonight was about silence and adjustments.

I have a zit on the side of my neck, on the side that my shoulder typically hurts. I feel as if the zit is a tiny volcano risen from the plate tectonics of my inner contortions; when I poke my zit, it resonates into the other tight spots. Funny.

I dig Al Green. A thought: perhaps I will become an Al Green cover artist in D.F. I think I could carve out my nitch.

"Call Me" is my favorite song by Al Green.

Its all in a day's work.

Orientation: I am Getting Aquainted with Writing Again

The tricky bastards in the head office are cunning little devils; each day of orientation has been a half hour earlier. Tomorrow, I will arrive for breakfast and more droning encouragements, at 7:30am.

Things I have learned:

1. Everyday I have to sign in to work at 7:30am. If I do not sign in at 7:30am I get docked pay. So much for late start days.
2. I have several options to get to school, in the eyes of the powers that be: The Metro (subway) is one. It is crowded slow and will take about 30-40mins; a taxi, which is quick, but costly (about $2 each way); school bus, which is insanely slow, filled with little toilet mouthed Mexicans, but free.
3. I am going to find a bike route to work, and everyone ponce here thinks I am an ignorant gringo. The thing is, these people don't bike and they don't know. I am at least going to try it out. Shaun, I will be wearing a helmet.
4. Broken English is as funny as broken Spanish.
5. Payroll is confusing. Mexican taxes are confusing. ASF is a god damn money machine. Rich people sniff there own farts.
6. Lesbians make good teachers too: Two, presumably lesbian, women, who are in their 60's are teaching math. They moved here from Cairo or Dubai.
7. The subway is way hotter than life on the street.
8. I am white.
9. I need to be careful, because I am white.
10. I should pay more money, consistently, to secure my safety.
11. Rich people smell there own farts.
12. Walking in groups is an effective way to attract stares and ward of evil-doers.
13. I still like to draw pictures in small notebooks, while half listening to redundant, yet supposedly educational, speeches.
14. Some people you are attracted to, and others don't do much for you.
15. I want a job where I can bring my dogs to work.

Here is what hours of information produced in my small Moleskin notepad. It felt good to play with words again:

"Lord, information has hit a critical mass. I'm hoping the next hours melt away into a series of short diatribes. Bureaucracy is a beautiful bucolic beast: a beast with six slurring heads, amplified vocals, varicose veins, blubber laden limbs, and a goddamn innate ability to waste one's time. It's 11:15am, I've been here since 8am and 2pm is running the opposite direction. My mind has ceased to wonder about anything of importance; it's hiding from the verbal napalm that ceases to carpet my frontal lobe."

"12pm: The beat drags on. Nervous tapping and twitching of various appendages is the slow cadence to oblivion. Information flows like spoiled milk from a stagnate and sagging utter. So it goes, Billy. "Who is eh-ledge-uh-bull for dis? For dis cuh-fur-edge?" I don't know. I don't care. I don't wear any underwear. Every bastard locked in this room is accepted for this cuf-fur-edge! Insurance is insurance is insurance: Profits are the true medicine. Insurance, the true serpant in the garden, breathes pesos like dollars; it doesn't matter who bit the apple first, we all needed a cure, and the beat goes on. They keep warning us about self medicating at the pharmacy. I keep wondering why they keep talking? Their pep talk is making me want to become my own doctor."

It wasn't as bad as that seemed. The drone of their presentations was peppered with side conversations with other teachers. I walked to the subway with a new fellow English teacher, Tess, and a 2nd grade teacher, Trish. Both are interesting in their own right. We smiled, traded intellectual quips, and walked. Tess, is a Yale graduate, who has bummed around Mexico City for a few years as a writer. She is tall, dark in features and dress, blue eyed, and holds a quiet rebellious confidence. Two faded circle tattoos cuff the upper portion of her left forearm. Trish, is a Protland shaggy head sweetheart. She has hip brown boots, a sense of casual cool, and a cute smile. She reminds me of girls in Santa Cruz. Trish is into biking too. Trish likes to go out. Trish went to sleep at a late hour the other night.

Marissa and I are going to eat pastries now.

A Video Tour of the House: My first attempt at such a thing

I have recorded a video on my Macbook; it is a virtual tour into my current house. Let's see if this will work: Try either of these videos, perhaps one will load faster than the other.

Some Non-chronological Pictures

Somewhere in town they felt a need to celebrate--Marissa captured the magic.
We weren't wild game hunting, but when we ran into this fine princess twice, well it was time to take a shot. You should of seen the front, she had white aviators on...she will forever be in my heart.
In case you were running low on a Saint to pray to, the H-E-B market in Texas has an entire isle dedicated to the holy wax dwellers.
It wasn't our best form, but we made it in time for the automatic snapshot.
Gorlick fears no finger.
I know what the breeds are and these people need to listen, if they want to touch. This is basically a life philosophy.
There are different perspectives from different heights.
San Miguel de Allende glistens.
Danny really likes coffee. I mean he fuckin' digs it!
Joshua trees make for alright forests...alright.

Mexico City: WTF?

Well, holy crap, is about all I have to say; sweet Lord, may also suffice in describing my mood.

Marissa and I hit the road and hit it early. We said goodbye to San Miguel de Allende and we were off and running. We listened to some amazing NPR recordings and flew towards Mexico City (Which will from now on be referred to as DF, which is short for Distrito Federal, which is what the locals refer to it as).

DF is a city within the state of Mexico (there is a state called Mexico, like California--Imagine if one of our 50 states was called The United States). In any event, in the STATE of Mexico there is a policy entitled "No Hay Circula" which means that depending on the last number of your license plate, your car is not allowed to drive on certain days. Well, my car ends in a 6 and just so happens that the 1st Saturday of each month is the day when I am not allowed to drive; today happens to be the 1st Saturday of the month.

Crossing into the state of Mexico we paid a fee to drive the toll road, and the peasant people pointed at my plate and waved their finger in my direction. I asked the toll booth man, and he said we needed to wait until 10pm in order to leave. We paid the toll, and crossed, and decided to go for it--we were 35mi from our destination.

We sailed along, and I noticed that no other cars had a 6 at the end of their plates; I attempted to put it out of my mind. About 10mi from our destination I see two cops on the right hand side, they flag us down, and I pull over--in retrospect, I think I could have kept going and I would have been fine, but who knows. They approach the car and tell us that we are breaking the law, and so the fun begins. He tells me, from what I can understand that I cannot drive until Tuesday, and that I am going to have to impound my car. I ask if I can pay the fine and continue on to my destination--he kicks back a number of $500 US dollars. I drop my jaw, and say that we do not have anymore money--in retrospect I should I have continued to play this card; I think I could have gotten away with paying much less. He decides to take us to a ATM. I park the car, and I lock the car with the keys, Marissa, and the the dogs inside. I go stand in a line while the filthy cops wait for their mordida (bribe). There is a line of 25 people for one ATM. I ask the lady next to me about cops and the "No hay circula" rule. She says that it is a shame, but unfortunately that is the way they are here, and that I must pay.

After what seems to be an eternity I make my way back to the car. The cop tells me to sit down in the driver seat, and makes me count the money. I could not get the amount he wanted, but I have about 6000 pesos which is about $400 US maybe a little more--he seems to think this will work. Before giving him the money, I demand my car documentation back, and he obliges. He said he also would write us a note for getting to my house, but it was the biggest piece of shit I have ever seen. The note was written on the back of a telephone book advertisement--uhg!

He then tells us that we should follow him and he will take us to DF. As soon as he is on his bike and my car is fired up, I turn on the GPS and Constance guides us onto a different freeway. We see the cops and plow forward. My nervousness of driving in the fray of DF is gone, I am more concerned about getting to my destination. I bob and weave through traffic like a goddamn madman; all the while, Marissa has her eagle eyes on a swivel for any possible troublesome policia.

We make it on to my street, Rosas Moreno, and arrive at our long awaited destination; there is a parking spot directly outside. I am praying that Hector, my neighbor, is home, because I have been unable to call him--HE IS! He greets us, and we recount our heroic tale. He grimaces when I told him how much I paid, but he says that we did the best we could on our first day here. He helps us unload some stuff from the car, and gives us a few of the ins and outs on the facility. Later he returns with a large cold beer and puts it in our fridge.

The apartment is better than I remember--it is huge and partially furnished. The living room has a large couch, two huge bean bags, a tapestry and a mirror on the wall, and a rug to tie the room together. The dining room has a table, a desk, some stools, a white board and a poster. The bedroom has a twin bed that will have to do for now. the kitchen has some plates and bowls, a table and chairs. The roof has a couch, a ton of potted plants, a hammock, a BBQ, a couch, and a second bathroom.

This feels strange and awesome at the same time. It is hard for me to fathom that this is it. This is where I have been driving to for the last two weeks. This is my house, by myself, for the next two years. I have arrived.

I look around at my scattered possessions, strewn across two rooms in a haphazard explosion. My car sits down below and locals point at the California plates as they pass by. Marissa cleans the kitchen, the dogs sleep, and I feel a nervous vibration--I am home--soon this will feel like home.

Pictures soon...I promise!