Why Am I Waiting Here?

I find myself pausing for no reason, during illegally uploaded episodes of The Office. I stop the show, as if something urgent, somewhere else in the Internet, needs my attention. However, when I arrive at my paused moment...nothing. I don't know why I stopped it. As a default, I check my email, but I checked my email 20 minutes earlier, and I know nothing new has arrived--I follow through with a check and then I exit. Then, I sit there and ponder, "Do I go back to the episode? What else should I look at? I know there is something I need to check, what is it?"

I think I stare at computer screens too often. Anyway, it is getting late, and I need to finish the last episode of Season 4--Dunder Mifflin just got a new HR hire.

I don't care what Annie says, The Office is far more interconnected and thoughtful than Lost--Lost is Sci-fi for soap opera junkies...HOLY SHIT! I kid you not, someone just drove by my house THUMPING Du Haust by Rahmstein! That just made my night.

The Rain is Why We Talk So Slow--Trickle Trickle

All last week my little freshmints were out camping in the wilderness of Mexico. They claimed it was about group bonding, and to tell you the truth, I don't care what they call it--all I know is, I had a week of one less class. I was diligent the entire week, and continued to come in at 7am each day, despite the fact that for two days last week, I had no teaching responsibilities until 1pm. My school claims to dock you pay, if you do not show up on time: "You are paid as a full time employee, and you are expected to be here as a full time employee--7:30 - 2:45." Well, like I said, I was good about it. Friday though, enough was enough, and after my last class, which let's out at 12:30, I high tailed it home--it felt amazing. I took the dogs to the dog park, and we enjoyed a solid afternoon of butt sniffing and frolicking--that is, the dogs did...I just observed.

Friday night was Pizza with fellow teachers and a little live music and brew at a hip Condessa bar. Saturday, I stayed in, and it felt good. Sunday, I got my work done, and then enjoyed the trafficless streets, as I jetted over to the dog park. I found parking nice and easy. Sunday is a freaking parade of dogs. All the yuppies with their new pure breeds, are out and about. They all scream at their dogs, but none of them listen. Point in case, some Guido with cut off sleeves and a pseudo work out outfit, was redundantly screaming at his Lab to leave Lucio alone. Lucio, was chasing a laser beam, which I was sending in various directions. Lucio would only break concentration, when said Lab would try and hump/paw him. As the redundant drone of the Lab's owner continued, Chops came up and gave a few big barks and positioned himself between the Lab and Lucio--in my mind, I said, "Hell yeah, dog! Run shit!" The lab, not heeding the message of his owner or Chops' bark, kept on. Chops then gently grabbed the Lab by his scruff and pulled him away from Lucio. Finally the owner, now worried about his dog, came and got him. He sheepishly said some shit about how his dog loves little dogs; I condescendingly smiled at him, because he knew that I knew, that he felt like an ass. Later, as I began to exit the park, as the pied piper of my pack, the same fucking Lab came charging back. My dogs followed me, and so did the Lab, and the workout junkie had to run like a little ass shaved poodle after his disrespectful dog. I put my pups on leash and hooked a corner towards a cafe---Pablo Zeta and Anita were waiting with espresso en tow.

Pablo and Ana were nestled up under an awning, sipping tiny cups of caffeine. I sauntered up, distributed the dogs, and we sat down. What was just going to be a quick drop by, turned out to be a couple hour chill out. As we sat and talked, the rain increased to epic down pours (Where is Gloria now?). So we sipped coffee and talked about this that and the other. Pablo took Lucio, and headed back to his apartment to grab his camera. Chops whined as his little buddy went in another direction. When Pablo returned, the rain really started dumping. Pablo shot a time lapse of the old salty Mexican men playing dominoes next to us. Then he turned the camera towards the street. I then decided, during a break in the heavy rain, that it was time for Flow and I to dance--one snapshot at a time. So as we moved, step by step, Pablo snapped away. He then went home and produced the following video. I am really impressed by all the videos he has created. He basically shoots all of these time lapse camera shots, which are just a series of photos, and then he strings them together in a video, and edits in graphics, music, and rhythm. In any event. Enjoy the mishaps of Flow and me, and enjoy a brief video about the frenetic energy of DF. Itis also a testament to the insane amount of PDA that is everywhere here. Notice in the second video, that Chops makes a few cameos--this was the first day I met the Spaniards.

P.S. Currently working on a pixelated picture...updates soon. Chuck Close, anyone? Also, Pablo hates Jack Johnson, but the other night Ana made us Jam Flake for her, and now I am teased for being a Jack JOhnson lover--but that is okay with me.

Siestas, Sonrisas, and No Sun

A dense gray fog hangs over the high volcanic valley of Mexico City. Street cleaners and street corner cooks, shuffle about in the dimly lit morning haze. The sun is struggling out of bed, and somewhere, down some street, a million alarm clocks fire all at once.

The taxi ride is the same: Jane from North Carolina, in her nasal Southern draw, asks elongated questions, which eat up the 20 minutes to work. Sarah responds to all inquiries, with another story about ASF and its true seedy underbelly. The taxi driver drives, and I sit and dream--will napping ever become a sport?

I arrive to school before 7am. Today the guards have decided to let me pass without my plastic pass; some days they make me write down my name and receive a visitor's pass. Much like most things in Mexico, there seems to be no regularity in their thought process.

My classroom smells of spilt cleaning supplies. I stumble to my desk as the "smart lights" automatically turn on. I throw my bag on the floor, pull my laptop from the bottom drawer of my desk, and I begin to waste the early morning with the internet.

The school has placed thousands of dollars worth of programs onto my computer--namely, the entire Adobe Creative Suite 4. I consider it my job to transfer said material to another computer, my computer. I attempted to use my new tech savvy storgage/synching device, Dropbox. However, the service agreement does not allow the transfer of program files. So it goes, I shall succeed, one flashdrive at a time.

Highlight from yesterday's workday: At the end of the day, I have a free period. Towards the end of the period, before the final school bell, I decided to take a siesta (nap just sounds more selfish), on the back table in my room. I have a method: I lock my door, I turn the lights off, I close the blinds, and I fill a rectangular plastic bag with air, tie it off, use it as a pillow, and I lay down; the back corner of my room is an inpenatrable nexus for observation. What was supposed to be a 10 minute power nap...siesta, turned out to be a 30 minute snore-fest. I would have kept on going, if it weren't for the trusty cleaning lady, entering and hoping to tend to her tasks. I awoke in a flury of confusion and then remembered the meeting I had at 2:45...it was 3:10. I stormed over, slipped in, made my presence known with a few choice comments, and aplogized at the close of the meeting for being tardy. The good thing was, I wasn't the only one late, and hence the blunder was mildly deblunderfied.

Last night, I had intentions of meeting up with Pablo Z, to play a little music, but events occurred. My neighbor, Sarah and her daughter Bella, were being interviewed by the local news. The news was conducting a human interest story about the pubic school system in DF, and a foriegner's perspective. In any event, their deaf dog, Buster, was going nuts with the cameras and stuff, and Sarah sent him up to my house. Lucio and him had similar playing styles--swift, nuerotic, and relentless. Lucio attempted to hump the poor dog for over an hour. Sarah's other kid Olie, was also a little out of hand, and he got sent up with the dogs--he fell in line with Lucio and Buster's playing style. Watching them negated music playing, and I called in my resignation. Olie left after 40mins, and I left Lucio and Buster to their devices, and I took Flow and Chops on a short walk. Once again, as previously stated, my dogs are proving themseleves time and time again--I am very happy that my dogs have an off button, and can enjoy the company of others, while simply laying down.

After the dogs and kids, I made dinner. A dry rub of chiles on some pork, was the order for the night. I made some Mexican Gringo Rice, and I cooked a sweet little feast for myself. I watched some of The Office Season 3. I have watched season 5 and 1, and I am working on downloading seasons 2 and 4. The Office is addictive, and I truly love every character on the show. Dwight Shrute is a hero!

I pulled myself away from The Office, and I made my jump into painting. The night before I had augmented some pictures in Photoshop, and I had attempted to freehand an outline on one of the canvases I bought. I pushed myself to free hand. Then, holding the canvas above my head, placing a printed picture on the back, I corrected my deviations in proportion. From an outside perspective, I must have looked a little off, walking around under a light, canvas raised above me, one eye closed, lip pinched between my teeth, while I spun under a 40watt fixture. In any event, last night I hunkered down to cover it in paint. I had eliminated black from the image, and the result was a very colorful face abstracted in space. I was determined to really find the correct colors for each layer of the paint. I painted for three hours straight, and at the end, I stepped back, and I could not have been more pleased.

The painting is a picture I took of my friend Julia outside El Califa; we went there the other night when Gloria was in town--she loves al pastor. I also have pictures of Pablo and Ana, and I have a game plan for a large scale production.

That is that. I should get to the grading I have yet to do. Seeing how I have today's class planned, and it doesn't start until 1pm, I think I have plenty of time...but, I do always find away to consume that void in a less than work related way. Perhaps a brief morning siesta is in order?

Visitors, New Paw Prints, and Tacos

1) I don't shower often, but when I do, it feels really good. I am fighting the global water problem, one less shower at a time. Somewhere around 2005, when I took a trip to South America, I stopped the daily grind of watering and lathering--of all the things that happened down there, that was the one thing that stuck. Sometimes in my Colonia, they shut off the water, because there is not enough to go around. Sometimes, the pump breaks, and the water won't come up stairs. Sometimes there are news articles, which discuss the water shortage we will inevitably face on a global scale. All of these things are prime excuses for a lack of showering--so I use them as such--excuses.

2) I had my first visitor. Gloria, whom accompanied me on my first trip to DF in April, made her second voyage. She was here for five days, and lord it felt good to have an old friend, a piece of home, another person under my roof. She arrived on a mild evening and she left on the same type of day. Aside for a brief sprinkle here and there, she brought the good weather. It was my hope that she would experience the deluge of an afternoon storm, but alast it never came. What did come was good times. We spent several evenings with Pablo, Ana, and Julia. For El Grito, the big Independence Day celebration, we went to an awful bar in Colonia Juarez. There were fireworks in the Zocalo and amazing light show, but we ended at a gringo gentrified pub. The Spaniards were in tow, and we high tailed it to La Condesa for a beverage and some ambiance. We chatted, we drank, we exchanged stories of wild years past, and we were merry. Then we headed to the fail safe late night grub spot: Tizoncito. Tacos al pastor at 2 am shall always be amazing. As we grubbed a homeless man serenaded us. Then as I turned to look over Julia and Gloria's shoulders, a large elephant of a man, stood up and socked the other dude at his table. The guy's eye began furiously bleeding. Everyone was in shock. The short of it was, the bloody dude left with his woman and the big dog stayed and finished his tacos...weird. We then parted ways, on an odd note.

3) Sharing your artwork with friends is cool. Sharing your artwork at a high end restaurant with several couples you don't know, is a little scary. Julia designed the interior decorum of a Malayasian restaurant in Roma Norte. Gloria, Ana, Pablo, and I met her there for some drinks. Some other couples were there. Julia said I had to bring three paintings, in order to be allowed inside. Her artwork is in the main dining area--these brilliant little drawings of unusually delightful dimensions. A large gangly monkey being ridden by a tiny George Washington; a delicate Indian Palm, circled by a tiger and concealing a mischevious little monkey. All of the drawings have this ornate antique quality to them. Before my first beer was done, Julia summoned my paintings. Gloria had asked me, prior to leaving the house, "Are you nervous?" At the time, I boldly answered, "No. Not at all. I am confident in my work." Well in the restaurant, with several strangers, that shit all went out the window. I reluctantly distributed my canvases: Curtis Blow, Jen Cohen, Katie Quach, and Senorita Marcus, circulated the table. Gloria eve's dropped on the Spanish murmurings, and the report was that they dug the works...I smiled on the inside.

3) Tacos with al pastor, pineapple, salsa, cilantro, and cheese are really good; they are really good, when purchased at El Califa in La Condesa.

4)Discovering new parts of town is fun. We took a drive through Palanco and Bosque de Chapultapec. I had loose directions from a fellow teacher. I don't think I found the park he was talking about, but I did find the 2a section of Chapultapec Park, and we found a parking spot for 15 pesos. Glo, the pups, and I walked around a brilliant green lake; the fish and ducks were as thick as the algae. Naturally Flow dove in after the coy fish. I ducked behind a bush and waited for her to return. We walked the lake, and then dipped across the street and found a fairly uninhabited section of rolling grass knolls that were sparsely covered with semi-mature trees. We sat down next to a bunch of Jews engaging in a Holy Ritual--it was pretty awesome. Gloria quizzed me on my Spanish vocab, I played some harmonica, and the dogs frolicked like they do. The weather was about 75 degrees out and clear blue skies--it was by far the best day of the trip.

5)Korean food is damn good. The portions served here are much larger than in the states. Korean food is spicy. Korean food can really open up some new parts of your lower GI track. Korean food taught me the term "Pica y Repica": Spicy on the way in and spicy on the way out.

6)Julia is in Barcelona for a month. Julia is the first true friend I made outside of school. Julia has a Jack Russell named Lucio (or Lucious). Lucio is now apart of my pack for the next month. Little dogs are cool. Lucio, still has his testes. Lucio, when at a dog park, spends most of his time attempting to spread his seed with dogs far too large for him. Lucio spent the better part of 45 minutes trying to impregnate a great dane--he never made it past her elbow. For the better part of 45 minutes, I pretended that I did not know Lucio. I went to coffee afterwards with the pups. Ana held Lucio, and Flow and Chops laid down next to me. I know I have said this before, but being here in Mexico has made me realize how awesome my dogs are. Sure they chew stuff, don't always listen, but the fact that they can lay calmly while at coffee, or sit and stay when told, is really making me happy. When I walk all three dogs, if I put Lucio on the inside of Flow, who walks on the inside of Chops, he will not pull. If I walk him on the opposite side of me, by himself, all he does is pull. It is interesting to see how the pack mentality affects the migrating aspect of walking together.

7) I am tired. I shall end here.

San Rafael con Amigos

Well, I will update about the weeks events soon. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of batteries, and well I shall not post a verbal masterpiece, without the accompanying visuals; it would be like an auditory acid trip, and well that is really only half the fun.

So until then, I bring you a Sunday Masterpiece by friend Pablito. Today we met in Jardin Del Arte to look at some of the local art, and then we headed to my roof for some brew, chips, salsa, and conversation. Pablo, Ana, Gloria, and I soaked in the rays. It was nice, because these were my first guests in my house. I had picked up the poop that morning--woohoo! In any event, Pablo set up his time lapse camera, and captured the following. The camera is faced away from the street, looking over the neighboring houses, and towards downtown.

Please Enjoy:

A Park, A Fire, and Another Sabath

This is going to be a short blog, but I have some pics that I wanted to put up. Yesterday, I came back from a long day out with the dogs. We went to Parque Mexico early in the AM; I realized how close it is and how quick it can be, when there is no traffic. The dogs played, and then we hunkered down at a cafe for some homework, i.e. I had to grade a bunch of homework. I met up with Pablo and Ana, and their other Spaniard friends Vanessa and...I forget, but he is an economist. We had some coffee and discussed life.

I headed home, and the streets were jammed; celebration for the day of independence have already begun. Mexicans pushing carts of Mexican flags, have been flooding the streets for weeks. As I was sitting at home, Flow began scurrying back and forth in the house. I couldn't figure it out, we had been out all day, and there was no need to be uptight. She paced, and then I heard some screaming. Then I looked out the window, and the theater across the street, Teatro Aldama, was up in smoke. Smoke was billowing from the roof and out the front. Fortunately the matinee had gotten out an hour or so earlier. It was amazing to watch everyone run about to help out. The cops and the fire fighters did not shun the laity from helping. Individuals from the street helped pull the hoses, and everyone worked together. I moved to the roof to snap the following pics.

After an hour, I called my mom, and I realized that breathing burnt plastic and various other chemicals, was starting to make me sick. So I packed up my work, grabbed the dogs, and we met up with Sarah, her dog Buster, and Ollie and Bella. Sarah wasn't being let back into her place, she had walked around the block and discovered that they were about to tow my car, not because I was in trouble, but because of its proximity to the fire. I hurried up, gave my dogs to Ollie and Bella, moved my car, and then we headed down to Cuauhtemoc to a Lebanese coffee shop. Bella is the designated Chops walker, and Ollie is the designated Flow walker. We met Hector there, had some coffee, and after an hour, we headed back home. They contained the fire; however, I think it will be a while before Friday night theater is back. I am sure all the pachucos who hustle the sidewalk are wondering what to do.

Painting in the Rainless Night

This weekend has been about being in the pad and enjoying. I stayed in last night and I stayed in tonight. After receiving an email from my Aunt about a painting that had her stumped, I decided to attack the blank canvas that has been sitting in the dining room for a few weeks now. I did this other painting of Chops and myself, and it left me with a disheartened feeling...it just never took off like I had hoped.

Tonight I set up my little painting nook. It felt good to hunker down. I put the dog beds in there, and the soldiers filed in. It felt damn good. I got my little water cups, I put on my smock, which happens to be Brant Jameson's grandfather's old work shirt; it is an old faded blue polyester fandango, and it is better than a rag to wipe my mixing palette knife with.

In any event, I had this great picture of my friend Katy from the other night in Roma. She, was very excited about a pack of sugar covered gummies, and well it is the type of thing that lends itself to a weird picture. I am almost done. I am taking a break to blog this, let things dry, and then come back in with a marker and little more paint. While painting, I caught site of my shadow, and I painted the silhouette from my periphery...I think I like caricatures of myself--don't we all?

The Rains Often Arrive on Time

The sky here, at least for the last several days, has maintained a gun metal gray. The rains are without a doubt, heavy in the early evening, and it tends to fire off sporadically through out the night. It's cloudy like my lungs; hazy and dense, but not sickly. The lightening though...the lightening strikes in the streets here. You can watch it touch down. I guess we are so high up, the rules are little different.

Yesterday, I hit the crossroads again: to go or not to go, to the park in The Condesa. I have resigned to flipping a quarter that I keep on my night stand: heads I go, tails I stay; so far it has been heads every time. So just as the sky began to rip open, I lead the dogs out and in to my car. We hunkered down in the safety of my 4Runner. I am finding it very liberating, and very comforting to have my trusty truck with me. It is this nice piece of home--though I have not cleaned the interior since California, and it is embarassing to give people rides--it stinks! In any event, we began our circuitous route to Condesa. The rain started really coming down, so hard that I had to turn up the music. Mini-waterfalls cascaded down my windshield, and the first bolt lightening hit somewhere about a mile off; the thunder aroused both dogs from their car induced coma. As we turn the corner onto Insurgentes, all the cars are shifting over to the left. Flooding. Flooding, during any decent rain is a given. The city's aquaducts are not equipped to handle that hard of a rain in such a short time. Given this fact, it is quite common to see the brave subcompact, who thought they could ford the river, stalled in a tiny ocean. Personally, I kick the 4Runner into 4x4, and cautiously charge through; the clearance between my car and the water is greater than most of the other cars. The 4Runner is proving to be a useful Urban Utility Vehicle. To the right is a picture of La Angel; it is an iconic monument in the city. If Mexico wins in anything, the people flock here. It is the center of a big roundabout, and I hastily snapped this pic while driving; think of the crystal clear raindrops as a metaphor.

I plow through, and make my way through the perpetual traffic. There is no escaping the traffic, there are just different streets you can pick, to sit in it. I arrive, and with minor delay, I find parking. The dogs and I, the only pets and pet owner out and about, charge into the park. I let the dogs off, and they get wet and dirty. I find a covered bench to sit under and I watch it all: the dogs romping in shallow pools; the teenie-boppers huddled under an adjacent bench, giggling as they do; a couple of young machismo punks starring as usual. We stay for an hour, and then I round them up and we head back to the car.

The drive back is equally flooded and long. Thus far I am still enjoying the novelty of driving in another country, so the traffic doesn't get to me. However, if at some point I get jaded, I could see real road rage happening.

I came home and cooked an amazing dinner using soy protein, which looked like tasty little bits of fajita meat. I sauteed them with onions, garlic, and bell pepper, and then added a tandori curry sauce. I made some rice with a can of mixed veggies mixed in. It was a damn good dinner and was a great way to end the day. Flow is a diligent watcher of all events concerning food; I wouldn't call it begging, she just keeps a close proximity.

The rest of the evening was just internet, typing, guitar playing, singing, and sleeping. It was a perfectly mellow scenario.

I'm an Island: Not by Choice, I think...

I find myself, in the bubble of my car, cursing the culture I drive through. While I say obscene blanket statements of frustrated ignorance, I feel a duality: 1) Hell yes, this feels good, I agree, amen! 2) What small mindedness to hold within yourself, how easy this is to answer it all. It astonishes me, and flashes my synapses back to intro to sociology, when I discovered the notion of ethnocentrism. It is this weird game I play, where I feel what I feel, and simultaneously acknowledge that it is not the true truth. I almost laugh, because apart of me feels it with such conviction, and at the same moment I know...I know it is just not that easy to be, "me right and you wrong."

In Mexico, public curbs are co-opted by private citizens, who block them off, and become gutter valets. They back you in, take your keys, and promise to protect, all for a small fee. I find it fucking aggravating, but I am not scraping by in a sea of 22 million. Today, I drove for a little under 2 hours. I was going to a park 2 miles a way. I made it to the park in 15 minutes. I circled the neighborhood for a very long time. Every inch of curb has something in front of it. And every opening is barely big enough to fit half of my car. It is a sick game of chance. Some days, most days, it works out fine--timing is the key, and I have yet to find the perfect recipe.

The dogs ran hard in the park--they have been cooped up with sick old me.

I went to a clinic today to be tested for pig flu. The test amounted to me hocking a green loogie of lung butter into a cup and sealing the top. They said come back tomorrow and we shall see. The doctor, who the school sent me to, told me she could not have me go back to school until she got the results. I have now told everyone that I am being held at bay against my will. But then I thought, who the fuck is this lady? What authority does she have at the school? If I went to school tomorrow, would anyone know that I was not in the clear? I have been proliferating her decree to all that I speak to, so now it feels like god ordained fact, but I still question it. In Mexico, you have a lot of people who assume control over a lot of overlapping things, ideas, places, beliefs, etc. I am learning to live within the many cross sections.

For tonight, I stay up late once again, because I can. My absentee lesson plans are submitted, and might I say, I am doing a damn good job of teaching from a laptop.

So it goes, and the wind can't blow it all away.

The Slow Trickle: Like a Sinus Infection

I awoke on Sunday morning, and there was a twinge in the back of my throat. I knew exactly what it was as soon as I felt it, and I dreaded its presence immediately. I pressed on with my day: Garlic and eggs for breakfast, hoping and hoping; Parque Mexico with the dogs and the Spaniards; Several glasses of tea with brunch and lunch; finally at 5 I went home for a siesta. I was supposed to head out to an art show in Condesa, and when the skies ripped open, turning my kitchen into a shallow swimming pool, I took it as a sign to remain home. The rain and my illness were in a parallel: they grew stronger and more violent through the night.

I awoke at 6am, and I knew then that I was not going to school. I hastily made a sub plan, but the storm had knocked out the internet, so I had to ask Sarah to take it to school for me. I called the sub line, and since it was the first time I had spoken since the previous night, I audibly noticed how sick I sounded.

Today was spent on the couch. It was spent drinking water, water, tea, water, cereal, water, tea. I feel about the same as this morning, with a tightness in the chest, a sinus headache, and all of it is very much green.

At 1pm today I had to walk to the bank and deposit my very late rent money. As I walked, a local school had just gotten out. I, wearing my Norwegian beenie, my Trader Joe's sweatshirt, saggy Ben Davis pants, and my New Balance tennies, well I was a site to be gauked at. My foul mood permitted no mercy for these streetside punks. If I caught one of their eyes, I stared ominously, with the sort of blank intensity you see in celebrity mugshots. I hurried through the crowd, and as one ballsey little nino thought it sweet to whistle at me, I passed him abrubtly and whistled back, not much more was said as I proceeded in front of them on Insurgentes. A note: the whistle here is used continuosly, and with many applications. Sometimes, a hello, a celebration, other times a catcall or a mocking gesture. The whistle is alive and well down here--well, maybe not well, but definitely alive.

I paid rent, and made a long circuit to the grocery store. I bought some herbal throat coat, some peppermint tea, peaches, limes, and instant oatmeal. At the register I signed my debit card receipt in haste. The checker, a middle aged lady who was only doing her job, compared the signatures, and said that they did not match up. "Sweet Fucking Chritst!!!!" I showed her my other, American Debit card, and she said that didn't change how I signed it. From the bottom of my despair I mustered: "Por Favor, Senora!" It was a simple line, but I think it explained every ounce of my current health--she begrudgingly gave me my card and groceries.

Since then, I have sat on the couch and sweated. I just took a shower, and I read a school email. Basically their flu efforts are in full swing. If I go to the hospital tomorrow, and I have a confirmed flu case, well then I am not allowed back at school for 7 days. At the entrances of the school, they are taking temperatures of all entering students and staff; anyone outside of the normal range, will be quarantined to the nurse's office and sent home. Now this sounds all far more dramatic than it really is, but basically I don't see myself going to work tomorrow, even if I felt up to it. So I am hunkering down for the long haul. The dogs, who have slept the entire day in the living room with me, not whining once to go out, are saving my sanity. They periodically come to the couch, sit down, and let me stroke them for awhile; we are in the good fight together.

That being said, don't be alarmed, but in the grand narrative of this chronicle, this episode deserves an entry. So, send me your healthy vibes, and I will see you on the other side.

So, I just wanted to add a few pics. Really, these are not going to be earth shattering, nor will the writing be splendid enough to peek your interest, but it is raining and I'm staying in doors.

That being said, I continued my cleaning today. Yesterday, I swept and scrubbed the floors. Today, I swept again, put away my laundry, cleaned the counters, washed the dishes, unclogged the drain, and swept the entry way. The sweeping of the entry way delivered a treat. Underneath my Yakima Rocketbox, which sits cumbersomely in the main entrance, I spied a postcard dated August 25th. The image on the card is of a fine young Anglo-Saxon chap, begrudgingly accepting a boot pressed against his cheek. His face mimics that of disgust, concentration, and acceptance, all at once. On the back of this captivating image, there was a note of sorts: The High Priest of the Mid-East, Shalom Boyle, wrote me in haste. Things have gotten sticky on the farm front, and he implored me to maintain vigilance in this good fight we find ourselves in. He highlighted the changing landscape of 21st Century warfare, and how if we try hard enough, our ingenuity just might be the creative Hiroshima the world has been looking for. Well me, being the scientist that I am, I take that as a sign to turn on the gas and start a fire. Every good scholar needs an opus, so too, for those so called artists. I am thinking of writing a novel with acrylic paints on 8x8ft canvases. Aside from my horrible spelling and lack of complete conviction, I see no reason for this not to be the answer to all of our problems. And so it is, and together we all say, amen.

This is a picture of the bus driver, our bus driver, coming back from Veracruz. Notice his slightly pontiff style hail he is giving. This delicate celestial gesture was a minute-by-minute mantra for this old concrete highway horse. However, there were stipulations: He only gave this gesture to other bus drivers (you can see the other bus off in the distance). To further narrow his rules of engagement, I noticed that he did not give this gesture to every bus he saw. So what was the distinction? The side view mirrors. Through countless hours of finite observation, I deduced that it was the side view mirrors of the bus, which were to descend from the roof of the bus, in an odd dog/lama ear sort of fashion. If our beloved bus driver, with his gently moistened hands, saw the same mirrors, then he signaled with grace. It was a great mystery to solve; I wish you could have been there.

This is what my class looks like, from the front and the back. The front is a menagerie of SAT vocabulary words, inspirational quotes, personal flags for each student, rock posters, and MLA format guidelines (if you click the picture and look in the upper left corner, you will see a darling little version of me). The back is a party of "I am From" poems, personal flags, and suspended baby pictures; each student brought in a baby photo and wrote an inspirational motto on the back. Now the innocence of their youth flickers above the perversion of their adolescence.

I am Thinking at Work: Maybe This is What I Get Paid For...

Thought 1: If you drink free coffee, at work, and in large quantities, your bowel movements will feel like a holiday sale: a whole lot of crap and not enough to time.

Thought 2: Speaking another language over the phone is infinitely harder than in person, especially when you are still acquiring the basics. I realize now, and I have realized before, but this just reaffirms, how much we say with out words. Ana Jardon y Pablo Z, the Spanish couple I met through my Catalan dog connection, have invited me to go see Jason Mraz next week. Now, as Ana stated, "perhaps you think he is crap," and I do, but this isn't so much about the music, as it's about getting out and risking. Me, the monolingual gringo, a horde of Spaniards, and a crooning Abercrombie guitar slinger, is going to be a Choose Life mandate. I called via Skype, from work, and we traded awkward pauses--the end result being: she will buy me a ticket today, and we will talk on Friday.

Thought 3: I like to daydream; in fact, I spend a solid portion of each day doing so. Of late, I have been thinking about getting my private pilots license. I fear, as I write this, I am committing the sin of speaking before action, and hence, dooming my dream to die as a dream. However, I don't mind sharing. The oldest flight school in the world, American Flyers, has one international location; this location is in Mexico City. Their program costs several thousands of dollars, but it is thorough and well supported. To get the license you are looking at $2000 to $5000. An entry level plane, a 1960-1980 Cessna 172 or Piper Cherokee, runs about $10000 to $20000. I have spent several block periods, while my students were testing, scoping the used plane market. I think I like the thought of having a four seater and cruising the country. Hypothetically, a sweet and dear friend may say, "Hey, you want to come visit us in Chico or Santa Cruz?" I would reply, "Sure. I get off work at 3 on Friday, I will be up around 9 or so, perhaps a late dinner? You still have that yard for the dogs, maybe we can get in a hike on Saturday?" I mean, if I really ran with it: A local agent/promoter/booker calls up, "Yo Elliott, we need you for a show over here in Seattle. We are working on this big project and if you want to paint, or read poetry, or play some of your new music, we would love to have you." I would modestly reply, "My pleasure. I will hop in the Cessna on Friday, and Flow, Chops, and I will be ready and able on Saturday morning."

Thought 4: I am still just a dude in the world. I play songs in empty rooms, and I watch the tumble weeds of fur blow past. TODAY! Before the park, before Spanish conversations, before life...I shall clean. I mean really clean. I am not a filthy person, but I realize now how much Annie took care of the interior. Oh, Santa Cruz.