Thursday, November 17, 2011


I can pretend to be cool all I want but the truth is I'm...not. Here's a lovely story to paint a picture:

I'm having class with an older, advanced student who is the director of his own architecture firm. The man oozes professionalism, hard work, structure and responsibility. We're having a conversation about some amazing hiking trip he's recently taken in which he was trekking through the ice fields of Patagonia. I nod and listen intently as I put a teaspoonful of sugar into the tea he has brought me.

"Oh yeah?" I say to let him know I'm listening as he talks about his interesting-as-fuck life.

But then my sugar spills around my tea cup all over the pristine surface of the table where we're sitting. I attempt to remain cool and try not to be distracted or to distract him as I slowly collect the sugar into a pile with my hands. But once I have the pile together I panic in my mind, because, what the fuck do I do with this sugar now?

Since I am really *great in these situations, I decide quickly to take the heart-covered, tattered bag I use to carry my books to class and use it as my waste bin.

I continue to look him in the eye and nod, fascinated, as I sweep the sugar toward the opening of my bag at the edge of the table. He suddenly realizes what I'm doing and stops me from myself.

"No! No! Don't do that, please..." He gets up and rushes to find a trash can to bring me so I don't sweep sugar into my bag like a damn fool.

What I learned that day - don't ever try to solve a problem quickly in your own mind without first consulting another intelligent human being.

*great (meaning terrible)

Saturday, November 12, 2011


I make lots of silly decisions in life. Like deciding to eat a peach while I was walking down the street yesterday. What a friggin mess. Could I have chosen a messier snack? Maybe I could have brought along a basket of buffalo wings? Boiled, unpeeled shrimp? Anyway, lots of silly decisions. I'm happy to say that coming here has not been one of those silly decisions. I love it. Every little bit of it with all my heart.

I even love it when I wake up early, go outside and find myself in the midst of sidewalk washin' time when everyone's hosing off their sidewalk and I have to get my $40 peso shoes wet, (they're practically made of paper, so water doesn't help the overall sturdiness).

I even love it when the fruit and vegetable stand man gets mad at me for not having coins because nobody in this fucking city has coins so people hoard their coins and lie when shops ask for coins. I was lying, I DID have coins but he wasn't gettin em. Coins.

I especially love it when I see a woman throw a cup of hot coffee at a man crossing a busy intersection while screaming things so shrilly I'm not able to understand a word, I simply walk 10 feet behind him and watch in amazement.

As I get closer to leaving I feel like one foot is on a little island and the other foot is on another island and each day they get a little bit further apart. One side is pulling me toward home & friends & family & Chipotle & normalcy & English and the other side is pulling me toward friends & medialunas & Spanish & lunacy & constant pleasant surprises.

Right now I'm almost doing the splits and I've still got over 3 weeks to go before I fly.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

ten people in a room talking

My brain is like ten people talking in a room at once about different shit. Everyone's on a tangent and just keep going on and on and while this is happening, periodically, one person will hear what another one is talking about and it makes them think of something else and so they start talking about this new topic instead.

Can I focus on what any of them are saying exactly? Not at all. And when I try to zero in on one of them who might be talking about computers, for example, the attempt to focus on one at a time doesn't work.

In this case I'd just think alright, computers. Computers... Apple, Steve Jobs, driven people, angry bosses, I wonder if that movie with Kevin Spacey about bad bosses was any good, remember in the movie "Seven" when Kevin Spacey yells DETECTIIIIIIIIIIIIIVEEEEEEEEE, Kevin Spacey worked with Haley Joel Osment in that one movie I never saw, I see dead people, my grandfather died in 1984, I never read the book 1984...

You see where this would be a problem. I need to find a way to convince all these assholes to talk about one thing at a damn time.