Monday, April 23, 2007
I am now the proud owner of a business suit. It cost $18.72 from Target. I look very smart*.
Friday, April 27, 2007
grown up
A picture is worth...etcetera...[makes appropriate hand gesture]
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I sent this photo to my parents a few hours after the Incident. (It looks a lot less flooded than it was, so they don't panic and they can see how happy it made Jeeves, so they might think the extra $$ on the water bill would be worth it).
Dear Parents
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Dear Parents,
Um.
So.
The garden flooded last night. I have no idea how it happened, but the red plastic tap by the hose faucet got turned on and was spilling water like it was going out of fashion all night long.
This is strange because I have not been anywhere near that tap since the day you left and I watered those few plants you said needed attention. It has rained about every three or four days since then (including last night's big storm), so I have not been in the garden as watering the plants has been unnecessary. I also could not have touched that tap as I only became aware of it's existence today, reaching around between mud, ivy roots and the odd purplish, grey slug, while trying to ascertain if there was a broken pipe.
Unless Jeeves has somehow developed opposable thumbs, I cannot explain how this happened. I am, however, beginning to suspect him because he thinks it's the absolute cat's pajamas and has been running back and forth as fast as he can through the small lake that was once the lawn.
He has been shut out of the house at this point in time.
...Out of curiosity and hopefully not necessity, should I need to shut off the water main in the future where would it be located?
-Your loving, wet, muddy, distressed second born.
Dear Parents,
Um.
So.
The garden flooded last night. I have no idea how it happened, but the red plastic tap by the hose faucet got turned on and was spilling water like it was going out of fashion all night long.
This is strange because I have not been anywhere near that tap since the day you left and I watered those few plants you said needed attention. It has rained about every three or four days since then (including last night's big storm), so I have not been in the garden as watering the plants has been unnecessary. I also could not have touched that tap as I only became aware of it's existence today, reaching around between mud, ivy roots and the odd purplish, grey slug, while trying to ascertain if there was a broken pipe.
Unless Jeeves has somehow developed opposable thumbs, I cannot explain how this happened. I am, however, beginning to suspect him because he thinks it's the absolute cat's pajamas and has been running back and forth as fast as he can through the small lake that was once the lawn.
He has been shut out of the house at this point in time.
...Out of curiosity and hopefully not necessity, should I need to shut off the water main in the future where would it be located?
-Your loving, wet, muddy, distressed second born.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Thankyou to Verizon Wireless
Here, images of my disfigurement:
And for kicks, here's what I really look like:
and my normal eye:
I hope my current appearance, not unlike that of Quasimodo, won't make you love me less.
And for kicks, here's what I really look like:
and my normal eye:
I hope my current appearance, not unlike that of Quasimodo, won't make you love me less.
Letter to Mater
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Hi mummy!I have a job interview Monday for an administrative assistant position in Palo Alto. The salary is $40-45,000.
I also have an awful eye infection that's terribly, terribly painful. So painful, in fact, that I braved going to the doctor and had some nurse practitioner tell me that I have an eye infection, because having a red, puffy eyelid and excruciating pain wasn't enough of an indication for me. She also showed me an article about it on the "internet" - very clever. You know, I hear they have this "internet" thing on computers now.
She gave me opthalmic antibiotics. Which was what I went in for. Well, that and you know how I love sitting around in waiting rooms for hours reading ancient copies of "Ladies Home Journal" and the Palo Alto Daily News (Soft, strong and thoroughly absorbant. Much like Quilted Northern). The whole experience just reinforced my mistrust of doctors. Hopefully the infection will go away soon, because it makes me not want to do anything except lie around and feel sorry for myself.
I've made lentil soup twice now with potatoes and carrots. It's great and lasts forever.
The neighbours across the cul de sac, the ones that no one talks to, with that yappy black and white spaniel have had their tree cut down. It's the big tree between their house and Joann's. It looks awful and I've decided that they must be Satanists, because who else would cut down such a big beautiful tree?
Miss you lots.
A
PS. Oh yeah, the faucet in the kitchen is brok-ed. I'm not sure what to do. John said he'd take a look at it, but he's gone to watch them release a condor in the East Pinnacles today.
Watermelons!!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Okay, okay. One more entry critcizing middle America
Only Oklahoma and (possibly some other states) would actually declare a watermelon their state vegetable - besides the fact that it is generally considered a fruit, it also has almost no nutritional value.
I actually don't need to say anything about it, I think except:
Laughing Bill says:
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahaha
I also thank the Flaming Lips for bringing this to my attention.
Purity Balls
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
My general fear of committing to someone is lapsing. This is how committed I am:
I changed my myspace profile to say that I'm "In a Relationship".
Big deal right? I still can't call him... that word.... you know, the one people use to describe a person that they have sex with but do other things with as well...?
Unless of course you're one of those girls who attended these. Because these girls only hold hands. For those of you too lazy to click the link (and perhaps have not yet discovered the wonders of tabbed browsing), it's the Wikipedia article on Purity Balls. Basically fathers take their daughters to these balls in order to ensure there virginity stays intact before the girls wedding night.
This is an archaic, disgusting practice.
The Wikipedia article claims that it is in response to the Christian ideal of sexual abstinence is losing favour in our current society.
I find it disturbing that any father has that much interest in his daughters sex life. It seems that unless he has raised an insecure, naive doormat of a daughter, she should have no problem finding her way in the world. I find it more disturbing that any father would take such an active role in his daughters sex life as to make the decision for her whether or not to have sex. Fathers sign the "Covenant of Purity and Protection":
"I, (daughter's name)'s father, choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity. I will be pure in my own life as a man, husband and father. I will be a man of integrity and accountability as I lead, guide and pray over my daughter and as the high priest in my home. This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come."
Speaking of active role in his daughters sex life, let's talk about the language here, specifically the term "cover my daughter". The term "cover" is a term that breeders use when bringing a male to breed with the female. I'm horrified. Especially looking later on in the covenant to read "This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come."
Incest aside, I also find it disturbing that these poor, poor girls are treated as though they must be passed from one man to another. The father signs the contract and then "gives her away" when she gets married.
The picture that I get from this is that there are thousands of parents out there raising little girls with the idea that they are property and not to be taken seriously. And they will grow up and marry men as equally perverted and dominating as their fathers and because they are such doormats, will also raise little girls with no sense of self except through what the church tells them they are.
My general fear of committing to someone is lapsing. This is how committed I am:
I changed my myspace profile to say that I'm "In a Relationship".
Big deal right? I still can't call him... that word.... you know, the one people use to describe a person that they have sex with but do other things with as well...?
Unless of course you're one of those girls who attended these. Because these girls only hold hands. For those of you too lazy to click the link (and perhaps have not yet discovered the wonders of tabbed browsing), it's the Wikipedia article on Purity Balls. Basically fathers take their daughters to these balls in order to ensure there virginity stays intact before the girls wedding night.
This is an archaic, disgusting practice.
The Wikipedia article claims that it is in response to the Christian ideal of sexual abstinence is losing favour in our current society.
I find it disturbing that any father has that much interest in his daughters sex life. It seems that unless he has raised an insecure, naive doormat of a daughter, she should have no problem finding her way in the world. I find it more disturbing that any father would take such an active role in his daughters sex life as to make the decision for her whether or not to have sex. Fathers sign the "Covenant of Purity and Protection":
"I, (daughter's name)'s father, choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity. I will be pure in my own life as a man, husband and father. I will be a man of integrity and accountability as I lead, guide and pray over my daughter and as the high priest in my home. This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come."
Speaking of active role in his daughters sex life, let's talk about the language here, specifically the term "cover my daughter". The term "cover" is a term that breeders use when bringing a male to breed with the female. I'm horrified. Especially looking later on in the covenant to read "This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come."
Incest aside, I also find it disturbing that these poor, poor girls are treated as though they must be passed from one man to another. The father signs the contract and then "gives her away" when she gets married.
The picture that I get from this is that there are thousands of parents out there raising little girls with the idea that they are property and not to be taken seriously. And they will grow up and marry men as equally perverted and dominating as their fathers and because they are such doormats, will also raise little girls with no sense of self except through what the church tells them they are.
Monday, April 16, 2007
I love the internet
I discovered this web page the other day. It's the Researchers Against Inactivity Related Disorders.
No joke.
Inactivity Related Disorders.
You can have a disorder because of your inactivity.
"Hey what's wrong with you?"
"Aw nothing. It's just my IRD."
"Your IRD? What's that?"
"My Inactivity Related Disorder."
"Oh. What's that caused by?"
"Inactivity."
"They got a cure for that?"
"Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Activity."
I realize the knowledge put forth by the website is commonplace. My shock lies in the fact that the problem is so prevalent that someone has come up with a name for it. And are actively assembling against it. Also that the knowledge isn't commonplace enough, hence the actual creation of the website:
"The major focus of Researchers against Inactivity-related Disorders (RID) is to educate others that physical inactivity, such as a sedentary lifestyle, increases the risk of multiple chronic disorders."
Note the thumbs up that the couch potato is giving us. I'm not sure why he is giving us a thumbs up or why he appears to be wearing an old fashioned flying helmet.
No joke.
Inactivity Related Disorders.
You can have a disorder because of your inactivity.
"Hey what's wrong with you?"
"Aw nothing. It's just my IRD."
"Your IRD? What's that?"
"My Inactivity Related Disorder."
"Oh. What's that caused by?"
"Inactivity."
"They got a cure for that?"
"Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Activity."
I realize the knowledge put forth by the website is commonplace. My shock lies in the fact that the problem is so prevalent that someone has come up with a name for it. And are actively assembling against it. Also that the knowledge isn't commonplace enough, hence the actual creation of the website:
"The major focus of Researchers against Inactivity-related Disorders (RID) is to educate others that physical inactivity, such as a sedentary lifestyle, increases the risk of multiple chronic disorders."
Note the thumbs up that the couch potato is giving us. I'm not sure why he is giving us a thumbs up or why he appears to be wearing an old fashioned flying helmet.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
another terrible bar
I went to a terrible bar on Friday night. It was really awful and may I never have the misfortune to go there again.
It both depressed and mortified me to be there - exemplary of suburbia cliche and south bay culture.
Featuring rude men sitting at the bar and about 6 silly girls dancing to godawful reggae-ish dance music on four feet of dance floor in the corner, it was the epitome of bad taste. I'll save my loathing of reggae and my even more intense loathing of dance music (especially dance music featuring reggae beats and some man shouting loudly in a jamaican accent over it) for another time, sufficed to say the music was terrible in the worst kind of bar music terrible. I don't think I need to describe the silly girls, because we've all seen them (or in some cases been them) in their stretchy black trousered, drunken, celebration of mediocrity, characterlessness and settling-for-less, dancing with each other, doing their best to mimic what they've seen on MTV.
As for the rude men, I actually had a guy purposely stand in front of me because he felt he had been waiting longer at the bar than me. Point of contention aside, I wanted water. First of all, who does that? Clearly someone who learned all too well and takes all too seriously the painful lesson of "no cuttsies" learned in kindergarten and also someone who doesn't go to bars very often... (not that there's anything wrong with _that_...) Second of all, I wanted water...life giving and hangover preventative and easily the shortest drink that a bartender can prepare, given that it is free and and comes out of an unemptyable tap and could be served by monkey. Literally.
--------------
In short, when I want to drunkenly celebrate mediocrity, characterlessness and settling-for-less, I prefer the Nuthouse. Unfortunately, I have been afraid to set foot in the Nuthouse since the Strange Man From Portugal Incident. Also unfortunately, I think I know people that like this place and it's possible that I may be drunk enough at some point to be talked into going back there. The theory of which is probably a large part of their marketing strategy.
It both depressed and mortified me to be there - exemplary of suburbia cliche and south bay culture.
Featuring rude men sitting at the bar and about 6 silly girls dancing to godawful reggae-ish dance music on four feet of dance floor in the corner, it was the epitome of bad taste. I'll save my loathing of reggae and my even more intense loathing of dance music (especially dance music featuring reggae beats and some man shouting loudly in a jamaican accent over it) for another time, sufficed to say the music was terrible in the worst kind of bar music terrible. I don't think I need to describe the silly girls, because we've all seen them (or in some cases been them) in their stretchy black trousered, drunken, celebration of mediocrity, characterlessness and settling-for-less, dancing with each other, doing their best to mimic what they've seen on MTV.
As for the rude men, I actually had a guy purposely stand in front of me because he felt he had been waiting longer at the bar than me. Point of contention aside, I wanted water. First of all, who does that? Clearly someone who learned all too well and takes all too seriously the painful lesson of "no cuttsies" learned in kindergarten and also someone who doesn't go to bars very often... (not that there's anything wrong with _that_...) Second of all, I wanted water...life giving and hangover preventative and easily the shortest drink that a bartender can prepare, given that it is free and and comes out of an unemptyable tap and could be served by monkey. Literally.
--------------
In short, when I want to drunkenly celebrate mediocrity, characterlessness and settling-for-less, I prefer the Nuthouse. Unfortunately, I have been afraid to set foot in the Nuthouse since the Strange Man From Portugal Incident. Also unfortunately, I think I know people that like this place and it's possible that I may be drunk enough at some point to be talked into going back there. The theory of which is probably a large part of their marketing strategy.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Final Chapter:
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Via the miraculous invention known commonly as the "text message":
"I'm not interested in a relationship with you of any sort. Please don't contact me any more."
"Ok. Thanks. Was that so hard? :)"
No, it really wasn't. I'm a silly girl. He's still a creep though.
Via the miraculous invention known commonly as the "text message":
"I'm not interested in a relationship with you of any sort. Please don't contact me any more."
"Ok. Thanks. Was that so hard? :)"
No, it really wasn't. I'm a silly girl. He's still a creep though.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Question and Answer Time
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Q: When does a casual acquaintance/annoyance cross over into stalker?
A: When he comes and finds you at your substitute instructor job that's only supposed to last a week.
Luckily you are in your car, just leaving the job to go home and eat breakfast. You can just speed away, engrossed in Ladytron and pretend that you didn't see him waving frantically from his bicycle. You then call Margo, screaming about it and she tells you to call the police (and laughs at you). Let's not mention the two phone calls and two text messages that follow.
Q: When does a casual acquaintance/annoyance cross over into stalker?
A: When he comes and finds you at your substitute instructor job that's only supposed to last a week.
Luckily you are in your car, just leaving the job to go home and eat breakfast. You can just speed away, engrossed in Ladytron and pretend that you didn't see him waving frantically from his bicycle. You then call Margo, screaming about it and she tells you to call the police (and laughs at you). Let's not mention the two phone calls and two text messages that follow.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Not My Finest Hour
Monday, March 26, 2006
I am faced with the possibility of a break from this, faced with someone whom I like a lot and apparently likes me a lot. Someone who wants to do nice things with me like go for long hikes with Jeeves, discuss the meaning of life and have great sex. What do I do?
I give my phone number to a Portuguese Stanford post-doc that I met at the Nuthouse. The Nuthouse.
It seemed like a fine idea at the time, after 3 Bloody Mary's, a Fat Tire and a Stella, a great way to assert my independance and, more importantly, my control over the situation. Now that he's texted me 4 times and called me 5 times, it doesn't seem as though it was such a great idea. Especially because the texts were overtly forward, ending with the words "Kiss.... Paolo".
As grossed out as I am I still feel like a total bitch not responding, but I don't know what to say.
1. "I'm sorry. I'm seeing someone who's taller and more attractive than you in just about every way. I only gave you my number because I'm trying to run away from my emotions."
2. "I'm sorry. I can't really stand the thought of you, so you see this makes it impossible for us to have a relationship.
3. "I've a VD, d'you?"
4. "I'm only 12."
5. "I'm actually 58"
I'd like to add, at this point, that he is calling me as I type, this makes it 6 calls.
6. "I'd like you to meet my parents. Why? So we can start planning the wedding, silly!"
Call number 7.
7. "I'm sorry. I confused my real number with the fake number I normally give out to strangers in bars. So this whole thing is really just a typographical error."
or, and this one's borrowed from a television show we all know and love,
8. "Dear Paolo, Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You."
I'm welcoming further suggestions. I still feel like a total bitch.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Bloody Noses and Dirty Hippies Part The Second
Apparently, the dirty hippy with the gum disease is in love with me. I was informed of this today by his closest friend, simultaneously being warned not to "touch that". I think he meant figuratively as in pursuing a relationship, but I chose to take it literally and said,
"Don't worry. You couldn't pay me to touch him."
"Don't worry. You couldn't pay me to touch him."
Monday, March 19, 2007
Bloody Noses and Dirty Hippies
Here's a funny story kids.
Saturday night, in a farm-fresh stupor, I walked into a wall and gave myself a bloody nose. This is the first time a physical act has resulted in my getting a bloody nose. I got bloody noses all the time when I was little, but it was always a very random occurrence, my mother always attributed it to my being "over tired" (I came to understand later that this was her excuse for everything).
This bloody nose episode, I had gotten up from my couch in the living room where I had been watching a what is really the only thing appropriate to watch at 1 in the morning in a farm-fresh stupor, a horror film, circa 1979. I was also trying desperately to forget the drunken, dirty hippy with the worst case of gum disease I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing at close hand. He had followed me around claiming my accent was fake, asking me would I please stop faking it and could he have some of my whiskey. He then proceeded to inform me that my dog really loved him and that a dog's closest relative was a dolphin (if you look at the snout, it's obvious, apparently). Then he sat way too close to me on the couch and made remarks about my sexual history, mainly along the lines of "I know all about you." repeated over and over again. I finally got up and went home.
The horror movie that I was watching came to an end, I got up and stumbled towards what I though was the hall that leads to my bedroom, but was in fact the wall of the hall that leads to my bedroom.
The reason I'm writing about it now is because it is still on my mind, because it still hurts - It feels like when you jump into a pool and you forget to breathe out and all the water rushes up your nose and pounds into your sinuses.
Either that or it feels like I snorted Tang.
Saturday night, in a farm-fresh stupor, I walked into a wall and gave myself a bloody nose. This is the first time a physical act has resulted in my getting a bloody nose. I got bloody noses all the time when I was little, but it was always a very random occurrence, my mother always attributed it to my being "over tired" (I came to understand later that this was her excuse for everything).
This bloody nose episode, I had gotten up from my couch in the living room where I had been watching a what is really the only thing appropriate to watch at 1 in the morning in a farm-fresh stupor, a horror film, circa 1979. I was also trying desperately to forget the drunken, dirty hippy with the worst case of gum disease I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing at close hand. He had followed me around claiming my accent was fake, asking me would I please stop faking it and could he have some of my whiskey. He then proceeded to inform me that my dog really loved him and that a dog's closest relative was a dolphin (if you look at the snout, it's obvious, apparently). Then he sat way too close to me on the couch and made remarks about my sexual history, mainly along the lines of "I know all about you." repeated over and over again. I finally got up and went home.
The horror movie that I was watching came to an end, I got up and stumbled towards what I though was the hall that leads to my bedroom, but was in fact the wall of the hall that leads to my bedroom.
The reason I'm writing about it now is because it is still on my mind, because it still hurts - It feels like when you jump into a pool and you forget to breathe out and all the water rushes up your nose and pounds into your sinuses.
Either that or it feels like I snorted Tang.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Silly news people-Kirk Cameron isn't interesting!
I had a conversation tonight with Ryan about the inanity of news b-roll, which reminded me of my foray into the world of television yesterday.
I thought I might give it a shot and I ended up watching 15 minutes of some idiot on MSNBC "interviewing" former tv child star and current religious nutcase Kirk Cameron (Growing Pains, Left Behind) while presumptuous and sensationalist b-roll played. Think a combination of clips from such films as Ben Hur and David vs. Super Goliath in addition to shots in seedy dive bars to demonstrate the moral demise of Hollywood as the reason why The Passion of the Christ was so popular (nothing to do with the fact that our country is stocked with people who will pay for anything that gives them a free pass out of the guilt of social responsibility, including the belief that someone else will show up and absolve them of all their bad deeds providing that they hate gay people).
I think that in this case and probably lots of other cases, the b-roll was mainly to distract the audience from what was actually being said, due to the fact that what was being said was total crap.
Currently listening :
Growing Pains & Other Hit TV Themes
By Steve Dorff & Friends
Release date: By 25 October, 1990
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
blackface noodles and introspection
Karen and I had a great Saturday. We took Jeeves to Lake Lagunita and he ran around like a very happy maniac. Then we went to the flea market at my alma mater, Palo Alto High School (surprisingly enough, I didn't burst into flames or melt or anything like that upon entering the grounds).
Then we went and ate noodles at her favorite restaurant in Mountain View. (Yes. It was further south than Rengstorff, once again I didn't burst into flames or melt or anything like that). We watched Japanese television while we were eating our noodles, there was a pop music show on with all these weird bands on, fairly innocuous for the most part.
I did almost spit out my noodles at one of the acts though, as it was five Japanese men in honest-to-goodness blackface.
I mean it. Really. Blackface.
---------------------------------------------
I find myself, quite often, looking for imperfections in my friends.
-----------------------------------------------
I recieved an email on Monday from someone who really enjoyed spending the day with me on Sunday.
I'm terrified because I can't imagine why - I am in the middle of discovering that I am an entirely interesting person without being a horse trainer, but I haven't gotten quite comfortable in my new skin yet.
 | Currently listening : Here Come the Warm Jets By Eno Release date: By 01 June, 2004 |
Friday, March 9, 2007
Part four, Jessie + I try and find a post office.
The table was rectangular and wooden and the people sitting around it were smiling. Their white teeth contrasted brightly with the dark stone walls and the dim light.
As the little woman handed me a large plastic cup full of foggy yellow chicha, we moved to our seats. I sipped a little as I sat and Jessie muttered to me under her breath,
"How is it?"
"It's dis-gus-ting."
I replied, singing it softly between my polite smiling teeth. She replied, equally succinctly,
"Here's to wildly violent diarrhea..."
And then took her own sip. The man sitting directly across from Jessie and in front of a stone wall that was wallpapered with poster calenders started talking to us in Spanish. The poster calenders were bright and colorful and, despite the somewhat scantily clad women featured on most of them, made the dark small room seem quite cheerful.
_____ was very interested in us. He was very proudly Quechua and motioned to everyone around the table saying that they were all Quechua, and that Quechua is a much happier language than Spanish.
"When you say something in Quechua, you want to smile." Jessie translated for me.
As the little woman handed me a large plastic cup full of foggy yellow chicha, we moved to our seats. I sipped a little as I sat and Jessie muttered to me under her breath,
"How is it?"
"It's dis-gus-ting."
I replied, singing it softly between my polite smiling teeth. She replied, equally succinctly,
"Here's to wildly violent diarrhea..."
And then took her own sip. The man sitting directly across from Jessie and in front of a stone wall that was wallpapered with poster calenders started talking to us in Spanish. The poster calenders were bright and colorful and, despite the somewhat scantily clad women featured on most of them, made the dark small room seem quite cheerful.
_____ was very interested in us. He was very proudly Quechua and motioned to everyone around the table saying that they were all Quechua, and that Quechua is a much happier language than Spanish.
"When you say something in Quechua, you want to smile." Jessie translated for me.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Part three, Jessie + I try and find a post office.
We discovered them by walking further back into the village, away from the main square. The streets were tiny and the buildings were made of the huge Inca stones that fitted together so firmly and tightly that you couldn't slip a knife between them.
Every once in a while, a house would have a pole that stuck out of it, with a red plastic bag wrapped around the end. We peeked into the first one we found and saw a group of people, men and women sitting around a table.
"That's the chicha that they're drinking." Jessie said.
Chicha is a fermented drink that I was already familiar with. As an undergrad at UCSB I worked with a grad student named Justin Jennings on a project to make Chicha. We made it out of the maguey plant, which is similar to agave, which is what you make tequila out of, assuming you are, of course in Tequila.
Jessie and I continued to wander the grid of Ollantaytambo. Happy, dirty stray dogs would run between the houses and beautiful, purple cheeked children played football in the streets. At some point we realized that we were not going to find the post office. Jessie turned to me and said, "Let's get a drink."
Hey Marianne + Jeremy,
Here's a postcard from a strange shop in Ollantaytambo. They sold honey and seeds and alpaca cloth but it was a benefit shop to encourage local people to keep doing what they've been doing for thousands of years. So it was a little more expensive than the other tourist shops, but I felt compelled to support them.
See you soon!
Alice
We had seen quite a few of these homes that served chicha, but we decided to go to the first one because it had lots of people in it.
It was a two or three steps down into the main room of the house, accessible from the street. An uneven wooden table was to one side, with chairs all around it. All the chairs were taken but one and a small crate. I sat on the crate and Jessie took the chair. A tiny Quechua woman said
"cincuenta centavos."
In response to Jessie's "¿cuánto para una taza?"
We only had one 5o cent piece between us, it was either that or a 100 sole bill which we reasoned she would not have the change for, so we got one cup.
We sat down with our new companions and introduced ourselves.
Every once in a while, a house would have a pole that stuck out of it, with a red plastic bag wrapped around the end. We peeked into the first one we found and saw a group of people, men and women sitting around a table.
"That's the chicha that they're drinking." Jessie said.
Chicha is a fermented drink that I was already familiar with. As an undergrad at UCSB I worked with a grad student named Justin Jennings on a project to make Chicha. We made it out of the maguey plant, which is similar to agave, which is what you make tequila out of, assuming you are, of course in Tequila.
Jessie and I continued to wander the grid of Ollantaytambo. Happy, dirty stray dogs would run between the houses and beautiful, purple cheeked children played football in the streets. At some point we realized that we were not going to find the post office. Jessie turned to me and said, "Let's get a drink."
Hey Marianne + Jeremy,
Here's a postcard from a strange shop in Ollantaytambo. They sold honey and seeds and alpaca cloth but it was a benefit shop to encourage local people to keep doing what they've been doing for thousands of years. So it was a little more expensive than the other tourist shops, but I felt compelled to support them.
See you soon!
Alice
We had seen quite a few of these homes that served chicha, but we decided to go to the first one because it had lots of people in it.
It was a two or three steps down into the main room of the house, accessible from the street. An uneven wooden table was to one side, with chairs all around it. All the chairs were taken but one and a small crate. I sat on the crate and Jessie took the chair. A tiny Quechua woman said
"cincuenta centavos."
In response to Jessie's "¿cuánto para una taza?"
We only had one 5o cent piece between us, it was either that or a 100 sole bill which we reasoned she would not have the change for, so we got one cup.
We sat down with our new companions and introduced ourselves.
Cold skin
Yesterday I went for an amazing hike. I brought Ryan along to meet Margo + David + Meg and I ended up really enjoying myself a lot.
The air was cold but I was so warm from the exertion that it was prickly on my skin, the same feeling you have when you jump into an ice cold lake on a very hot day. I could feel just under my skins surface I was warm, blood was rushing through my body so naturally and normally but my skin itself was cold to the touch.
It was a purge of sorts and very refreshing to not feel cold all the way through my body.
Other than the trip to Peru, I really haven't felt as good as I felt yesterday in a long time. In Peru, I think it was being in different surroundings and seeing Jessie and being far, far away from here. It was a little worrying to think about coming back to here, but I took comfort in the plans that Jessie + Claudia + I were making.
So to go on that hike yesterday and wander around underneath the madrones and redwoods was a relief. It was also nice to have such a relaxing time with Ryan. He was great company.
The air was cold but I was so warm from the exertion that it was prickly on my skin, the same feeling you have when you jump into an ice cold lake on a very hot day. I could feel just under my skins surface I was warm, blood was rushing through my body so naturally and normally but my skin itself was cold to the touch.
It was a purge of sorts and very refreshing to not feel cold all the way through my body.
Other than the trip to Peru, I really haven't felt as good as I felt yesterday in a long time. In Peru, I think it was being in different surroundings and seeing Jessie and being far, far away from here. It was a little worrying to think about coming back to here, but I took comfort in the plans that Jessie + Claudia + I were making.
So to go on that hike yesterday and wander around underneath the madrones and redwoods was a relief. It was also nice to have such a relaxing time with Ryan. He was great company.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Part two, Jessie + I try and find a post office.
Hey Ben,
I got this postcard because it reminded me of all the bones we saw in the catacombs of Lima - they had a "bone well", which some moron thought meant they threw dead bodies in their drinking water. Really it means that they have a giant pit, in which they put the bones.
Right now we are sitting and drinking coca leaf tea in a coca leaf shop. They gave us weird cookies that I think were also made out of coca leaf (they are kind of gross, unlike the tea - you'd really like the tea).
Anyway,
Hope you are well,
Alice
At the bottom of the rock slide, there were more ruins. We were shielded from the sun by the big hill we had just come down. The side of the hill was a sheer rock face with rectangular holes that had been cut away and then worn smooth. They made perfect seats for us, although one or two were less than ideal to get to. I curled up in one, Claudia took the next one, John the third and my brother scrambled, with his underwear sticking out of his trousers, along to the last one.
Jessie took our picture a few times and then handed snacks and water up to us.
What got us to come down was a white dog with big brown eyes that loved plantana chips. We played with him and fed him all our chips and then he accompanied us back to the village, running ahead and then waiting for us, looking back over his shoulder.
So it was at this point that we all split up. Jessie and I wandered off on our own, asking several people where the post office was. The thing about asking for directions in Latin America is that you aren't really given specific ones. Usually just an arm waved generally towards where they think you might want to go. We were waved in several different directions and never did find the post office.
We did however discover the chicha bars that we had read about in the guide book.
I got this postcard because it reminded me of all the bones we saw in the catacombs of Lima - they had a "bone well", which some moron thought meant they threw dead bodies in their drinking water. Really it means that they have a giant pit, in which they put the bones.
Right now we are sitting and drinking coca leaf tea in a coca leaf shop. They gave us weird cookies that I think were also made out of coca leaf (they are kind of gross, unlike the tea - you'd really like the tea).
Anyway,
Hope you are well,
Alice
At the bottom of the rock slide, there were more ruins. We were shielded from the sun by the big hill we had just come down. The side of the hill was a sheer rock face with rectangular holes that had been cut away and then worn smooth. They made perfect seats for us, although one or two were less than ideal to get to. I curled up in one, Claudia took the next one, John the third and my brother scrambled, with his underwear sticking out of his trousers, along to the last one.
Jessie took our picture a few times and then handed snacks and water up to us.
What got us to come down was a white dog with big brown eyes that loved plantana chips. We played with him and fed him all our chips and then he accompanied us back to the village, running ahead and then waiting for us, looking back over his shoulder.
So it was at this point that we all split up. Jessie and I wandered off on our own, asking several people where the post office was. The thing about asking for directions in Latin America is that you aren't really given specific ones. Usually just an arm waved generally towards where they think you might want to go. We were waved in several different directions and never did find the post office.
We did however discover the chicha bars that we had read about in the guide book.
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