Captain´s Log: Who´s the GIMP now?!

Well, I took the plunge today. I´ve briefly flirted with technology in the past, but today we tangoed. You see, I got out of class early today (due to some sort of almost standardized test). Permiteme tantito - Everytime I think of tests I can´t help but remember my last semester at the esteemed Washtenaw Community College, it was P. Patillo´s English 220 seminar, if I recall correctly. He posed a most troubling question; if quizzes are quizzical, then what are tests? Logically thinking I blurted out testical, right? Sorry, I get distracted by all of this Barry White in my ear - Back to the triumph. So my dear mother bought (yes, she´s not always THAT stingy) me a most technical manual having to do with GIMP 2.6 (an open source image editing program). To be honest, I haven´t really had the time or patience (remember I have some 200 students that are under the age of 10) to really bite into this graphic novel (sorry, really bad pun.) Today I got to thinking: So, I have this blog, I have this book and I have this extra time on my hands, I might as well try to learn a little. It was not quite a battle (maybe a skirmish?), but I held my ground, dug in and gave it hell. The fight was worth the ground gained; after about an hour of figuring out what picture to use, what font to use and what I wanted for lunch (a very important decision) I was able to functionally produce an almost noteworthy edited titlebar (see above, not at me dummy, at the titlebar, like I said). Yay me! So I can successfully say that I have conquered GIMP 2.6 (and I didn´t even need the suit, or gag for that matter!) As ever ungrateful as you may be, please take at least a split-second to bask in (or at least acknowledge) my glory.

The above picture of me is taken in front of the fuente outside of the Governor´s residence in Toluca, Edo. de Mexico. I know that the down coat is a little unnecessary in the scalding sunlight, but my backpack was full, and in the words of Dr. Evil - "throw me a frickin´ bone here..."

Captain´s Log: An even stranger, smaller world...

I had a great little number picked out. This time a tragedy. A chilling story about a boy who was dragged some 300 feet by the oil pan of a F-150, whose brakes had given gave out. Really terrible. It was all typed up and ready to upload... until I got to the cyber. I walked through the door with the gruesome, gritty yarn about a tragic death in the heart of a Mexican pueblo. Then it started...I couldn´t stop laughing. No, I´m not some heartless psycho hosebeast, but I heard it. The Dun Dun Dun Dun Dun of the strings and then that deepest of grumbles "My first, my last, my everything...", even stranger yet was when I looked over at the computer where the sound was coming from; the acne faced, glasses wearing, hair slicker than Danny Zuko, eyes closed, teenager belting Barry White with all of his might. It gets better, the boy was in tune (only about nine octaves higher!) When he finally came to, I told him that the last place I expected to hear Barry White was in this dingiest of internet cafe. This kid told me that Barry White was god and proceeded to name his favorite song (Yust de whey joo aren) and that "...aqui en Mexico amamos Beh-Ree Why!"

The kid was nine. The funeral was most beautiful, I let my students out early to join the hundreds of mourners follow the casket to the panteon. There were so many flowers that day; the procession looked like an endless thread of cempasúchil.

Captain´s Log: Small world, even smaller town

I thought the world was small when I was in Ann Arbor. Things just got a whole lot smaller, and crazier. I remember it like it was yesterday; I was in Mr. Fuehrer's gym class late 2004, we were "practicing" push-ups when the sweaty gymnasium door swung open. There stood a secretary with a most menecing looking Hispanic male. "Okay class, this is Juan..." announced the secretary and without further instruction shoved the boy through the doors and left. Juan stood there not saying a word. The exact details of how we came to conversing has passed me now (something about how to say 'push-up' in Spanish.) To make a really short story even shorter, we got to talking and it turns out that Juan wasn´t really that menicing and more incredibly he is from about 10 miles where I was born! So from San Bernadino County, California to Ann Arbor, Michigan, the two of us...unreal. Fast foreward to last week, the place: The plaza in the centro of Temascalcingo. I´m on my way to work, minding my own business, when my hat gets knocked off from behind. I reel around, half expecting it to be the playful wind, when I see the goofiest Mexican smile I´d ever seen, and, you guessed it...Juan. To make a short conversation even shorter, we both question what the other was doing here and where the other one is living and good to see you and what not, and went on our merriest of ways. I've seen him twice in the calle since then, and every time I can´t help to think of what a small world it is. San Bernadino to Ann Arbor to Temascalcigo...inconcievable!

The above picture was taken from atop a giant boulder in Cruz Blanca, Colonia La Magdalena. I live somewhere in the extreme right, just before the body of water (which happens to be the haunted dam) and just over the outcropping of rocks in the not-so-foreground.

Captain´s Log: Mmm.....

Truth be told, I´d never eaten panza or atole before coming to Mexico. Now that I´m here there´s nothing like a piping hot bowl of panza (this particular recipe: panza (beef stomach), green squash, potatoes all in a spicy caldo) and a mug of minutes-old, piping-hot atole (a porridge like slurry of corn meal, piloncillo -basically just brick unrefined sugar, water, and vanilla) as part of this balanced breakfast. The wonders of the Mexican meal much depends on the occasion and more often, the economic situation. Those who have the luxery of a steady income may eat meat for every meal, while others simply eat beans (which are painfully cheap) and nopales (edible cactus grows on nearly every corner, just grab your knife and careful for the prickers!) One thing is certain, pesos in the pocket or not, no matter where you go, you will be served food. Good old Mexican hospitality!

Captain´s Log: Fishteeth

They were right...When it rains, it pours, and quite literally. I can´t get enough of people telling me how terrible the rains are in June and July here in good old Temascalcingo. I, on the other hand was talking more along the idiom. I have the great fortune of a well-connected adoptive aunt who secured me a classroom in the adult education building here in downtown Temascalcingo. Oh, did I mention that this classroom is rent-free? Yes, I had another offer from a con-artist gringa who wanted to charge me $1,000 (pesos) to teach in the morning: she forgot to mention that nobody wants classes in the morning and that even she didn´t give morning classes. So I decided to go with the first option, eventhough it didn´t have a chalkboard (the remedy is white cardstock, covered in plastic-wrap and a dry-erase marker.) Four hundred flyers later and I opened the doors to my school. The first week I had two students: a three year old who could speak or write in Spanish, and a ADHD+ seven year-old with bladder control problems. Since that first dismal day I´ve gone from fishteeth (fifteen), fart (fork) and ¨I hump in the park¨ (remember, the j in jump is h in Spanish) and way too many bathroom breaks the first week, to three weeks later and over 220 students. From the 37 year old mother who is still trying to finish high school, to my 65 year old neighbor who pays me with lessons in Otomi (the indigenous dialect in the colonia where I live) as she turns her tortillas (she also forces me to eat the ones that don´t pass quality control...rough I know) to the six 45 minute back-to-back classes that I teach in another community - I am drenched in this pouring rain. All corny jokes aside, things are going swimmingly, I can´t complain justifiably. Mondays through Wednesdays it´s to the primaria in Solís and Santa Rosa 8am-2pm. Thursdays it´s Cruz Blanca 2pm-3pm at the telesecundaria (an odd middle school taught over the televison, but with real teachers who only answer questions.) Thats only the morning, everyday 4pm-6pm I´m in my school and then on the th house-calls 6pm-8:30pm. Saturday more house calls, and Sunday no classes given (in fear that I might miss one of my soccer games, of course!) The best news is that I´m almost making $150USD a week! And they say that teaching doesn´t pay.

One Neat Shot

Cruz Blanca, La Magdalena

Temascalcingo, Edo. De Mexico

Captain´s Log: Return to the Haunted Dam

As if the bell at midnight wasn't believable enough . . . I had the esteemed honor to revisit the haunted dam, this time not to bath (although it might prove easier than the barrel method), but to investigate certain rumors of prehistoria. Many people claim that the cerros that straddle the West end of the dam are actually pyramids long covered by earth, rocks and juicy cactus, others will tell you that the hills were actually islands back when the valley was submerged under sixty feet of water, yet others simply steer clear as the occasional skeleton, corpse and cadaver are sometimes “discovered” - prehistoric and not. Yes, it is a mysterious parcel of land, where La Llorona is known to appear and leave drunken men strewn by the wayside, trembling, scratched and in the buff... who knows what really goes on in those hills, but one thing I am sure of is that there certainly are prehistoric rock carvings. The Mexican sun beat like Bobby Brown as we crossed the milpas leading to Mogote, as the area is sometimes called. A few minutes from ground level and we encounter the first carving: a ovular flat-topped rock with two circles and two sets of perpendicular lines etched into the surface in a series of inch-diameter dimples. To be completely honest, we had our doubts...On to the larger of the two hills, and after two very close encounters with a most prickly cactus we arrive at the flat prairie-like bald spot of the hill. We make haste searching around every boulder and pebble, scouring for the supposed second carving. Two litros of water later and we're still scouring the hillside for the persnickety pictograph. I jump a gully and nearly bite it on the remnants of a half-covered rock wall. I turn to give it a piece of my mind and VOILA! It appeared! A most perfect caracol carved into a small boulder. The sunshine casting shadows in the gouged spiral it looked me in the eye. Like Indiana Jones with the holy grail I take off my hat, take a knee and caress the rock, being sure not to miss any striation...I'm sorry... damn editor was supposed to keep things family oriented (I get carried away sometimes.) Needless to say, I had a most wonderful time and stumbled (literally) across a true tesoro. Thank you haunted dam and vicinity!

Captain´s Log: Esqueeky Cleen

So, a bunch of avid readers have been hounding me for more fotos. Patience. Here´s the thing - the internet here in Mexico isn´t exactly up-to-date. Besides the speed of the antiquated connections, my camera takes such damn good pictures with such high resolution, that I can´t post as many as I would like (I also would like to mention that I have no idea how to post slideshows, and the fine people of Temascalcingo aren´t exactly that qualified in blogmaking.) So poco a poco I will get the pictures to you. My dear mother herself commented that she loved the pictures but wanted more grit, more grime, more real life (how I live) if you will. This put me in quite a position as I can really only post one picture at a time...what shot would be gritty, grimy, and yet painfully honesty while demonstration life here in Temas. After taking hundreds of pictures of the dead dogs that the masses throw in the canals, freshly discapitated chickens, burning trash piles and countless adobe shacks, I decided to keep things simple; a sole picture of the bathroom; to demonstrate lack of the amenity that I once thought I would never lack...running water. Yes folks I said it. I live in a house with no running water. When I want to shave...to the 55 gallon barrel out back, when we want to flush the seatless-toilet...to the barrel, when I want to shower after playing futbol for two hours in the burning Meican sun on Sunday (yes, we won, thanks for asking)...to the barrel. From then on the shower process begins: First one must strain the water as there are many sticks, bugs, plants, and the occasional peso that have found their way into the ballel. Next the transfer: move the water from the ¨backyard¨ to the stove and into the giant pot using the 5 gallon bucket (as pictured above.) Then comes the ceremonial heating of the bath water. 15 minutes later we have a warm pot of almost potable water. Once again a transfer into the 5 gallon bucket and onto the bathroom. Here comes the fun part. Squat on the frigid concrete and gently douse yourself with the water (using the small red cubeta pictured above.) CAREFUL DON´T USE TOO MUCH WATER you still need to rinse. All soaped up, next comes the shampoo. Again not too much you only have 3.5 gallons left (it´s tricky when you have as much surface area as I do) and you don´t really want to make the mad naked-saopy dash to the barrel to repeat the water preperation process again! Time to rinse. The water goes fast so make every drop count. Then the drying process. Towels, and my personal favorite, sunning in front the window as you brush your teeth. Phew...who knew that bathing could be so fun, and imagine I get to do it every day!