Random Rants

1/22/2009

2009-08-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

Thursday morning began much like the others all week except this would be our last in Corazol. I ordered, The Belizean for breakfast, two pancakes, two eggs, sausage and hash browns. Plus, I had some Papaya that the locals say is good for your stomach. This morning we followed Mac and Jeremy along with the others in our little four wheel drive to the fish farm. They needed help with the fish harvesting so we were all recruited. We drove to Pachikhan, a small village on the outskirts of Corazol. We followed their truck down the main dirt road and onto a small path marked by two tire marks and deep ruts that was barely large enough for a vehicle to pass. We drove about a quarter of a mile to a clearing with a small wooden sign marking the edge of the camp. We parked, unloaded from the cramped car, and took a look around. The land had a small house and a plowed area where crops I didn't recognized were beginning to sprout. There were two pits filled with water the color of chocolate milk about 50 by 100 ft. where the Talapia were being grown. Even though the camp was only a short way from the main road, the encampment was entirely hidden by the dense jungle surrounding us. It was easy to see how illegal marijuana crops could go completely undiscovered by law enforcement agents.

Along with two local men who were also residents of the camp, we grabbed a large net fashioned with wooden floats on one edge and lead weights on the opposing. It was only slightly longer than the width of the chocolate pond and we all held a length while coordinating our efforts while we walked the net to the edge of one of the pools. The mud was soft and squished through my now bare toes as we wadded into the cool water. The idea was to let the end of the net with the weights to drag across the bottom of the pond while the top stayed above the waterline forcing anything alive toward the far end of the pool until finally ensnaring them in the net. This proved to be more difficult than first thought as the pool was deeper than anyone had anticipated. The difficult part was to not leave a gap in the net and the bottom of the pond allowing an escape point for the fish to wriggle out of. On our first pass, we did catch some fish but clearly not as many as the locals were expecting to see. Learning from our mistakes, our second pass yielded better results and enough fish to satisfy the group allowing us to get out of the Willy Wonka-like pool. The locals could not believe that we weren't freezing after multiple comments about how it felt like ice water to them. I said it didn't feel much different from swimming in the Cahaba River back home in Alabama when I was a kid, and it was actually a little warmer than I remembered that even being. They scooped the fish out of the netting and into a cement tub on the bank with large plastic buckets. The then ran a screen through the water in the tub that helped separate the smaller fish from the larger ones. They would then pull out the bigger Talapia and sell them at a local market. An occasional fish would escape the grip of the old man and fall victim to the skinniest sickly looking dog I have ever seen. You could see every rib, vertebrae, and leg bone in its body. Its gruesome features made me feel uneasy and was somewhat disturbing.

After we completed the task of putting the net back in its place on a wooden fence, it was time for Zac and I to head back to our apartment and pack our things to head for San Pedro island. We had a 3 o'clock flight at the Belize City Airport to catch and didn't want to be late. We said our goodbyes to everyone whom we had spent the past few days with, exchanged contact information and headed back to the Hotel Maya. On our way to Belize City we stopped by Nardo's house. Nardo is a young man who had attended many of the previous Sports Servants camps and Zac had grown very close with. He is an excellent student but had recently let us know that he was going to have trouble paying for his next set of classes at the University he was attending. Zac gave him enough BZ to cover most of his expenses and got a copy of his report card from the previous semester. He had done very well but told us he was disappointed as it was not one of his best reports. I think he had one or two B's and the rest were A's. Zac went to the car to get a small video camera to lend Nardo to make a highlight tape of himself playing soccer so he could give the footage to college coaches in the U.S. and hopefully get a scholarship. In Zac's absence I began to as Nardo questions. As we talked I realized that he indeed was very special. Well spoken, intelligent, and passionate about business and economics, I saw a little bit of myself at his age in him. While it was very encouraging to know that Nardo was going to get a chance at an education because of the support that Sports Servants was affording him, I couldn't help but wonder about the hundreds of kids just like Nardo who had no help or means of bettering themselves. It was scary to think about how many others, not only Belizeans, are out there capable and willing, but will never get the opportunities Nardo or I have been privy to.

We returned the Diahatsu back to the Avis dealership and bought our tickets for the puddle jumper to the island of San Pedro. As we boarded the small single prop plane I became suddenly aware of the crowd of tourists around me. This was the first time since touching down in Belize that I had been around anyone but the local Belizeans. I also became acutely aware of the tourist shops in the airport that were put together and obviously meant to attract foreigners. The feeling of sickness that followed this discovery only grew more prominent as we landed in San Pedro and checked into our resort hotel room. As unbelievable as it seems, I felt like an outsider for the second time on this trip. My surroundings seemed so void of any kind of reality. It all felt like an elaborate vale put before my eyes to distract me from the real Belize. The people I was talking with and trying to help were suddenly taking my bags, calling me sir, and acting as if I were somehow their superior. I wanted to tell them, "I'm not one of the tourists, I'm on your side, I care about you not this stupid vacation!: It was upsetting, but the people were clearly well versed in the scenario and there was nothing I could do to either change or prevent it. Thousands of visitors come to Belize each year never even getting to or caring to see the real country. This was some sort of adult Disney Land manufactured and solicited to the taste of rich, self-centered and ignorant tourists. It was as if I had been exposed to the real world for the past week and I was suddenly back in a mechanized world staring at droves of people walking through their lives like zombies. Slaves to their possessions, their status, their way of life and the most frightening aspect of these drones had nothing to do with them at all. The thing that terrified me the most about this plastic world in front of me was that until now, I was one of them. I was no better than any of these blissfully unaware people that now lay before me. How could I have been so blind before and would I still be so oblivious if not for this life changing experience? Most assuredly the answer was yes. This epiphany hit me like a ton of bricks and shook me to the core. We spend the afternoon sitting by the beautiful coastline looking out into the infinite emerald blue of the Caribbean. I had much to think about, and my mind began to contradict all previous understanding of what this trip was supposed to be prior to arriving. Even though I found myself in a beautiful paradise with any modern convenience at the tip of my fingers I truly would have rather stayed in Corazol surrounded by the truth. I would have rather enjoyed the warmth of the children who's smiles and laughter were so much more real and alive than anything in this manufactured tropical paradise could ever hope to achieve. Compared to before, everything around me seemed fake and dull as if looking at an old photo whose original hues had long faded with time. My emotions were in conflict.

1/21/09

2009-03-16T21:30:00.000-07:00

This morning began much like the past few. We have somewhat followed a pattern of meeting for breakfast and lunch at Tony's with the rest of the group sharing the day's plans only to go our separate ways and return for dinner to share our happenings. I ordered the breakfast burrito this morning and was the unlucky one to be served last. In the meantime, Pam shared her Fry Jacks with me. They have become one of my favorite foods here and consist of deep fried tortillas you put jam on, kind of like a biscuit is to the South but much lighter on the stomach. They are quite delicious, especially with the homemade Papaya preserves. Our plans for this morning were to take the packets we had created the night before and deliver them tot he schools during the meetings that Mr. Kukul had set up for us yesterday. Before departing, we prayed for the day's activities and for all of those participating in them. Other plans from around the table were as follows. Kim, and educator who owns and operates her own business from her Nashville home teaching teachers how to teach, was going to help a local school principal who desperately needed help with repairing her school. Brandon and Melanie, a newly engaged couple who were moving from Denver to Texas in the coming months would accompany Melanie and help with the this task as well. Mac and Jeremy, a father and son team, started an alcohol rehabilitation center/fish farm for locals struggling with alcohol addiction. They bred and raised Talapia to sell at the local markets in order to help pay for their treatment and the duo were off to help prepare for the harvest. Pam, an accountant from Nashville was going to meet with a woman in town she had given a micro loan for her chicken business. She would raise the chickens and then sell them to make money and Pam was the financial instrument in order to make her small business possible. I was both honored and humbled to sit with such a diverse and clearly God driven group of willing servants.

Our first stop of the morning was at a small primary school called Calcutta. We walked through a chain linked fence and were immediately greeted by one of the teachers there who told us that they had been expecting us. She directed Zac and I to an empty classroom where the meeting was to take place. We sat in plastic chairs and waited as seven other women filed into the room and took their place in a semi-circle around us. The head teacher who had greeted us explained how their principal had received a message from the school board about our visit. Mr. Kukul had come through after all with his promise, I was as shocked as I was ecstatic. We spoke to the teachers as the principal was unable to make the meeting due to a prior engagement. Zac began by explaining about Sports Servants laying out the history of the program and our mission statement. One of the teachers commented that she had seen our coaches with the children on the fields that previous summer. After Zac introduced Sports Servants and who we were, he turned the floor to me. I explained how we were going to proceed from this point forward and how we wanted to expand on the success of San Narciso. I handed the teacher the packet we had meticulously built the night before in the cramped hotel room along with the commitment form. After explaining how the process would work and our intentions for each school representative I opened the floor for questions. Surprisingly there were only a couple followed by a flood of support and positive feedback. It was truly amazing that this crazy plan that had come to me only yesterday by supernatural means was already in play and beginning to take shape.

Despite being an all female staff, the teachers were excited about giving the kids an opportunity to do something like this. After easing their minds about never before coaching soccer offering my ineptitude in the subject up as an example, we thanked them for their time and headed back to our car. The excitement from the day before had not diminished as I had feared may happen. Instead, our momentum was building like a single snowflake falling at the top of a mountain growing larger and more forceful as it races to the bottom. The rest of the day pretty much followed in similar suite. We visited Buena Vista and San Juoquin with much of the same results. The faculty would be awaiting our arrival as Zac and I arrived to the schools and we would hand them the packets and deliver the pitch. It was an amazing day as God's plan began to unfold before our very eyes. At 2:00 we were scheduled to be in San Narciso to visit with Jesus Ek, Mr. Morano, and the principal. We had chosen this time to offer Jesus the lead position of the local Sports Servants group.

We arrived about 30 minutes early and went to Jesus' classroom where he invited us in to watch the children do an activity. They were running around with packing tape and hand written posters that had math problems written on them. Jesus explained it was a ritual they performed weekly, tearing down last week's subjects and taping up the new ones. Until now, I had very little contact with the children. They were very cute and also curious. Many of them knew Zac from previous Sports Servants camps and were excited to see him. They were all very small for their age as Zac explained to me that the Mexicans are much bigger than the Belizeans. I video tapped the organized chaos all around me and introduced myself to a few of the braver students who ventured close enough for me to ask their names. They were all having fun tearing the translucent tape from the large rolls and helping each other put up their work that they stood back and admired when set in place. I enjoyed spending time with them.

We asked Jesus if he could meet with us and we left the children to their task. Jesus took us to an office room at the end of the building and we took at seat at the long rectangle table that reminded me of the ones we used to sit and eat our lunch at in high school. Mr. Moralis and the principal joined us shortly after and Zac began to explain the events of the week leading us to this moment. He praised San Narciso for the example it had been to the community and then once again turned the spot light on me to divulge our plan for the future. By this point my speech was refined and I recited it with a concise precision only achieved through repetition. I then told Jesus that we had chosen him to be the head of the local Sports Servants committee. He accepted the appointment in true Belizean fashion by breaking into a 45 minute conversation about the program in detail as well as relaying his vision for the future. Overall, it was the end to a whirlwind day full of hard work and miracles and a feeling of contentment and achievement fell over me like I had not felt in longer than I care to admit.

At the conclusion of the meeting the principal went outside and rand a hand bell announcing the end of the class day and the beginning of the soccer games. The bell reminded me of an episode of Little House on the Prairie I once saw where the school children were called in from recess by their teacher with the ringing of a very similar hand bell. This happened every Wednesday since the faculty had implemented the program a few months earlier. It seemed all this week I had been trying to sell a product diligently without truly being able to grasp or touch what I was selling. That all changed when I stepped out into the courtyard and witnessed a soccer field come alive. It was like a scene out of a movie. The Belizean sun streamed through the clouds of an incoming cold front and rained down on the crudely constructed playing fields. The grass was divided into two soccer fields defined by lines made not of chalk but dirt where the grass had intentionally been removed by some sort of stick or homemade tool no doubt. The goals, two sticks driven into the ground and forked at the top to allow a crossbar to rest and complete the form. The ground was uneven and patches of dirt where the play had worn the earth were scattered throughout the playing surface. In many ways it was a perfect metaphor for the country. Crude and rough, not a sight to behold to a casual passerby, yet sufficient. And those who cared to stop and really observe would discover a sense of pride and character. They would uncover a charm that not even the largest and most advanced stadium in the world could have mimicked. This field had something no professional in the world could engineer, it was beautiful and the children loved it.

The field was set and teams quickly formed. Those not playing lined the field sitting either on the ground or, if you were lucky, in a desk brought from one of the lower level classrooms. It was like the set of an ancient gladiatorial tournament with the participants and spectators alike fully engaged and anticipating the first moment of action. The games began and competition was fierce. Children cheered on their schoolmates mostly in Spanish and the players left nothing of themselves on the sidelines. When a ball narrowly eluded a keeps and hit it's mark between the goal posts, the heavens shook with an eruption of emotion and celebration followed with the familiar cry, "GOAL!" During breaks, the teachers coached and gave pep talks in an attempt to give their team every advantage for victory possible. During play, they were equally involved, directing defenses and coordinating attacks on opposing ones. I had never really watched soccer before but found myself hopelessly engaged in the action getting completely caught up in the moment even cheering on the players. As I stepped back and took in the full scope of what was unfolding in front of me, I finally realized what it was I had been fighting for all week. This is why I give money to a cause and why I took vacation and flew away from the only thing I had ever known. With the old mission building as a backdrop, an ancient symbol of a past culture that had long since abandoned, the soccer games raged on. Above all else, these games symbolized hope. A hope that a people indeed could and would rise from the ashes of a marred history and forge on to a bright albeit uncertain future. It was a perfect end to a challenging week.

That evening we took Jesus to his mother's house as Zac wanted to say hello to her. She was very ill and by all accounts dying. With very little money to spare, Jesus' father, a man in his late 60's had been working in the sugar cane fields trying to pay for the bi-weekly dialysis she needed. She and Zac had a special relationship as some of the Sports Servants money had gone to pay for some of her medical bills in the past. Jesus took me to his backyard as they talked to show me all of the plants that stocked my grocery store at home.

I found myself asking Jesus multiple questions about the plants as he grabbed a machete and headed towards a sugar cane plant. He graciously answered all of my questions for the next hour as we toured the seemingly endless selection of edible foliage. I tasted pure sugar cane, drank coconut milk, witnessed spinach on the vine and collected no less than five other types of fruits all growing in his backyard. I couldn't help but wonder if this is what the Garden of Eden would have been like. It was incredible to see everything usually reserved for the produce isle of a local Wal-mart alive and growing naturally before my own eyes. While all this was taking place, four of Jesus' relatives were preparing flour tortillas under a tin roofed shelter with a wood fire stove and large cast iron utensils. I was challenged by one of them to try my hand at mimicking their proficiency at a trade they had clearly done thousands of times before. I did a fair job of flattening out the ball of dough and fashioning it into a crude tortilla like shape. I felt like I was playing with Playdough. The women giggled and shared short laugh inducing comments in Spanish, no doubt at my expense. The tortilla turned out to be edible and was better than any flour tortilla I had tasted in the States. My over all impression of the experience was an overwhelming sense of family and strong connection. Everyone helped each other and was fully engaged in each other's lives. I couldn't help but imagine what was happening that very Wednesday night in the typical American household. The night spent hovered around the television or laptop while woofing down a meal barely noticing that you weren't alone at the table. It is no wonder our society is so detached and independent. I am not sure as of yet what judgement if any to place on the differing view points.

We dropped Jesus off at his house on our way back to dinner at Tony's and said our goodbyes as we would be leaving for the island of San Pedro the following afternoon. He was visibly sad to see us go yet clearly grateful for our help and the time we had spent together. I too was sad to say adios, so instead we agreed to say hasta la proximo, until next time. It was a memorable and life changing day. One I am sure to carry with me until I am gone.

1/20/09

2009-02-24T09:52:00.000-08:00

I have never been more drained both mentally and emotionally in this way before. I skipped writing yesterday so I must go back and re-cap even though by now yesterday's events seem like a distant memory. We got up and ate breakfast with the crew from the Belize project at Tony's as has become tradition by now. I had re fried beans and scrambled eggs. our first appointment of the day was at the Minister of Education. A man named Mr. Kukul who is in charge of the curriculum for all of the public schools in the Corazol district and has the power to push the government to make our teaching workshops accredited. This would be instrumental as it would give the teachers additional incentive to attend in order to fulfill their hourly requirements for workshops. This man was the highest ranking official we had met with up to this point and neither of us had any idea how he was going to react to a proposal of this magnitude coming from two barely twenty something white guys from the United States. Just to imagine that two gringos were about to sit in front of a Belizean official was somewhat overwhelming. Surely this was appointed by the Lord. We sat in a small room across from a solid wooden desk on little wooden chairs so close that my knees touched the front of Mr. Kukul's desk. His manner was very deliberate and he never smiled as he pulled our proposal from a stack of official looking papers. He had been given the proposal by Zac during his last visit. Zac introduced me and I shook his hand. He proceeded to ask the spelling of my name as he penned it next to the other on the cover sheet of the proposal in order to attach some accountability to it's contents I assumed. In the background, the radio was playing and I could make out the inaugural prayer for the induction of the new President, Barack Obama. Mr. Kukul got right into the program skipping any small talk. He stated that he thought the program was good and the he wanted to support it. Clearly all of the preparation and leg work done by Zac and the other volunteers had given us some credibility. Zac began to explain how we would like to expand the pilot program in the San Narciso school to a handful of other schools in the Corazol region. He was very open to the idea and even gave us a list of schools he would like to see included. He also told us that he would need to get some kind of commitment from the other schools in order to recommend accreditation for the workshops. He then went down the list of schools and told us he would call ahead of our tentative meetings with the schools so the faculty would be expecting us when we arrived the next day. We thanked him for his time, shook his hand, and left his office. My pace out of the office was intentionally measured so as not to look too eager as internally I wanted to sprint out and shout at the top of my lungs to express the excitement I was feeling from this encounter. The meeting couldn't have been more successful by Zac and my measurements. In reality, I had done very little but listen and give the occasional encouraging word. But for me, the experience was invaluable. For the first time during the trip I felt as if I had enough understanding and grasp of the situation around me to jump in and actually help. Zac and I both drove away from the meeting with a renewed sense of purpose and hopeful excitement for what lay ahead of us.

When we arrived back to our room there was a note on the door from Jeremy, "I've gone walking into town until I find the first place that has hot coffee." After driving for a few minutes we found him wandering the streets of Corazol with a bag of bananas in his hand. We picked him up and all went to a little open air restaurant called Joe Mellon's'. Zac wanted me to try the rice and beans as it was a Belizean signature dish and said it was a must. I would find out later that my stomach would not agree with his opinion. We sat and ate chicken and rice and beans witha large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. In the states, when you order orange juice you usually get the crap made by Minute Maid and if you're lucky enough to get fresh squeezed, it only comes in a 4 oz. glass that is hardly enough to satisfy your craving. This was a huge glass goblet full of the real deal with a chunk of ice to keep it cool. Even though it had a few mysterious floaters skimming along the top, it was delicious and cool. It was the perfect cap on the morning's scenario.

After our meal and conversation, we dropped Jeremy back at the apartment and headed to our next meeting. It was with the head of the RC schools which I later discovered stood for Roman Catholic. Like much of the Latin American countries, the Roman Catholic church has enjoyed quite a strong hold in Belize. There are two types of schools in the country, those run by the government and those run by the Roman Catholic Church. It is very similar to the private and public school system in the U.S. Mr. Magana's office was located in a small musty office behind an elaborate Catholic Cathedral just off one of the main streets in Corazol. Inside, the walls were made of large hand chipped blocks painted white with a large antique safe on one wall with the words Ohio and United States stamped on the door just below the large dialed lock. He sat at a large wooden desk with a window to his back that was about seven feet off the floor. It allowed a steady stream of light from the outside to illuminate otherwise invisible dust particles floating through the air. The room reminded me of a scene from Escape from Alcatraz and I was in front of the warden awaiting my cell assignment. Despite the somewhat intimidating surroundings Mr. Magana was very warm and seemed genuine. We discussed the morning's meeting with Mr. Kukul and shared the conclusions from it. We shared the idea to expand the program to the surrounding schools which he too agreed with and assured us of his full support. It was sometime during this meeting that I had the ah-ha moment.

Out of nowhere i just suddenly knew what needed to be done and how the program needed to be structured. It was almost like a moment of clarity where my mind was free of anything that could cause it to be distracted and a laser beam of understanding was pulsed through my mind allowing it to see beyond the present and to know with absolute certainty the answer to a problem. Only the Lord could have revealed such an idea in my head so clearly and suddenly. When we left the meeting and got back to our blue Diahatsu, I began to share my plan with Zac. We would form a Belizean committee made up of one chosen representative from each school in the program. This committee would answer to one man whom we appointed to be the representative for Sports Servants in Belize, Jesus Ek. He was an obvious choice as he has been Sports Servants' number one supporter from the beginning and shares our vision for it's future. Jesus would be responsible for gathering the committee once a month in order to get feedback from the schools as well as help teach and communicate directives from the main Sports Servants headquarters in the U.S. He would also be able to communicate directly with us the needs of the schools and the children in the program. This way, a much needed line of communication and structure could be created to allow Sports Servants to be affective even when there is not a physical presence.

We immediately went back to the hotel Maya and began to writing out the business model and invitation letter. We decided the best way to deliver the information was to package the invitation to participate, curriculum sheet, and a commitment form along with a DVD of previous workshops. This form would be returned with either a yes or no on the commitment sheet to relay the school's intention to participate or not. These sheets would then be returned along with the name and contact information of a teacher representative to Jesus. Once all of the forms were filled out and returned, copies would be given to Mr. Kukul in order to give him incentive and proof that the schools were indeed interested in the project aiding the accreditation process for the workshops. We gathered all of the materials typed up and printed out on Zac's computer and filled manila folders with them. We would take them along to the school meetings tomorrow and deliver them with our proposal to the school's faculty.

It had been a long day of planning and I was exhausted but the schedule for tomorrow was even more gruelling. I was excited and felt a sense of worth for actually being of use for the first time since arriving. I was gearing up for the cold calls on schools we would be making in the morning and felt as if I had found why the Lord had brought me on this trip. My work in the United States aligned very well with our task here. We were essentially selling this program to complete strangers, people and a culture I was completely unfamiliar with. It was just another example of the Lord's faithfulness and strength giving me the means, boldness, and ability to go and do something I truly have no training for or would have previously thought possible. I ended the day with a feeling of peace as I was sure I had seen God move. Little did I know that He had much more planned for tomorrow.

1/19/09

2009-02-11T21:02:00.000-08:00

In an attempt to keep up with my writing, I am going to try and compress my stories at the risk of leaving out some details. Today we woke up and Zac had been asked to speak at a local elementary school assembly. Jesus, one of the local coaches/teachers who has been instrumental in Sports Servant's progress here asked him to give some words of encouragement. I first met Jesus yesterday at a local soccer tournament put on by a group that is somewhat like an intramural league in the U.S. We arrived at the school to find the children in the school yard organized and lined up by grade listening to their Principal's announcements for the day. Armed with Zac's video camera, I snuck behind the children and positioned myself to tape his speech. It was good to hear the passion in his voice he clearly has for this project as he thanked the students and teachers for their involvement. He also laid out his vision for the future and his vision for their school to be a model for the other village schools.

After the speech, the kids were dismissed and they filled back to their classrooms. We began to speak with Mr. Moranis, another teacher and another very strong reason for Sports Servants success at San Narciso. As we chatted about how the program has been working and challenges they still face, I began to notice the children walking back into the school yard with toothbrushes in hand. They all stood in line dipping their brushes in a cup of water they held int he other hand and brushed their teeth. It was funny to see and hear them as they repeatedly produced the familiar foamy white discharge one gets from a good tooth scrubbing and then spit it on the ground. Jesus explained it was part of a program put together by Loyola University who brought supplies annually and gave free checkups to the children and other villagers. It helped me to grasp the depth of the needs of these people. They truly are without so much in life that I have grown up with and taken for granted without a second thought. Yet while the clearly absent basic necessities were evident all around me, there seemed to be a common theme of genuine contentment and happiness I was unable to put my finger on. The sadness and despair I would think would be associated with doing without is not as present as I would have expected. In fact, the opposite seems to be true. Most of the people seem upbeat and generally friendly. Being a visitor, I may be seeing parts of society that are not jaded, but I have a sense that the atmosphere is genuine. It makes me re-think and evaluate my own ideas of happiness and what that truly looks like. I am saddened to say that overall these people seem to be much happier with their plot in life than many Americans I know. It begs the question, who then truly is the poor country?

After a few hours we left the school on our way to meet with yet another principal of a high school when suddenly we were distracted by a monkey. We stopped at a house where a young boy was digging a trench and got out. Zac, as with most people in Corazol, knew the boy and greeted him. As we got closer, we could clearly see the monkey was attached to a tree by a collar. We learned from the boy the monkey's name was Poncho and he was a one year old Spider Monkey. i was absolutely excited to get the chance to see a monkey up close in the wild as I have asked for one for Christmas ever since I could remember. As I got close enough to get into a picture with Poncho, but not getting but being careful not to get within reach of his leash, the boy said it was O.K. for him to climb on me. I reached my hand out and Poncho walked over and wrapped his little hand around my fingers and threw his tail around my neck. I was officially boarded and was amazed at how strong he truly was. He climbed all over me and grabbed my glasses off my head. I was so excited yet scared that I was going to be bitten at the same time. After about two minutes I walked away so the leash could pull Poncho free from me as there was definitely no way of "putting him down." Finally all of his limbs were pulled from me and I was free. It was one of the coolest things I've been able to do and I am a little embarrassed to admit how much I enjoyed the experience.

Later in the day we traveled back to town and to Tony's. This is the resort where the girls are staying and we have been eating most of our meals. While Zac and i ate lunch, a strange yet accurate metaphor for my first experience in Belize came to me. In the movie, "The Abyss," Ed Harris' character is going to dive off of a trench wall in the middle of the ocean thousands of feet deep. In order to do this he must use an unconventional breathing system. Fictional of course, this system requires him to breath in liquid oxygen that they demonstrate on a rat to prove it will indeed no drown him. In dramatic Hollywood fashion, they place a helmet on Ed's head and slowly fill it with a pink liquid resembling pink lemonade. As the helmet fills up, he begins to panic and doesn't want to breath in the liquid. As his options run out, he is forced to take in the fluid into his lungs. After a few panic filled breaths, his body relaxes and he begins to breath normally and on his own again. This reaction reminds me of the first twenty four hours I experienced in Belize. The culture and surroundings are so unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Nothing around me is common or familiar. My mind went into somewhat of a panic as I refused to accept this reality presented in front of me. But, once I was able to accept this reality and allow myself to experience it, I realized I could exist in it and survive. Even though, like breathing liquid instead of air, it was a little more difficult and uncomfortable, I was able to do it. I am truly grateful for God allowing me to uncomfortably experience this and allow me to open my eyes to a whole new perspective on a world I was unable to see or comprehend in it's entirety prior to today. I only hope that I will know how to proceed from this point forward.

1/18/09

2009-02-10T20:49:00.000-08:00

This morning the 18th of January, I woke to the sounds of the North Highway cars going by as all of the windows in the apartment were open. It was actually quite cold in our room. I had retrieved my Vandy zip up hoodie a couple of hours earlier as there are no blankets, just the leopard sheets I brought with me. I went to the bathroom and spit in the sink only to discover my saliva had turned ink black. I stuck my tongue out and to my dismay, it appeared as if I had been sucking on a charcoal briquette all night. Thinking I had contracted the pl age of Belize, I somewhat panicked and ran to Zac for advice. He didn't know what was wrong with me either but found out later that if you take Pepto pills just before bed, they turn your tongue black. So, I wasn't suffering from any mysterious South American plague after all.

We left for church and i was absolutely uncertain of what we would find or even what church looked like in Belize. As we drove past the droves of dilapidated houses, I couldn't help but think how very different this Sunday was from every other I had ever experienced. At home, I would wake up and decide whether or not I really wanted to go to church that particular morning. If I decided I should, the I would make the long trek to the bathroom twenty feet from the comfort of my California King bed to the hot, clean shower. I'd pick and dress from an assortment of items in my walk in closet, grab a quick snack if I felt like taking the time to search the fully stocked cupboard, and hop into my car to hopefully make it to church somewhat on time. As we pulled up to the concrete building via a grass covered path, I realized this was like no church I had ever attended before.

The mega church I went to in high school had shuttles to take us from the mammoth parking lot filled with shiny new cars. We would then be dropped in front of the escalator that would then deliver us to the front door and into the lobby. Instead of a shuttle this day, we had our feet following a crude path through an overgrown field. In place of an escalator, burnt trash piles and a single pured concrete step greeted us. The service was already in progress when we arrived. The congregation of about 15 or so sat in roughly built pews facing a Belizean pastor speaking from a tile laden pulpit behind a plain wooden podium. He was speaking Spanish and as we sat down, he acknowledged our presence and welcomed us in English. He led the church in Spanish hymns accompanied by synthesized music from a CD player hooked to speakers. I later learned those speakers were donated by an American church in Nashville, TN. I did my best to keep up, reading the hymn words off of a photocopied sheet that had the words written in both English and Spanish. I now understand how those first reading the Rosetta Stone must have felt.

The pastor then informed us in English that this was the part of the service where they greeted each other and asked one of us to stand up and introduce the group. Charles, a freshman at the University of Tennessee who had already made a few trips to the church in years past, took the honors and listed off our names for the congregation. Some music began to play and I was swarmed and formally greeted with a smile, a handshake, and a broken English "welcome" from every person in the building. We then broke up and went to another part of the building that had two flights of very steep pured concrete stairs leading to a second floor with nothing but concrete walls, windows with steel louvered blinds and no glass, and a stack of plastic chairs. The feel of the room was that of a building still in construction when all that had been constructed was the foundation and concrete block walls.

We joined one of the two groups that had begun to gather in adjacent rooms. This group was constructed of 10-18 year olds and the other of preschool to third grade. They let us attend this group because the main congregation's Sunday school class would be entirely in Spanish. One of the Belizeans taught a lesson, mostly in Spanish, and then we all memorized a Bible verse in both English and Spanish. Genesis 1:2, "Man was created in the image of God, in the image of God He created them, Male and Female he created them." While this was going on, I could hear the younger children in the room next to us singing a familiar tune. The words were in Spanish but I recognized the song as "All in All" . I got goosebumps listening to them and it made me realize something I had been trying to understand but had been unable to up to this point in the U.S. Every Christian worships the same God across the world, and no one person's method is more recognized or blessed than others. This thought forced me to think and confront my own ideas about others in my own society. How we in the United States have a tendency to look down at illegal immigrants from Mexico or others who aren't American. Even if it is subconsciously, it is still there. How it must feel for the section of "English as a second language" who aren't quite like the rest of the 2000 plus congregation around them. Well here I was, role reversed, and I was welcomed openly and more readily than in most of the churches I had attended growing up. I was convicted. We returned to the main church building and stood by groups, one by one in front of the rest of the church and shared what we had learned in our Sunday school class. The pastor said a finally prayer in Spanish, and we were dismissed. I will never forget the kindness and genuine acceptance I felt from the people around me during that church service. This was truly an example of how Christ's love and acceptance is meant to be.

1/17/09

2009-02-06T08:57:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in the Dallas terminal waiting for Zac to arrive where we will be boarding our plane to Belize. It seems like the weeks leading up to this point have been so busy dealing with work and family issues that I am only just now understanding what may lie ahead in the coming week. I am both nervous and excited to start this adventure. I have never left the country and the process allowing me to get here on the verge of realizing this, a life goal of mine, has been exciting.

While I am excited, going to a new place that I have heard is so beautiful, it is not lost on me the reason for my travel. I am going on a mission trip to help those who are less fortunate than myself and spread the message of Jesus Christ. This is not an undertaking I take lightly and have felt some feelings of conflict. Feelings that tell me I'm not good enough to share the gospel with others, that I'm sinful and should be ashamed to even step out and claim to be a Christian. And while these voices are present and somewhat true, I know that that is the very reason I am going. Why I know I must go, because I am flawed. I go because I am the personification of the gospel realized. I am a sinner and I have been saved from the clutches of darkness and it is my duty to go and share my story with others who are still wandering in the darkness. This is why I am going to Belize. This is why I go boldly into uncharted waters with confidence knowing my cause is a noble one, not because of anything I have done but rather what He has done for us all.
The flight from Dallas to Belize wasn't too long at all. Zac gave me a book to read about how to handle cultural differences that dealt with cold climate cultures and how they differ from hot climate ones. It was entertaining but also got me thinking and hoping I would not insult anyone inadvertently while visiting.

When we began our decent the ground looked to me at first, much like Alabama. Very green with some brown rivers. Then I saw palm trees and it reminded me of the Florida landscape when I used to fly into Gainesville in college before playing the Gators. The weather was great, overcast and about sixty degrees. In contrast to the low teens of Grand Junction, this was a pleasant surprise. I was expecting sweltering jungle heat like I had experienced in Birmingham. The airport was small and it was my first time to go through customs and use my brand new passport that had taken so much effort to receive. After retrieving our bags, we walked across a parking lot and spoke with my first Belizean, the rental lady. After an hour of negotiating and small talk, we hoped into our small blue Diahiatsu and headed out for Corazol where we were staying.

We took one of only two highways in the country, the North Highway. I use the term highway loosely as it reminded me more of a paved back woods road in a remote town in Alabama riddled with pot holes and faint divider lines. There were no police to enforce road laws, only large speed bumps every so often that were the same color as the street which made it extremely difficult to see before testing the Diahiatsu's already worn suspension. What amazed me most about the trip was the shanty houses that dotted the landscape.
These homes, made entirely of concreted usually without doors or windows, looked like crack houses that would have been condemned and abandoned in the States. There were people every so often mostly riding bicycles or standing in from of these homes and dogs that were ratty and wild looking. As we made our way through the countryside, we listened to the Belizean radio which consisted mostly of 80's and 90's music that was pretty cheesy. Lionel Richie, Bananarama, and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, whoever sings that (Cindy Lauper?) made the radio.

We passed through about four "cities" or villages where there was more of a concentration of these houses and people on bikes very close to traffic. We actually saw a vehicle passing us almost his a child on a bike before swerving and causing us to slam on the breaks. We finally arrived at the resort that the girls, Pam an accountant from Nashville, and Kimberly a teacher, were staying at. We got them checked in and then drove less than a quarter of a mile to our "hotel" which was the top level of a two story building. We took our things to the floor and entered the room. It was very plain. The cement walls were all white and no light fixtures. Just the necessities. Three beds in one room and two in the next. No air conditioning but very old triple bladed ceiling fans. The one in our room gyrated and looked unsafe when turned on. Luckily there was a newer floor fan and the temperature was relatively cool.
We unloaded and headed back to the girl's resort where there was an outdoor restaurant. The Y-Not Bar and grille was a thatched roof establishment on the bay. I got my first taste of Belizean food as well as service. The first entree came out about 45 minutes after ordering and subsequent entrees came out in about 15 -20 minute increments. By the time we had eaten it was about 9 O'clock and since my day had began at 4 A.M. mountain time, I was crashing fast. We headed back to the hotel Maya, I took my malaria pills and Pepto pills and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

My Belize Trip

2009-02-06T08:30:00.000-08:00

It has been nearly a year since I have given up on trying to write in a blog as I have really had no reason to do so. Reading back on my previous posts I am somewhat reluctant to put this topic down in the same forum as they are in no way related and is much like watching Caddy Shack and then trying to sit down and digest Schindler's List. Never-the-less I have had a few requests from friends and family to share my trip to Belize and felt that rather than try and remember every detail and then rehash the story with diminishing enthusiasm each time, I would put it all down in writing in one easily accessable spot. A little background before I jump into the story, I have been supporting a non-profit called Sports Servants for the past 3 years that was started by one of my college roommates, Zac Hood. The aim of the project has been to set up soccer camps for elementry aged children who would be unable to do so otherwise and to share the gospel. Zac asked me to go with him to help set up the camps and speak with officials for the summer. I had somewhat selfish intensions when I accepted this opportunity to get out of the country for my first time. Zac encouraged me to keep a daily hand written journal of my encounters while on the trip. This is my first time to ever try and write down my thoughts for any length of time but hope it was adequate enough to capture the majority of what I experienced. Here is that journal.

Random Rant #3

2008-04-28T12:54:00.000-07:00

I’m going to switch gears here for this rant as I am quite tired of ranting about the bathroom and my folks are starting to question their parenting skills as I seem to have some sort of unhealthy obsession with the lou. So, I’m driving to work this morning in downtown Denver traffic, which by the way is pretty annoying and a rant in itself, and I happen to notice the driver next to me in the act of picking her nose. I laughed a little internally as I usually do when I am fortunate enough to catch someone in the act of mining for gold in their vehicle, but this triggered a thought that eventually snowballed into this rant. Why do people feel so comfortable in their cars? If you are a passenger with someone else driving you are much more capable of observing all of the interesting behaviors in which people partake in their vehicular sanctuaries. These behaviors include but are not limited to: reading the newspaper on their steering wheel, brushing their hair and or putting on makeup, singing at the top of their lungs and making similar facial features that Bon Jovi probably would be making if he were singing, and of course picking their nose. The last in this list is probably the most shocking because it is something that is considered taboo by American standards. Common social law states that if you must engage in the removal of the accumulation of hardened mucus in the nostrils via your finger, you must do it in a private area where you are sure to not be found out by anyone, usually the bathroom. Why then do people feel comfortable enough to pick their noses in their car? I mean if you really think about it that car is one of the most visible and vulnerable places you spend your time. You are surrounded by glass and literally only feet away from a complete stranger in the car next to you. Yet somehow we feel as if no one is looking at us or that we are in some kind of privacy bubble impenetrable by anyone outside. This brings me to yet another mini rant.

Why do some people have such pride in their crappy cars? This may sound a bit hypocritical to those of you who know me and the fact that I do enjoy my 1968 mustang. But, in my defense, I only take pride in the fact that my dad and I built that car ourselves over a period of four years and it is something I can say I built with my two hands. When someone goes out and gets a two door Saturn, changes the air freshener, tilts their seat back to where they can barely see over the steering wheel, put on their foakley sunglasses and the latest one hit wonder rap artist, and then proceeds to accelerate into a line of cars stopped at a red light to show off their aggressive driving techniques, I tend to want to backhand that individual.

Anyway, back to the rant at hand. Why do we feel so comfortable in our cars? I mean if you think about it, we are traveling at an incredible speed, compared to what humans were meant to travel at, in what amounts to be a metal box! If anything, we should be quite uncomfortable in the fact that over 42,000 people died in 2003. Thank you Wikipedia. But, we somehow manage to forgo the fact that we are actually controlling a gasoline powered machine just long enough to dig and get that booger out of our nose all while innocent bystanders must be subjected to this display. And if that weren't enough, you then wipe it on your shirt, or do the awkward flick that usually takes a couple of good tries to dislodge it from your finger nail. As if once it has left our finger and we no longer have control of it, the booger will disintegrate and disappear into some magical booger nebulous and not just be stuck to the seat next to us or ground into the carpet. It’s not like we all haven’t been there, I myself have had to stop the same type of behavior with a cut fingernail or stray hair. Why do I think that the carpet is somehow a cure all for anything unwanted? If that logic stood true I should not be wasting it on fingernails, boogers, or loose hair follicles. Rather, I should be discarding soured milk, used candy wrappers, and possibly the occasional unwanted house guest. But of course that seems preposterous, but for some reason the dislodged booger gets a pass. This fact, even though I have experienced it for myself, still makes no sense to me. Perhaps there is some sort of nerve or button in each of out nasal cavities that momentarily disrupts all brain function and revert us back to a primeval state where such archaic behavior was acceptable. It is kind of hard to look smart with a finger up your nose, perhaps this is why. Well I am now trying to retrace my thought pattern back and connect the dots as to how I have arrived here today. I thinkthat this is all the energy I have today for this rant so I will leave on this note. People please, if you’re going to pick your nose in your car in the middle of rush hour traffic, be aware that you are being watched and don’t be surprised or insulted if someone you work with decides to not shake your hand later that day. That is all.

Random Rant #2-C

2008-04-24T15:12:00.000-07:00

Crack in partition: So, I have a little extra time now that I’ve finished my work for the day and think I should go ahead and talk about the crack in the partition. This is the crack that is between the door of the bathroom stall and the wall of the stall (Fig. 1). These bathroom stalls aren’t exactly the most secure structures ever designed and I guess as far as any job a civil engineer could land, I’m guessing that bathroom stall isn’t at the top of the list. Never-the-less, I do believe that the seals between the door and the rest of the structure could be a little tighter if only the problems that arise because of their existence was only brought to the attention of those designing and installing them. I guess those responsible have never actually used their own product as the issue is clearly evident the first time you are forced to sit on the cold unforgiving porcelain throne with all that you hold dear and private completely exposed to the elements with nothing but a poorly constructed bathroom barrier to protect you from the prying eyes of your office peers. Now, addressing the issue of being on the other side of the barrier, there seems to be some perverse and illogical draw to peering through the crack in these barriers. The crack acts like a tractor beam drawing your secretive gazes directly to it even though everything in your being is telling you that there is nothing good that could possibly come from achieving the goal of peering inside. Just the mere fact that there is a chink in the armor of a barrier whose very existence is meant to keep you out compels that you must exploit its weakness. And I, along with those who are not afraid to be truthful with ones self would probably admit feeling the enchanting lure of the crack gaze. That being said, if you happen to find yourself in the precarious position of having a viewing window to your pale fleshed parts not even the sun has seen, there are a few preventative measures you can take. This brings me to a curious event that presented itself to me while I was attending classes at Vanderbilt University.
On the third floor of one of the older classroom buildings in which I was taking some sort of Economics course, there was a single small bathroom. It had been remodeled with the rest of the building recently and had all new bathroom fixtures not excluding the standard crack in the barrier. But, this bathroom stall crack was unusually intrusive even by my standards and experience of noticing hundreds of cracks and their propensity to expose those concealed within. Because this building was older due to the fact that people were much smaller around the turn of the twentieth century, the bathroom was very compact and really didn’t have enough room to fit both a full sized sit down toilet as well as a urinal. Unscathed by bathroom etiquette and real world functionality of course, some engineer, possibly the same one who designed these less than concealing barriers to begin with, was able to squeeze the urinal next to the toilet barrier with merely millimeters to spare. Some women may need to stretch their imagination in this next exercise as most have assumedly never used a urinal but please visualize with me if you will. You’re standing at the urinal doing your business and you happen to turn your head ever so slightly to the left only to discover you have a direct shot through the barrier’s built in wiener viewing window straight to some college kid or professors higher learned junk. Great job engineer, you’ve essentially designed an apparatus for collecting pure human tears and cranking out a constant flow of ideal candidates for psycho analysis and shock therapy. Anyway, I did frequent this bathroom and used the urinal, but never the sit down stool as it is much better to realize that there is someone less endowed than yourself in the building than to allow it to be discovered that you are in fact the one who looks as if he has been swimming in the Arctic Circle all morning. In visiting this tiny bathroom I happened to notice something quite peculiar. Every time I looked to peer into the toilet stall, there was a length of toilet paper hanging from the top of this crack running the full length of the stall effectively creating an artificial barrier within the barrier to prevent anyone from taking advantage of the wiener window. At first this did not register with my brain as I was probably in much too deep a thought about economic problems throughout the world and couldn’t be bothered with such trivial a detail. More likely, I was probably in the mind numbing state that I put myself into in order to be able to physically endure most of the lectures I was forced to attend without expiring. Either that or chicks. Being the kinesthetic learner that I am, I felt the need to pull down this artificial barrier to the barrier every time I encountered it, which was every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. To my surprise and delight, the TP barrier would always be in place again the following bathroom visit. After awhile I became curious as to why this was occurring. I first looked for some sort of natural cause like possibly the air conditioner was blowing a section of toilet paper into the crack due to some sort of pressure variance within the stall itself. This idea was quickly defeated as common logic will deduce that such a vortex would clearly cause the free flow of other materials within the barrier walls, in particular fecal particulate matter. This of course is preposterous. (I’ve never actually written the word preposterous and felt that if there were ever a time, this is it.) Next, I reasoned that some sort of human interference must have occurred for the barrier to be placed perfectly in place time and time again. But then the question became why? Why would someone so superstitiously place this strip of paper in the exact location despite its inevitable removal by my hand day in and day out? It then occurred to me the exact scenario that must be taking place that I had not only discovered but was an unknowing participant in. Because the class was early in the morning and the placement of the TP was so consistent, the culprit must be a professor who worked in the building. I doubted that there was such a dedicated student who would show up that early to every class. Therefore, I in fact, was disrupting the pooping schedule of one of the intellectuals in the building. There was something about exposing such a basic and ordinary bodily function that everyone young, old, rich, poor, highly regarded professor or lowly college student, I found quite comical. It became somewhat of a game to me and I was sure to never miss a morning bathroom visit in order to remove this barrier with no more intent than to cause an unknown scholar a few more seconds of discomfort in his morning bowel regime. This scenario continued for the duration of the semester with me arriving to the bathroom and removing the TP barrier only to find it replaced the following trip. I will never know who that masked man was, but I can only hope he received even a fraction of the satisfaction I felt playing my part in that delicate dance. Back to the point of our rant, toilet paper can be used as an obstruction in order to plug the partition crack.

Random Rant #2-B

2008-04-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

Shoe/Pant combo: I will tackle this issue next as it was aforementioned in the previous mini-rant above and have had considerable interest from those who I have deemed worthy of proofreading my rants when they are still in their construction phase. There are instances in the men’s bathroom when you will enter a bathroom “play” already in progress. There are already other co-workers playing out their roles in this odd social gathering and of course you will be expected to jump right in and play your part, by following the rules of men’s bathroom etiquette of course. So, pretend you’ve just entered one of these bathroom balls already in progress, and there are some of your fellow acting cohorts in the stalls. Now even the ladies who haven’t been fortunate enough to participate in one of these events understands how the bathroom partitions work and I can therefore forgo any detailed description of their form or function. So, as everyone knows, the proper way to identify whether or not a stall is occupied is to casually peer below the threshold of the partition and either observe or not observe an occupant’s feet. Side Rant: There’s no easy way to put this people! Grabbing the handle of the door and trying to force it open thinking that it may be stuck is not only very inconsiderate and against the bathroom code, but it is also disturbing to the occupant and can cause possible lower gastro-intestinal discomfort due to a pre-mature retraction of one’s fecal discharge. That being said, please just check before you try to barge in, it is easier on everyone and is the only sure fire way to avoid the dreaded walk in situation when one of those occupied junky stall door locks, doesn’t latch properly and the door does happen to open on an unsuspecting victim. All of us have heard horror stories about “that guy” and trust me no one wants to be an actual participant in any of those water cooler amusement stories.
Now, back to the point of this entire mini-rant, the shoe/pant combo is a covert way of identifying one of your fellow employees when they are hidden by the stall walls, also known as a “Staller”. Some may ask, why would anyone want to covertly identify someone in one of the stalls? Well those people obviously don’t enjoy the finer things in life, one of which is being the only one in the office who knows Fred is a chronic grunter, or possibly that Earl leaves the sports page unfolded and out of order in the middle of the stall when he’s finished. You never know when you may be able to leverage such information for your own personal gain. However, whenever attempting this form of identification, it is crucial to notice both the color and style of both the pants and the shoes of your Staller. Also, try to remember as much detail as possible as this will only make your job easier later on in the process. For example, is there a mustard stain on one the toe and is that stain also in the shape of Illinois. A detail such as this will almost absolutely guarantee positive identification. Although, failure to notice the pant and shoe combination and or any other relevant clues to the identification of the wearer could result in false identification and only cause a murky picture of the covert bathroom lives of your fellow co-workers. This of course is self defeating and all of your efforts will have been rendered useless. Another detail that is usually missed by the casual or novice shoe/pant observer is the size of the foot itself. This can be a crucial clue if you run into a common shoe style and pant color. An unusually large or small foot can be the difference in you determining if that was Big John who uses an unusual amount of toilet paper, or if it was Tiny Joe. So, you’ve identified an unusual Staller with some sort of behavior you think you can use to your advantage at a later date. You’ve taken as much detail from the pant and shoe combo as possible and are ready to go Staller hunting. This process is both challenging and rewarding. Some people prefer to go back to their cubical immediately after their Staller reconnaissance and make a list of all of their details while the facts are still fresh in their mind. They can then be sure to have a hard list of facts to refer back to if they run into a difficult case and are afraid of misidentifying a Staller. So, now that you have your list of facts you simply go about your day trolling the halls making sure to check out everyone’s pants and shoes, covertly of course, as you go about your daily business. When you finally find your Staller you will undoubtedly have a moment of Zen as all of your efforts will have come full circle. Give yourself a pat on the back and relish the moment as there is nothing more rewarding than a good Staller hunt that ends in a proverbial “kill.” I would also recommend creating a positive ID spread sheet that you can enter the behavior you’ve identified in the bathroom along side the name of the Staller in order to make sure not to forget any of the valuable information you have painstakingly collected. And please, above all else, please enjoy your new found office

Random Rant #2-A

2008-04-24T15:07:00.000-07:00

2. Today I decide to take on a situation I have observed and thought about many times before in my life but have never put down in writing. I have only recently realized that this experience in which I have been witness to countless times in my life must be told for those who are unable to experience it for themselves. In a way, I’m doing society a favor and educating the other half of the population who do not have the privilege of using the men’s public bathroom. Then again, even in writing this I realize that there may be yet another world that I have yet to experience first hand waiting in the women’s public bathroom. I can only hope there is another well intentioned yet misguided individual out there like myself willing to take the time to document and share that side of the story with me some day. Because the men’s bathroom is ripe with rituals, contraptions, and just plain odd things, I will have to subtitle them below.
1. Strange Silence: The strange silence is part of the man bathroom code that is always present but rarely ever spoken of, I know define irony. I’m not even sure how I am aware of it or how it was passed down to me, if at all. It is an unspoken rule, much like that of leaving an empty urinal between men rule. But, this rule is not quite as apparent to the naked eye even though it is always present. I must clarify that this is only odd whenever in a common public bathroom where you would see other men frequently that you know, i.e. the office bathroom. This rule does still apply but more for the reason that you are in a random public restroom where you will run into common strangers that you will likely never see again. That being said, the strange silence is simply as the name implies. Say you run into someone in the bathroom that you know and have conversation with on a daily basis in the office, common sense would say that you should address said person and even possibly continue an unfinished conversation from a previous one. That line of thinking does not apply when in the men’s restroom. Silence is golden in the men’s bathroom. If you don’t have a reason to talk, you don’t! Get in, get your business done, get out. This rule is followed in order to minimize any embarrassment that comes from the very obvious and sole purpose of your very presence in the bathroom, relieving your waste materials. Now this may be a bit of new information for our female counterparts as there is a very prominent urban legend that all men relish in their ability to make noises via their gastric pathway. While this thinking does hold true at most mantertainment events, the men’s bathroom is not a place to show off your flatulent dexterity. If and when the audible inevitability occurs, it is not met with high fives and grunts of exuberance. Instead, it must be completely ignored as if no one heard it, thus preserving the silence. Always, the strange silence must remain intact. Although, if two people who know each other do happen to make eye contact and are therefore forced to exchange pleasantries, conversation is limited to a brief greeting, and one of 3 topics: the weather, a local sporting event, or how much the boss’s last decision was stupid. Warning: Always check the shoe/pant combo beneath the stalls, refer to below rant, before using topic number three as this could backfire and be very detrimental to your career. So, in summation, to maintain the status quo in the men’s workplace bathroom you must always remember these three common rules; do not draw attention to yourself, ignore any noises or odors you may encounter as if they were not occurring, and if conversation is unavoidable, keep it light and to the point. Of course as with anything there are always exceptions to the rules or unforeseen outliers like the guy who doesn’t take his career very seriously or is new to the game and still in “frat party mode” and breaks all of the above listed rules of engagement. If you should encounter such and individual, the best plan of action is to leave the bathroom until he has gone on to another region of the office and then proceed with business as usual. I’m tired of talking about this one, on to the next.

Random Rant #1

2008-04-24T15:05:00.000-07:00

1. So, I’m watching the food network and Emeril is on cooking some sort of pasta dish, he’s grunting and making noises while throwing in his catch phrases like “oh yeah babe.” He begins to add some shaved garlic, as he calls it, to this dish and the live audience, in which he is filming this show in front of, begins to applaud and whistle as if a woman in a bikini has just stepped into their view. I find this odd as I can’t imagine any time where I would feel the need to cheer in such a fashion at just about any event, save a kissing of the bride at a wedding or maybe a last second winning shot at a Vandy game, but never-the-less the audience does cheer. Then I notice something equally if not more odd. Emeril reaches for a bowl of chopped parsley and begins to add it to his pasta concoction only seconds after adding the garlic and the audience sits un-phased. Now I am completely confused as to what makes an ingredient “cheer worthy.” Why does the addition of the garlic receive such an exuberant applause while the parsley is met with respectful observation? Maybe the audience isn’t applauding at all, maybe it’s a well recorded applause track and there is a man in a booth on set somewhere deciding which ingredients are worthy of his recorded applause and which are not. But, the applause seems genuine enough as the cameras show shots of the amazed audience who seem as if they’re watching the most exciting show they’ve ever seen. The emotion seems forced and makes me uncomfortable for them. I understand this is television and they have to show us, the audience at home, how amazing the food is so we’ll be interested enough not to change the channel and watch something else that will capture our attention for a few moments until we get bored again and search through the 100 other channels all vying for our approval. So I guess I can’t judge them too harshly. I think I’m done here.

Preface

2008-04-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

Why am I writing a blog? The entire reason that I decided to type out my thoughts to begin with was to prove myself right. I think about some pretty random things. This, you may say, is not unusual and everyone thinks about strange things from time to time. While this is more than likely true, I feel that it is necessary for my own benefit to put down some of these thoughts that I bat around in my brain at the most random of times. Most of the time I am amazed with myself at how I have ended up at this place in my mind thinking about this particular odd thing that has nothing at all to do with anything at this point in time in my day, year, life. I'm not at all convinced these thoughts are at all reader worthy so I will make a short disclaimer. If you choose to proceed in reading the inner most thoughts that I not only do not share with anyone but rarely remember to share with myself, you may be one of a few things. 1. Bored and wish you would have never wasted your time visiting this page. 2. Think less of the author but feel better about yourself for not being him. 3. Pull your hair out from reading the error riddled text before you and curse the American public school system. Then again, you may just find a new venue to pass some of your leisure time and go about your day. That being said, I humbly submit these works for your approval, or not. Like I have stated above, I'm really only doing it to prove myself right. Enjoy.