As frequent as your neighborhood ice cream truck in December...I come scribbling again.
Of course it is when I have the least amount of spare time to throw at this, but what a fun distraction it is. I, along with 109 other badge-toting classmates, are 1 month deep into nursing school here at Johns Hopkins. The biggest challenge thus far has been the management of 5 nursing classes that all blend together. I find I spend half of my time trying to figure out what is due when for who from which website. I do believe my bedroom wall has just become my new weekly planner.
First impressions? Baltimore is mountainless, schizophrenic, and in desperate need of bike lanes. My classmates are as eclectic and colorful as a bowl of fruit loops...way less soggy too.
My living situation has gone from nonexistent, to existent, to covered in 5 inches of poo. Yea, apparently that smell that appeared the second week of moving in was not a rotting mouse carcass...it was a busted sewage pipe and all of the waste we had been flushing down the commode since moving in. Is it wrong if last week my hero came in the form of a plumber? Thus, problem resolved so now my roommates and I can breath without feeling fecal funked.
Late night it is, I will continue this when the next chance for distraction smacks me.
---Dave
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Frosted Flake Here
I write to you with a bag full of 'new'...
A new location
A new purpose
A new hairline
Hell, even new socks.
Ketchup Time:
--I did in fact make it to Mexico on the 'ol bicycle. Actually it wasn't the bike I began the trip with. That one found a new owner (i.e. stolen in San Francisco). 2027 miles, 87 days, and 2 bikes later I found happiness with a Tijuana burrito, Corona and a Mexican border agent named Maria. It is officially the farthest I've ever traveled for Mexican food.
--This year started with a Seattle stint for 2 months. Took a job in a community center and took a class on how to draw blood. I am now a certified Phlebotomist so please give blood and a little job security to your buddy Dave. Oh wait, no jobby job here yet.
--I am currently laying my head in Portland taking a couple prerequisite classes for nursing school. I've been exploring the mighty wee world of microbiology and now find myself scrubbing my hands 18 times a day. I've also mastered the art of sneezing into my armpit...simultaneously stifling germs and tickling myself.
In a new direction, here is my attempt to post lectures for my microbiology colleagues. Cross your fingers...
A new location
A new purpose
A new hairline
Hell, even new socks.
Ketchup Time:
--I did in fact make it to Mexico on the 'ol bicycle. Actually it wasn't the bike I began the trip with. That one found a new owner (i.e. stolen in San Francisco). 2027 miles, 87 days, and 2 bikes later I found happiness with a Tijuana burrito, Corona and a Mexican border agent named Maria. It is officially the farthest I've ever traveled for Mexican food.
--This year started with a Seattle stint for 2 months. Took a job in a community center and took a class on how to draw blood. I am now a certified Phlebotomist so please give blood and a little job security to your buddy Dave. Oh wait, no jobby job here yet.
--I am currently laying my head in Portland taking a couple prerequisite classes for nursing school. I've been exploring the mighty wee world of microbiology and now find myself scrubbing my hands 18 times a day. I've also mastered the art of sneezing into my armpit...simultaneously stifling germs and tickling myself.
In a new direction, here is my attempt to post lectures for my microbiology colleagues. Cross your fingers...
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Sidewalk Chalk Debauchery
Day 22- While wandering around downtown, I stumble across a neat Arcata 19 year tradition. Give the bums a bath day! Every year they bust out fire hoses and spray down the riff raff....ok sorry. Just kidding. Fun and politically correct idea though, huh?
The actual tradition is called 'Pastels on the Park.' It's where over 200 local artists come out to the Plaza, armed with pastels, and spend hours drawing intricate, inspiring, and talent-saturated pictures within pre-purchased 'squares' on the sidewalk. All the money goes towards a children's charity and is obviously a massive social gathering for the community; not to mention the local farmer's market, jugglers, slack-line walkers, and other run away carnie folk who are normally bumbling about the square. So while I was walking about admiring the talented hands at work, I passed the administration table. They looked at me and asked "would you like to help?" Thinking, 'oh, these nice old ladies need a young guy to run and grab some water or move a box.' Hence I replied with an affirmative 'of course!' Their response..."Good. An artist didn't show and we have a sponsor who paid for a drawing. Here is your box of pastels, over there is your 3x3 foot square to draw in, and try and be done in 2 hours. Keep your art work within the square. Oh...and have fun!"
What? She obviously didn't realize who she gave the chalk to. Last thing I drew was a duck in a pond 10 years ago. Damn thing looked more like a floating hamburger in a puddle. And now she wants me to work elbow to elbow with local artists? Maybe the local artists weren't that gifted?
Scratch that. Come to find out there are more working artists in the county then anywhere else in the U.S.
Crap.
So I smiled big, took my art tools in hand, and drudged over to my square. 'Maybe the people around me will be really bad' I hoped.
No dice on that either. In fact, not only were they talented, but they were 2 cute female bits of eye candy.
At this point I thought 'well maybe if I pretend to have a mental retardation, people will sympathize with my drawing skills.' Resisting the urge to repeatedly slap my hand against my face, I dived into my pastel work like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
Sneaking peaks at neighboring sketches, I took note of their methods on transforming these simple sticks of color into gorgeous pieces of art.
Then just when I thought I couldn't become any less invisible, a reporter from a local newspaper walks up and starts asking me questions.
My thoughts went as the following:
1)- Nooooooooooo!
2)- why doesn't she interview someone who knows what they're doing?
3)- lie. Feed her lots of lies. Don't even give her your real name. Wait, too late. Already did. Why wasn't this my first thought?
4)- faint. Collapse and quiver. No harm there.
Within a few brief minutes the interview was over and I wasn't even aware of what I said. 'Ought to be an interesting article' I mused.
And sure as manure, it was. I found it on the Eureka Reporter website...
http://www.eurekareporter.com/ArticleDisplay.aspx?ArticleID=15873
So after 2 hours of etching, hiding, watering, cursing and scribbling, I finished. Inspired by my current life scenario, I was almost proud of it. Almost. Not enough to sign it though. That is until a smart-ass artist passing by noticed I hadn't signed it. Oops, my bad. So he handed me a quaint color (i.e. blaze orange) and asked me to Johnny Hancock it. Nail in the coffin. Final buzzer. Game over.
So witness here on my blog to the art of the advanced....and then mine.
Not Mine
Not Mine
Not Mine
Not Mine
The actual tradition is called 'Pastels on the Park.' It's where over 200 local artists come out to the Plaza, armed with pastels, and spend hours drawing intricate, inspiring, and talent-saturated pictures within pre-purchased 'squares' on the sidewalk. All the money goes towards a children's charity and is obviously a massive social gathering for the community; not to mention the local farmer's market, jugglers, slack-line walkers, and other run away carnie folk who are normally bumbling about the square. So while I was walking about admiring the talented hands at work, I passed the administration table. They looked at me and asked "would you like to help?" Thinking, 'oh, these nice old ladies need a young guy to run and grab some water or move a box.' Hence I replied with an affirmative 'of course!' Their response..."Good. An artist didn't show and we have a sponsor who paid for a drawing. Here is your box of pastels, over there is your 3x3 foot square to draw in, and try and be done in 2 hours. Keep your art work within the square. Oh...and have fun!"
What? She obviously didn't realize who she gave the chalk to. Last thing I drew was a duck in a pond 10 years ago. Damn thing looked more like a floating hamburger in a puddle. And now she wants me to work elbow to elbow with local artists? Maybe the local artists weren't that gifted?
Scratch that. Come to find out there are more working artists in the county then anywhere else in the U.S.
Crap.
So I smiled big, took my art tools in hand, and drudged over to my square. 'Maybe the people around me will be really bad' I hoped.
No dice on that either. In fact, not only were they talented, but they were 2 cute female bits of eye candy.
At this point I thought 'well maybe if I pretend to have a mental retardation, people will sympathize with my drawing skills.' Resisting the urge to repeatedly slap my hand against my face, I dived into my pastel work like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
Sneaking peaks at neighboring sketches, I took note of their methods on transforming these simple sticks of color into gorgeous pieces of art.
Then just when I thought I couldn't become any less invisible, a reporter from a local newspaper walks up and starts asking me questions.
My thoughts went as the following:
1)- Nooooooooooo!
2)- why doesn't she interview someone who knows what they're doing?
3)- lie. Feed her lots of lies. Don't even give her your real name. Wait, too late. Already did. Why wasn't this my first thought?
4)- faint. Collapse and quiver. No harm there.
Within a few brief minutes the interview was over and I wasn't even aware of what I said. 'Ought to be an interesting article' I mused.
And sure as manure, it was. I found it on the Eureka Reporter website...
http://www.eurekareporter.com/ArticleDisplay.aspx?ArticleID=15873
So after 2 hours of etching, hiding, watering, cursing and scribbling, I finished. Inspired by my current life scenario, I was almost proud of it. Almost. Not enough to sign it though. That is until a smart-ass artist passing by noticed I hadn't signed it. Oops, my bad. So he handed me a quaint color (i.e. blaze orange) and asked me to Johnny Hancock it. Nail in the coffin. Final buzzer. Game over.
So witness here on my blog to the art of the advanced....and then mine.
Not Mine
Not Mine
Not Mine
Not Mine
Friday, October 06, 2006
3rd Week...Realizing Bike Shorts Double as a Diaper
Continuing on...
Day 14- Peel ourselves away from our surrogate family...hosts that define the very word 'hospitality.' Sob sob. The wetness continues as we hit fog as thick as a fat man's arteries...soaking our gear. After the day's pedaling stops, I set up my tent behind a church. Ben, fearing bike-loathing church goers, sleeps across the street on the ground between 2 flower troughs. The fog gives the effect of sleeping inside a giant humiditor.
Day 15- Discover minor abdominal pain, only to realize later that it’s a hernia false alarm and simply a result of the laughter orgy with our hosts 2 days earlier.
During today's ride we run across a German couple cycling from Anchorage; for the next 1.5 years they're pedaling to Argentina...giving Ben and I the likeness of meager circus pony rejects compared to these German Stallions. The woman, as tall as most suburban neighborhood shrubs, is carrying almost twice the weight as either of us.
That evening, at the State Park campground Hiker-Biker Sites, we met the most colorful persona of the trip. His name...John. His cycling destination...California. His mental stability...as stable as a chair with 2 and a half legs. Upon first encounter, the man was normal. Monotone, 57 years old and blessed with the ability to swing any conversational topic back to something he had done. We asked where he had bicycled from with his mountain bike and he said Seattle. However he then mentioned how he had taken a bus from Seattle to Portland...which consists of the bulk of the trip. Fair enough. The man didn’t even pack a sleeping bag.
Day 16- However the best part of the John show occurred in the morning. One second everything is peaceful, normal and levelheaded. The next second we find 'ol John boy screaming 4 letter words at the top of his lungs, heaving his belongings all over the campsite, and throwing the all-in-all best temper tantrum I've seen out of a 50 year old...ever. It was brilliant. And what brought this on? The misplacement of his camera and air pump, the latter of which he found within seconds. While John was picking his orange peels out of the bushes, Ben and I quietly exit stage left. Nutjob.
Break my first spoke of the trip. Apparently I’m ass heavy.
Today is also Christmas day for me. Score three major finds on the side of the road 1)Leatherman knife 2)working cell phone and 3)a kitty. I keep the first two but run out of room for the second. My only option to haul this little black cat would be to strap it under one of my bungees. As inhumane and entertaining as that would have been, I suggested it ride in Ben's trailer. He had plenty of room. Why not? Apparently allergies were why not. So Cruel Ella De Ben made me leave the wee black kitten on the side of the road, crying. I threaten to use my new phone to call PETA on Ben. He tells me to "shut it."
Day 17- Realize we've been heading in the right direction by spotting more and more surfboards as car roof ornaments.
Ben and I go to the farthest most western point in the lower 48....Cape Blanco. Equipped with a lighthouse, Ben and I stand at the edge and yell at Japan.
Our accommodations for the night consist of the area fire station. Ben and I are up late playing dress up with the fire uni's.
Day 18- 2 states down, 1 to go! With Washington and Oregon out of the way, we're ready to tackle one of the tallest states in the union...California! Knocking on Redwoods, we hope to have the same weather experience for this 3rd state as the past 2. Somehow we made it out of the Evergreen and Beaver states with only one, count em one, day of real rain. At the state line, Ben and I do our respective dances; he throws out the 'No Rain Dance' and I lift the jersey to display my 'Truffle Shuffle.'
Motorists slow down and point out to their children what happens when you do drugs.
Later on I find myself hungry and take a brief respite beside a wild blackberry bush. Bad idea, for I proceed to gorge myself on blackberries as big as my chubby thumbs. My stomach soon realizes that this was adverse to the idea of biking as I complain to Ben about a sore tummy. I get the old 'shut it' again.
We camp in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park for the night, surrounded by trees that make your neck ache from craning your head back to get a glimpse of the tops...300 feet up! My entertainment for the evening consists of watching Ben struggle to fit his hammock's ropes around these massive trees. Once he accomplishes that mission, we proceed to celebrate our 1st night in Cali with a big bottle of wine, a picnic table, and 3 squirrels. Pathetically, it was one of the better parties I’ve been to in awhile.
Day 19- We take a 6 mile detour through Jedediah Smith Park. Amazing. Spectacular. Spiritual. By the end of the 6 miles Ben and I are hugging the trees, rocks, our bikes, and each other (but he held me way more than I held him). The place ranks on my list for a recommended visit by any and everyone...especially with a bike seat on your bum.
Adversely, hours later we visit the most depressing place on the west coast...Klamath. Outside of town had potential as we patron a huge Paul Bunyon and Babe the Blue Ox statue....equipped with the largest pair of blue balls I had ever seen (Ben had seen bigger). Spent almost an hour cracking 'blue ball' jokes, then finally move on to town proper, where we find that most of the place is in the confines of a worn out, dilapidated fence. Stopping at the gas station, we are lucky enough to witness the local social junk show. Folks wander in and out sputtering syllables and bumble with coins in an attempt to confuse the staff...and vice versa. We both walk out feeling dumber then when we arrived. And then, THEN, to slap a cherry on top of it all, while pedaling out of town, Ben gets rocks thrown at him by street corner kids. Lucky guy.
Day 20- Decide to spend the day on foot frolicking around the tallest trees in the world...the Redwoods. In the visitor center, we ask the ranger "where is it? Where is the tallest tree in the world?" She raises her eyebrow, hunches over, and whispers to us "you'll never find it." With a sinister laugh, she claims that even she doesn't know where it is as its kept secret from all rangers. Only research personnel know where it is. Apparently years back when the tallest tree was in this park (Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park) they advertised it and encouraged tourists to visit the "Worlds Tallest Tree." They even provided a shuttle to it, making it more accessible. Yet within 10 years of this circus, the top of the tree fell off. Redwood trees have a root system that don’t go very deep in the soil (6-10 feet) and all of the people traffic around the tree compressed the dirt so much it compacted the root structure. Hence the roots couldn’t pump water up to the top of the tree...killing it. Every year the tallest tree title changes as trees grow and get more competitive (some have been busted shooting up on Miracle Grow). This years tall tree...376 feet tall.
Day 21- We hit the worst road conditions of the trip yet. Of course we find this after we pass by a couple road closure signs, but this one is off the charts. The road, built on the coastline on unstable ground, has been sliding out a little bit every year. So the county comes in and pours a little bit more asphalt on top every year...until you get what you see here. A multi-layered sandwich cluster of asphalt, some of which were almost 4 feet thick. With local county funds as broke as our political system, the street has been closed for almost 2 years. Ben and I walk/repel down this section.
We arrive down the road into Arcata, which is synonymous for Splitsville for Ben and I. Ben, having a schedule to stick too and a flight to catch, pedals on south while I, lacking either of the two, stick around in Arcata. He also wouldn’t share his Chicken and Stove Top the last 2 nights which was the last straw for me. We know the dynamics of the trip changes from here on out as we will both be flying solo, but just as a hypothermic Leonardo DiCaprio stretches out his hand for a soggy but still attractive Kate Winslet in Titanic, Ben and I know our hearts will go on. Plus the fact that I have an incriminating photo of him and a 10 year old boy.
Miss ya Husky, Tank, and Ben!
Zip off to explore Arcata's town square, which provides me with a first impression of a man urinating on a bush while another is arguing with a tree about Bush. Wow. The Plaza as its known is an eclectic hangout for local Humbolt State students, resident artists, bums, and anyone who's ever been called Crazy, Nutjob, or Inmate. As one can expect, it has a character more colorful than a Toys R Us warehouse full of sex toys. Hard as I looked, I couldn't find any inhibitions in Arcata.
Tonight I spend in my tent in the backyard of the local bicycle shop. This campground's view is a bit different from previous...going from ocean and forest scenes to bike ramps and a half pipe.
Day 14- Peel ourselves away from our surrogate family...hosts that define the very word 'hospitality.' Sob sob. The wetness continues as we hit fog as thick as a fat man's arteries...soaking our gear. After the day's pedaling stops, I set up my tent behind a church. Ben, fearing bike-loathing church goers, sleeps across the street on the ground between 2 flower troughs. The fog gives the effect of sleeping inside a giant humiditor.
Day 15- Discover minor abdominal pain, only to realize later that it’s a hernia false alarm and simply a result of the laughter orgy with our hosts 2 days earlier.
During today's ride we run across a German couple cycling from Anchorage; for the next 1.5 years they're pedaling to Argentina...giving Ben and I the likeness of meager circus pony rejects compared to these German Stallions. The woman, as tall as most suburban neighborhood shrubs, is carrying almost twice the weight as either of us.
That evening, at the State Park campground Hiker-Biker Sites, we met the most colorful persona of the trip. His name...John. His cycling destination...California. His mental stability...as stable as a chair with 2 and a half legs. Upon first encounter, the man was normal. Monotone, 57 years old and blessed with the ability to swing any conversational topic back to something he had done. We asked where he had bicycled from with his mountain bike and he said Seattle. However he then mentioned how he had taken a bus from Seattle to Portland...which consists of the bulk of the trip. Fair enough. The man didn’t even pack a sleeping bag.
Day 16- However the best part of the John show occurred in the morning. One second everything is peaceful, normal and levelheaded. The next second we find 'ol John boy screaming 4 letter words at the top of his lungs, heaving his belongings all over the campsite, and throwing the all-in-all best temper tantrum I've seen out of a 50 year old...ever. It was brilliant. And what brought this on? The misplacement of his camera and air pump, the latter of which he found within seconds. While John was picking his orange peels out of the bushes, Ben and I quietly exit stage left. Nutjob.
Break my first spoke of the trip. Apparently I’m ass heavy.
Today is also Christmas day for me. Score three major finds on the side of the road 1)Leatherman knife 2)working cell phone and 3)a kitty. I keep the first two but run out of room for the second. My only option to haul this little black cat would be to strap it under one of my bungees. As inhumane and entertaining as that would have been, I suggested it ride in Ben's trailer. He had plenty of room. Why not? Apparently allergies were why not. So Cruel Ella De Ben made me leave the wee black kitten on the side of the road, crying. I threaten to use my new phone to call PETA on Ben. He tells me to "shut it."
Day 17- Realize we've been heading in the right direction by spotting more and more surfboards as car roof ornaments.
Ben and I go to the farthest most western point in the lower 48....Cape Blanco. Equipped with a lighthouse, Ben and I stand at the edge and yell at Japan.
Our accommodations for the night consist of the area fire station. Ben and I are up late playing dress up with the fire uni's.
Day 18- 2 states down, 1 to go! With Washington and Oregon out of the way, we're ready to tackle one of the tallest states in the union...California! Knocking on Redwoods, we hope to have the same weather experience for this 3rd state as the past 2. Somehow we made it out of the Evergreen and Beaver states with only one, count em one, day of real rain. At the state line, Ben and I do our respective dances; he throws out the 'No Rain Dance' and I lift the jersey to display my 'Truffle Shuffle.'
Motorists slow down and point out to their children what happens when you do drugs.
Later on I find myself hungry and take a brief respite beside a wild blackberry bush. Bad idea, for I proceed to gorge myself on blackberries as big as my chubby thumbs. My stomach soon realizes that this was adverse to the idea of biking as I complain to Ben about a sore tummy. I get the old 'shut it' again.
We camp in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park for the night, surrounded by trees that make your neck ache from craning your head back to get a glimpse of the tops...300 feet up! My entertainment for the evening consists of watching Ben struggle to fit his hammock's ropes around these massive trees. Once he accomplishes that mission, we proceed to celebrate our 1st night in Cali with a big bottle of wine, a picnic table, and 3 squirrels. Pathetically, it was one of the better parties I’ve been to in awhile.
Day 19- We take a 6 mile detour through Jedediah Smith Park. Amazing. Spectacular. Spiritual. By the end of the 6 miles Ben and I are hugging the trees, rocks, our bikes, and each other (but he held me way more than I held him). The place ranks on my list for a recommended visit by any and everyone...especially with a bike seat on your bum.
Adversely, hours later we visit the most depressing place on the west coast...Klamath. Outside of town had potential as we patron a huge Paul Bunyon and Babe the Blue Ox statue....equipped with the largest pair of blue balls I had ever seen (Ben had seen bigger). Spent almost an hour cracking 'blue ball' jokes, then finally move on to town proper, where we find that most of the place is in the confines of a worn out, dilapidated fence. Stopping at the gas station, we are lucky enough to witness the local social junk show. Folks wander in and out sputtering syllables and bumble with coins in an attempt to confuse the staff...and vice versa. We both walk out feeling dumber then when we arrived. And then, THEN, to slap a cherry on top of it all, while pedaling out of town, Ben gets rocks thrown at him by street corner kids. Lucky guy.
Day 20- Decide to spend the day on foot frolicking around the tallest trees in the world...the Redwoods. In the visitor center, we ask the ranger "where is it? Where is the tallest tree in the world?" She raises her eyebrow, hunches over, and whispers to us "you'll never find it." With a sinister laugh, she claims that even she doesn't know where it is as its kept secret from all rangers. Only research personnel know where it is. Apparently years back when the tallest tree was in this park (Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park) they advertised it and encouraged tourists to visit the "Worlds Tallest Tree." They even provided a shuttle to it, making it more accessible. Yet within 10 years of this circus, the top of the tree fell off. Redwood trees have a root system that don’t go very deep in the soil (6-10 feet) and all of the people traffic around the tree compressed the dirt so much it compacted the root structure. Hence the roots couldn’t pump water up to the top of the tree...killing it. Every year the tallest tree title changes as trees grow and get more competitive (some have been busted shooting up on Miracle Grow). This years tall tree...376 feet tall.
Day 21- We hit the worst road conditions of the trip yet. Of course we find this after we pass by a couple road closure signs, but this one is off the charts. The road, built on the coastline on unstable ground, has been sliding out a little bit every year. So the county comes in and pours a little bit more asphalt on top every year...until you get what you see here. A multi-layered sandwich cluster of asphalt, some of which were almost 4 feet thick. With local county funds as broke as our political system, the street has been closed for almost 2 years. Ben and I walk/repel down this section.
We arrive down the road into Arcata, which is synonymous for Splitsville for Ben and I. Ben, having a schedule to stick too and a flight to catch, pedals on south while I, lacking either of the two, stick around in Arcata. He also wouldn’t share his Chicken and Stove Top the last 2 nights which was the last straw for me. We know the dynamics of the trip changes from here on out as we will both be flying solo, but just as a hypothermic Leonardo DiCaprio stretches out his hand for a soggy but still attractive Kate Winslet in Titanic, Ben and I know our hearts will go on. Plus the fact that I have an incriminating photo of him and a 10 year old boy.
Miss ya Husky, Tank, and Ben!
Zip off to explore Arcata's town square, which provides me with a first impression of a man urinating on a bush while another is arguing with a tree about Bush. Wow. The Plaza as its known is an eclectic hangout for local Humbolt State students, resident artists, bums, and anyone who's ever been called Crazy, Nutjob, or Inmate. As one can expect, it has a character more colorful than a Toys R Us warehouse full of sex toys. Hard as I looked, I couldn't find any inhibitions in Arcata.
Tonight I spend in my tent in the backyard of the local bicycle shop. This campground's view is a bit different from previous...going from ocean and forest scenes to bike ramps and a half pipe.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
1st 2 Weeks...Ironing Out The Wrinkles
Only rule for the next 45 days---keep the water on our right.
A long overdue bike trip breakdown...Departure Day to the present (Day 13):
Day 1- When telling the Canadian border guard where we are going, his response..."Mexico? Man you're at the wrong f'n border."
We pedal for 2 minutes before realizing neither of our bike computers are registering the correct speed. Bens' reads 'error' while mine has me going twice as fast as we really are. Solid deduction work finds that Ben's front wheel is on backwards and I have not 1, but 2 sensors on my spokes reading my wheel rotation...twice. Hell, I figured at that rate we'd be in Mexico by October 1st. No dice. Stupidity wins.
For dinner, in honor of our destination, we feast on burritos and enchiladas. Soon thereafter the lactard makes its first debut of the trip.
We camp in a church field with a boy scout troop. I proceed to get made fun of by a 10 year old weeblow of sorts for forgetting to bring a headlamp. If they give badges for ridiculing, that nasty brat has one.
Day 2- Check the Doppler weather forecast on Ben's cell phone. Apparently there is a big green monster headed our way. Leave quick like.
Unbeknownst to us, heading south we find ourselves on the same route as a Hospice charity ride with loads of other cyclists. Except for the fact we are the only sherpas hauling 50 lbs of weight on our bikes while everyone is flying by at Mach 9. We do however take advantage of their complimentary food & drink pit stops...finding ourselves conversing about something we are obviously both experts in...hospice. Oh, and BS’ing.
Fall asleep in the tranquil Deception Pass State Park...with military fighter planes screaming overhead. Ben's snoring has now become the least of my worries.
Day 3- Green monster caught up with us and drenched us last night. Apparently it rains here in the Pacific Northwest. The first hour of my day is spent in a moldy state park bathroom, every 30 seconds, hitting the hand drier buttons hoping to dry out my gear. Ben's ridicule aside, I emerge successful...and wetless.
Eat breakfast at Franks Place. Order, stretch the ‘ol muscles, then feast. Find out only after we're done that they have a Sumo Burger Food Challenge...1.5 pounds of meat stacked just under a foot tall with fries and veggies in 30 minutes. Timing is everything as I tried to talk Ben into it as it was technically lunch now that we just had breakfast. 'To early to puke in this trip' was his response.
Hours later (ie 2) we eat lunch at a Pizzeria. You know how shaking babies is a mistake? And 80's music is a mistake? And pet rocks? Well eating cheese pizza, a glass of milk and an ice cream dessert for lunch is one as well. Intolerant to lactose am I, which later finds Ben intolerant to cycling behind me. Within 30 minutes I find myself demolishing some poor Laundromats restroom...and for awhile too. So long my legs went numb and my hearing temporarily went out. Almost feel like I was in worse shape when I stood up than when I sat down. I swear. Never again will that lunch be repeated.
Day 4- solid citizen again. New obstacle is fixing my 1st flat tire of the trip. Front tire, slow leak, no real issue.
Ben falls off his bike for the second time. Picture snapped.
Spend the night with a family we met online on the website www.warmshowers.org Regardless of how some people read it, its a clean and useful website that networks touring cyclists to random hosts homes that will house stanky cyclists, and provide food, shower and shelter for the night...for free. Kind of a pay it forward deal...helping others if you will. Great family. The evening finds us soaking in their hot tub and Ben coaxing their 8 year old son into giving him a massage. No joke. True story. And when Ben even thinks about getting married or running for public office, I've got some fairly risqué photos that may have to surface. The child’s name was Lewis. Ask Ben for details. Daily.
Day 5- Ben craps into a bucket in their garage. Once again, I do not lie. The family left the house for work/school, locked the door, and left us full bellied from breakfast in their garage. No restroom, Ben last resorts it into a garbage bag via the bucket. Inspired, I see the kitty litter box. However realizing the horror on Lewis's face when he saw what the 'cat' had recently eaten, I too joined team bucket. Believe when I say my head's in my hands.
Spend the night in a corner small town General Store. Yet this General Store was on crack. It was a motorcycle dealer, flea market, auction center, concert hall, leather shop, and recording studio all in one. Of course we slept on the pull out couch in the middle of it all.
Day 6- within 5 minutes of waking up I find myself with a hammer in my hand, banging on the outside of the General Store wall. Apparently Ben arranged a work trade with the owner which consisted of pounding the boards in, in a fruitless effort to seal up the cracks of this 100 year old barn. Ben soon losses his negotiating rights.
The afternoon finds the best of my cubby thumbs and good luck. I break my handlebar bag’s straps and gain 2 flat tires.
Pedal by Mt Saint Helens area to discover that the local high schools mascot is none other than a volcano. Every reads ‘go volcanoes go!’ Seems the residents there haven’t fully thought out what they are cheering for. My bet? Insurance scam.
Dinner at pizzeria (its cool come dinner time). Solicit a nice old couple headed for the door for advice on where two cyclists could camp. 20 minutes later we find ourselves in their hot tub, tent set up in their front yard, and playing with their dog. That was some of the best ‘advice’ thus far on the trip.
2 hot tubs in 6 days, Ben looks over at me and says “I live better on a bike then I do at home.” The secret’s out.
Day 7- Side trip to Portland. Look at a Nursing School and see old buddy from Jackson Hole. Attend a med school party where the future surgeons of America are getting hammered and joking about corpses tattoos. A first.
Day 8- Recover from the party…and the jokes.
Day 9- Pedal through the Columbia River Gorge to Astoria
Fall asleep on a hill overlooking the bay and the town. Ben spots 7 shooting stars. I spot zero. I call Ben a liar. He calls me blind.
Later I dream of letting the air out of his tires.
.
Day 10- Astoria! Beautiful! Green! Friendly! But more importantly, also known globally as the site where they filmed the movie Goonies. Yep. I saw it. The very spot where Chunk did the Truffle Shuffle. As much as I pleaded, Ben wouldn’t duplicate
Stop in the town of Seaside which marks the end of the Lewis and Clark Trail. Ben and I attempt to adopt new cycling identities, but disagree on who gets to be Lewis. We bicker over who would be a better Lewis, in the end we remembered his fond memories from Day 4 and he was destined to be Lewis.
Day 11- catch Ben checking out a 70 year old’s ass. Proof is in the pudding. Wait. That may not be an appropriate time to use that.
Pedal through Tillamook Oregon…home of Tillamook cheese, ice cream, and all other items I should avoid but don’t. Stop in the factory and indulge. Hee hee.
Day 12- awake to a state park ranger lecturing Ben on the need to pay for the site 1st thing upon arrival…which we hadn’t. Ranger Rick sputters out something about raccoons consuming beer over food for its calories, Ben pretends he’s interested and I pretend I’m asleep. For sure thought Ben (aka Lewis) was going to little ranger jail, but no dice.
Later randomly meet up with seven 60+ year olds cycling the better part of the Oregon coast. Amazing! Even find myself drafting behind the oldest one for awhile…81 years old. It’s not in the bible but I bet it would have been the 11th commandment. Thou shall not draft an elder. Ben finds that dirty and is currently giggling about it.
Day 13- no bike day. Stayed at another warmshowers.org house last night and cleaned bikes, ate and chatted. Oh yea, their home is also right on the beach and has the best view from a hot tub yet while sipping champagne yet. No lie. 3 days ago the son and wife of the house just finished up a 6000 mile long coast to coast (and everywhere in between) bicycle ride. Hence the bubbly in the bubbles. We are now averaging a hot tub every 4 days and our standards are getting disgustingly high.
--Chubby Thumbs
A long overdue bike trip breakdown...Departure Day to the present (Day 13):
Day 1- When telling the Canadian border guard where we are going, his response..."Mexico? Man you're at the wrong f'n border."
We pedal for 2 minutes before realizing neither of our bike computers are registering the correct speed. Bens' reads 'error' while mine has me going twice as fast as we really are. Solid deduction work finds that Ben's front wheel is on backwards and I have not 1, but 2 sensors on my spokes reading my wheel rotation...twice. Hell, I figured at that rate we'd be in Mexico by October 1st. No dice. Stupidity wins.
For dinner, in honor of our destination, we feast on burritos and enchiladas. Soon thereafter the lactard makes its first debut of the trip.
We camp in a church field with a boy scout troop. I proceed to get made fun of by a 10 year old weeblow of sorts for forgetting to bring a headlamp. If they give badges for ridiculing, that nasty brat has one.
Day 2- Check the Doppler weather forecast on Ben's cell phone. Apparently there is a big green monster headed our way. Leave quick like.
Unbeknownst to us, heading south we find ourselves on the same route as a Hospice charity ride with loads of other cyclists. Except for the fact we are the only sherpas hauling 50 lbs of weight on our bikes while everyone is flying by at Mach 9. We do however take advantage of their complimentary food & drink pit stops...finding ourselves conversing about something we are obviously both experts in...hospice. Oh, and BS’ing.
Fall asleep in the tranquil Deception Pass State Park...with military fighter planes screaming overhead. Ben's snoring has now become the least of my worries.
Day 3- Green monster caught up with us and drenched us last night. Apparently it rains here in the Pacific Northwest. The first hour of my day is spent in a moldy state park bathroom, every 30 seconds, hitting the hand drier buttons hoping to dry out my gear. Ben's ridicule aside, I emerge successful...and wetless.
Eat breakfast at Franks Place. Order, stretch the ‘ol muscles, then feast. Find out only after we're done that they have a Sumo Burger Food Challenge...1.5 pounds of meat stacked just under a foot tall with fries and veggies in 30 minutes. Timing is everything as I tried to talk Ben into it as it was technically lunch now that we just had breakfast. 'To early to puke in this trip' was his response.
Hours later (ie 2) we eat lunch at a Pizzeria. You know how shaking babies is a mistake? And 80's music is a mistake? And pet rocks? Well eating cheese pizza, a glass of milk and an ice cream dessert for lunch is one as well. Intolerant to lactose am I, which later finds Ben intolerant to cycling behind me. Within 30 minutes I find myself demolishing some poor Laundromats restroom...and for awhile too. So long my legs went numb and my hearing temporarily went out. Almost feel like I was in worse shape when I stood up than when I sat down. I swear. Never again will that lunch be repeated.
Day 4- solid citizen again. New obstacle is fixing my 1st flat tire of the trip. Front tire, slow leak, no real issue.
Ben falls off his bike for the second time. Picture snapped.
Spend the night with a family we met online on the website www.warmshowers.org Regardless of how some people read it, its a clean and useful website that networks touring cyclists to random hosts homes that will house stanky cyclists, and provide food, shower and shelter for the night...for free. Kind of a pay it forward deal...helping others if you will. Great family. The evening finds us soaking in their hot tub and Ben coaxing their 8 year old son into giving him a massage. No joke. True story. And when Ben even thinks about getting married or running for public office, I've got some fairly risqué photos that may have to surface. The child’s name was Lewis. Ask Ben for details. Daily.
Day 5- Ben craps into a bucket in their garage. Once again, I do not lie. The family left the house for work/school, locked the door, and left us full bellied from breakfast in their garage. No restroom, Ben last resorts it into a garbage bag via the bucket. Inspired, I see the kitty litter box. However realizing the horror on Lewis's face when he saw what the 'cat' had recently eaten, I too joined team bucket. Believe when I say my head's in my hands.
Spend the night in a corner small town General Store. Yet this General Store was on crack. It was a motorcycle dealer, flea market, auction center, concert hall, leather shop, and recording studio all in one. Of course we slept on the pull out couch in the middle of it all.
Day 6- within 5 minutes of waking up I find myself with a hammer in my hand, banging on the outside of the General Store wall. Apparently Ben arranged a work trade with the owner which consisted of pounding the boards in, in a fruitless effort to seal up the cracks of this 100 year old barn. Ben soon losses his negotiating rights.
The afternoon finds the best of my cubby thumbs and good luck. I break my handlebar bag’s straps and gain 2 flat tires.
Pedal by Mt Saint Helens area to discover that the local high schools mascot is none other than a volcano. Every reads ‘go volcanoes go!’ Seems the residents there haven’t fully thought out what they are cheering for. My bet? Insurance scam.
Dinner at pizzeria (its cool come dinner time). Solicit a nice old couple headed for the door for advice on where two cyclists could camp. 20 minutes later we find ourselves in their hot tub, tent set up in their front yard, and playing with their dog. That was some of the best ‘advice’ thus far on the trip.
2 hot tubs in 6 days, Ben looks over at me and says “I live better on a bike then I do at home.” The secret’s out.
Day 7- Side trip to Portland. Look at a Nursing School and see old buddy from Jackson Hole. Attend a med school party where the future surgeons of America are getting hammered and joking about corpses tattoos. A first.
Day 8- Recover from the party…and the jokes.
Day 9- Pedal through the Columbia River Gorge to Astoria
Fall asleep on a hill overlooking the bay and the town. Ben spots 7 shooting stars. I spot zero. I call Ben a liar. He calls me blind.
Later I dream of letting the air out of his tires.
.
Day 10- Astoria! Beautiful! Green! Friendly! But more importantly, also known globally as the site where they filmed the movie Goonies. Yep. I saw it. The very spot where Chunk did the Truffle Shuffle. As much as I pleaded, Ben wouldn’t duplicate
Stop in the town of Seaside which marks the end of the Lewis and Clark Trail. Ben and I attempt to adopt new cycling identities, but disagree on who gets to be Lewis. We bicker over who would be a better Lewis, in the end we remembered his fond memories from Day 4 and he was destined to be Lewis.
Day 11- catch Ben checking out a 70 year old’s ass. Proof is in the pudding. Wait. That may not be an appropriate time to use that.
Pedal through Tillamook Oregon…home of Tillamook cheese, ice cream, and all other items I should avoid but don’t. Stop in the factory and indulge. Hee hee.
Day 12- awake to a state park ranger lecturing Ben on the need to pay for the site 1st thing upon arrival…which we hadn’t. Ranger Rick sputters out something about raccoons consuming beer over food for its calories, Ben pretends he’s interested and I pretend I’m asleep. For sure thought Ben (aka Lewis) was going to little ranger jail, but no dice.
Later randomly meet up with seven 60+ year olds cycling the better part of the Oregon coast. Amazing! Even find myself drafting behind the oldest one for awhile…81 years old. It’s not in the bible but I bet it would have been the 11th commandment. Thou shall not draft an elder. Ben finds that dirty and is currently giggling about it.
Day 13- no bike day. Stayed at another warmshowers.org house last night and cleaned bikes, ate and chatted. Oh yea, their home is also right on the beach and has the best view from a hot tub yet while sipping champagne yet. No lie. 3 days ago the son and wife of the house just finished up a 6000 mile long coast to coast (and everywhere in between) bicycle ride. Hence the bubbly in the bubbles. We are now averaging a hot tub every 4 days and our standards are getting disgustingly high.
--Chubby Thumbs
Monday, September 11, 2006
Returning to Norm?
Just escaped from the trunk of that nice man's car...5 weeks later.
Note to self...if they promise candy, that means kidnapping.
Ok, better not go further with that one or Grandma's going to believe it, call the police, and strain those 9 decade old arterial walls.
Catching up in a nutshell:
Nepal= colorfully pleasant chaos. 7 days galloping around the Annapurna range. My biggest head scratcher--why do they call it "trekking." Every other place I've been its walking, hiking, or just plain stumbling about. But oh no, not in Nepal. In Nepal it’s trekking! It does sound cooler but it feels just like walking to me. I kept asking people if they liked walking or trekking better. The response was always muddled. One kid even threw rocks at me screaming, "trek this!" That’s what I liked about Nepal...their warm hearts (i.e. their bad aim).
Thailand= banana pancake'n, elephant ride'n, lagoon swim'n, and monkee hump'n, and ping pong dodg'n. First night in Bangkok I’m trekking downtown when a man approaches me. Eyes on the sidewalk, he mumbles, "ping pong." I reply, "ping pong! I love ping-pong! Lets go play us some ping pong!" The man looks at me as if I'd just run over his dog. Apparently this ping-pong isn’t as much of a game as it's more entertainment. The man proceeds to explain to me what a ping pong show is. The description, vague as it wasn't, entailed a woman, legs spread, popping ping-pong balls out from her baby makin hole. He then produced a list of various other talents that this skilled performer practiced. To keep this from going pg-13, it entailed razorblades, pens, goldfish, darts, balloons, and 20 meters of streamer.... basically all the necessary items for a 12 year olds birthday party. Yikes.
And that was Thailand...and no I never got to play ping-pong.
And now I’m back stateside. Changes I've noticed since being gone?
- a gallon of gas is approaching the rate of minimum wage
- Fashion: sunglasses have become as big as car windshields
- Bush's ears have grown while his public support shrinks (finally!)
- when I left everyone loved Tom Cruise and Mel Gibson...now only their mothers.
So now in 5 days be and my brotha from another motha will begin our 6-week trip down the west coast on bicycles. Canada to Mexico. Canuck to Cuervo. Molson to Margaritas. Crackers to, ummmm...wheat crackers? I'm an idiot. If you'd like to join us for any section, drop us a line. We'd love the company.
Until next time...happy trekking.
-Chubby Thumbs (i.e. DT willy).
Note to self...if they promise candy, that means kidnapping.
Ok, better not go further with that one or Grandma's going to believe it, call the police, and strain those 9 decade old arterial walls.
Catching up in a nutshell:
Nepal= colorfully pleasant chaos. 7 days galloping around the Annapurna range. My biggest head scratcher--why do they call it "trekking." Every other place I've been its walking, hiking, or just plain stumbling about. But oh no, not in Nepal. In Nepal it’s trekking! It does sound cooler but it feels just like walking to me. I kept asking people if they liked walking or trekking better. The response was always muddled. One kid even threw rocks at me screaming, "trek this!" That’s what I liked about Nepal...their warm hearts (i.e. their bad aim).
Thailand= banana pancake'n, elephant ride'n, lagoon swim'n, and monkee hump'n, and ping pong dodg'n. First night in Bangkok I’m trekking downtown when a man approaches me. Eyes on the sidewalk, he mumbles, "ping pong." I reply, "ping pong! I love ping-pong! Lets go play us some ping pong!" The man looks at me as if I'd just run over his dog. Apparently this ping-pong isn’t as much of a game as it's more entertainment. The man proceeds to explain to me what a ping pong show is. The description, vague as it wasn't, entailed a woman, legs spread, popping ping-pong balls out from her baby makin hole. He then produced a list of various other talents that this skilled performer practiced. To keep this from going pg-13, it entailed razorblades, pens, goldfish, darts, balloons, and 20 meters of streamer.... basically all the necessary items for a 12 year olds birthday party. Yikes.
And that was Thailand...and no I never got to play ping-pong.
And now I’m back stateside. Changes I've noticed since being gone?
- a gallon of gas is approaching the rate of minimum wage
- Fashion: sunglasses have become as big as car windshields
- Bush's ears have grown while his public support shrinks (finally!)
- when I left everyone loved Tom Cruise and Mel Gibson...now only their mothers.
So now in 5 days be and my brotha from another motha will begin our 6-week trip down the west coast on bicycles. Canada to Mexico. Canuck to Cuervo. Molson to Margaritas. Crackers to, ummmm...wheat crackers? I'm an idiot. If you'd like to join us for any section, drop us a line. We'd love the company.
Until next time...happy trekking.
-Chubby Thumbs (i.e. DT willy).
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Knee Paul
Finally! Im in a new country...and more importantly a country that lets me view my blog! Of course now I have the thoughts...'did I really write everything below?' Wow. What a spaz.
Anyways, the himalayan bike trip was a success and if you haven't read the stats, you havent checked your email. But now Im in Kathmandu...a place that takes chaos, wraps it up, eats it, digests it, then shoots it out the other end with even more sensory overload. Smells, food, faces (oh...the faces) and pollution are all different. China seems to be dirtier from the top down...nepal from the bottom up. Garbage vs air nastiness. But this aside, Im loving it here! Not quite sure yet what to do with my 3 weeks here, but Im sure the voices in my head will chirp up soon. Here's to Hindu's!
D.T. Willy
Anyways, the himalayan bike trip was a success and if you haven't read the stats, you havent checked your email. But now Im in Kathmandu...a place that takes chaos, wraps it up, eats it, digests it, then shoots it out the other end with even more sensory overload. Smells, food, faces (oh...the faces) and pollution are all different. China seems to be dirtier from the top down...nepal from the bottom up. Garbage vs air nastiness. But this aside, Im loving it here! Not quite sure yet what to do with my 3 weeks here, but Im sure the voices in my head will chirp up soon. Here's to Hindu's!
D.T. Willy
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Tour De Heavy Breathing
Its about that time! Tomorrow I leave for he bike trip over the Himlayas.
But first let me digress...
Ive been in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, for a week now. One of those Chinese places where crosswalks are Darwinistic poky people death traps and prayer flags flutter in the breeze. Its been the cleanest air my lungs have seen, yet at an altitude of almost 12,000ft, they aren't seeing quite as much O2. Actually Ive been pretty fortunate with my body adjusting to the altitude nicely...more so then the roommate in my dorm last night. The poor chinese kid was breathing like a race horse with a sock stuffed in its mouth...couldn't get enough air in each breath. It woke me up and had my brain convinved that my lungs were competing for the oxygen in the room. Eventually a pair of ear plugs solved the problem.
My other roommate, a nice city girl from beijing, said the saddest thing I've heard in a while---"when my plane landed in Lhasa, I saw the clear, transparent air and realized I was breathing the first clean air of my life...I almost cried."
Now thats a Hallmark card you don't read everyday. The stories here go on and on...
But alas, tomorrow I start the 15 days of south/southwest cycling to Kathmandu, Nepal. My friends will include 1 Brit, 1 yankee, 2 kiwis, and a bottle of advil. We will sleep in tents most of the time with a couple nights of respute in a hotel. If you want to keep track of the journey, check out the website www.whyamIpunishingmyself.com --joke
I will send more when I find Buddhist enlightenment on a bike seat.
Cheers to chicken leg pedal power,
DT Willy
But first let me digress...
Ive been in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, for a week now. One of those Chinese places where crosswalks are Darwinistic poky people death traps and prayer flags flutter in the breeze. Its been the cleanest air my lungs have seen, yet at an altitude of almost 12,000ft, they aren't seeing quite as much O2. Actually Ive been pretty fortunate with my body adjusting to the altitude nicely...more so then the roommate in my dorm last night. The poor chinese kid was breathing like a race horse with a sock stuffed in its mouth...couldn't get enough air in each breath. It woke me up and had my brain convinved that my lungs were competing for the oxygen in the room. Eventually a pair of ear plugs solved the problem.
My other roommate, a nice city girl from beijing, said the saddest thing I've heard in a while---"when my plane landed in Lhasa, I saw the clear, transparent air and realized I was breathing the first clean air of my life...I almost cried."
Now thats a Hallmark card you don't read everyday. The stories here go on and on...
But alas, tomorrow I start the 15 days of south/southwest cycling to Kathmandu, Nepal. My friends will include 1 Brit, 1 yankee, 2 kiwis, and a bottle of advil. We will sleep in tents most of the time with a couple nights of respute in a hotel. If you want to keep track of the journey, check out the website www.whyamIpunishingmyself.com --joke
I will send more when I find Buddhist enlightenment on a bike seat.
Cheers to chicken leg pedal power,
DT Willy
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Cough and Turn...Exam Time!
Done! 447 grueling 3 minutes oral English conversational exams later and I’m now a free man! To be honest, I feel I’ve done quite a few tiring things in my life...sprint triathlons, hiking over the Teton Mountains, hell...even cycled from Colorado to Tennessee. But hands down giving all those exams in an 8 day period about did me in. My ears and my eyes were in constant battle...by the time I hit student 346, I rationalized I could listen better if my eyelids were closed.
Alas, some of the pain of sitting still for hours was muted by the humorous responses of a handful. Pages upon pages in my journal began to fill up. The following quotes made my 2006 teaching All-Star Team:
david: "Tell me about America?"
-student 1: "The people's skin are white and yellow."
-student 2: "I think America is a rich and beautiful city."
-student 3: "I like American boys...white skin, high nose, big eyes."
-student 4: "No...i don't like America."
david: "tell me about your family?"
-student 1: "My government won't allow me any brothers or sisters...but YOUR sister is beautiful."
-large, male, burly, manish student with a deep voice: "My mother is like me...very pretty."
david: "Do you have any questions for me?"
-student 1: "Are American beggars poorer than us Chinese?"
-the shyest and cutest student: "Can I please touch your nose?"
david: "What will you do next week?"
-student 1: "I will go home because I’m in toilet." (ie toilet = training)
-student 2: "I will study in the Shandong College of Tourism and Hospital." (ie hospital = hospitality)
-student 3: "I’m sorry! I don't like English!! Waaaaaaaaa!!!"
See? I told you I could listen with my eyelids shut.
I can now empathize (and sympathize) with all my past foreign teachers. So for Senior Warford, Sweathog, Ms Eastwood, and my dearest Uzbek Ilgiza Opa...next time i see you, I owe you a waffle. Thanks.
--D.T. Willy
Alas, some of the pain of sitting still for hours was muted by the humorous responses of a handful. Pages upon pages in my journal began to fill up. The following quotes made my 2006 teaching All-Star Team:
david: "Tell me about America?"
-student 1: "The people's skin are white and yellow."
-student 2: "I think America is a rich and beautiful city."
-student 3: "I like American boys...white skin, high nose, big eyes."
-student 4: "No...i don't like America."
david: "tell me about your family?"
-student 1: "My government won't allow me any brothers or sisters...but YOUR sister is beautiful."
-large, male, burly, manish student with a deep voice: "My mother is like me...very pretty."
david: "Do you have any questions for me?"
-student 1: "Are American beggars poorer than us Chinese?"
-the shyest and cutest student: "Can I please touch your nose?"
david: "What will you do next week?"
-student 1: "I will go home because I’m in toilet." (ie toilet = training)
-student 2: "I will study in the Shandong College of Tourism and Hospital." (ie hospital = hospitality)
-student 3: "I’m sorry! I don't like English!! Waaaaaaaaa!!!"
See? I told you I could listen with my eyelids shut.
I can now empathize (and sympathize) with all my past foreign teachers. So for Senior Warford, Sweathog, Ms Eastwood, and my dearest Uzbek Ilgiza Opa...next time i see you, I owe you a waffle. Thanks.
--D.T. Willy
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Good Times with a Naughty Book
Before leaving the US, my good friend gave me a book to prepare me for cultural emersion. It’s title…"Making Out in Chinese."
And I must admit I put it to very good use a couple weeks ago when I was at the hospital. The reason for my hospital visit was of nothing urgent. I simply wanted to get some tests done in this great land of cheap health care before darting back stateside where it costs you $200 to pee in a cup and have someone tell you to eat more bananas.
Being a health conscious kinda guy, I wanted the STD-HIV test package for only $17. However seeing as syphilis, gonorrhea, and herpes aren’t in my everyday Chinese vocabulary, I wasn’t quite able to express to the doctors what I was at the hospital for without the use of your favorite book and mine...'Making Out in Chinese."
As my finger scans down the page pointing and searching for the accurate saying to inform the staff what I want, I realize what they are reading the translations of:
-"you have a beautiful body"
-"who farted?"
-"I’ve got my period"
-"take your bra off"
-"are you on the rag?"
-"I am a male virgin"
Suddenly one staff member snatched the book from my grasp and proceeded to show everyone, patients and all, the translations for those just listed as well as "is this your first time" and "your nipples are big."
Their hysterics and my embarrassment aside, I was there for a reason. I got the book back and locate the only phrase that is anywhere near the message I am trying to relay to them.
The saying? "You gave me a sexual disease."
This invoked some shocked and confusing looks. I could see it in their eyes..."how did I give this kid an std? I never slept with him"
Within 20 minutes of opening the book, the dust had settled and the testing commenced.
Of course 3 days later I returned to the hospital to receive the results. Silly of me to expect any privacy in a land of 1.5 billion people; for they gave me a hallway high five and a boisterous congratulations for "passing" all my tests. The only English saying they repeated over and over..."you are very lucky male virgin."
My guess is they don't see many tests come back negative.
Hence I recommend this book for nothing more then its entertainment value…to me and a large majority of the hospital staff here in Jinan.
And on a World Cup note:
Saw the final US world cup match against Ghana last week with a bunch of my Ghana buddies here in China. I bet my passport on the game.
Guess who is now an official citizen of the Republic of Ghana?
Shit. I think i might be getting skinnier real soon.
--DT Willy
And I must admit I put it to very good use a couple weeks ago when I was at the hospital. The reason for my hospital visit was of nothing urgent. I simply wanted to get some tests done in this great land of cheap health care before darting back stateside where it costs you $200 to pee in a cup and have someone tell you to eat more bananas.
Being a health conscious kinda guy, I wanted the STD-HIV test package for only $17. However seeing as syphilis, gonorrhea, and herpes aren’t in my everyday Chinese vocabulary, I wasn’t quite able to express to the doctors what I was at the hospital for without the use of your favorite book and mine...'Making Out in Chinese."
As my finger scans down the page pointing and searching for the accurate saying to inform the staff what I want, I realize what they are reading the translations of:
-"you have a beautiful body"
-"who farted?"
-"I’ve got my period"
-"take your bra off"
-"are you on the rag?"
-"I am a male virgin"
Suddenly one staff member snatched the book from my grasp and proceeded to show everyone, patients and all, the translations for those just listed as well as "is this your first time" and "your nipples are big."
Their hysterics and my embarrassment aside, I was there for a reason. I got the book back and locate the only phrase that is anywhere near the message I am trying to relay to them.
The saying? "You gave me a sexual disease."
This invoked some shocked and confusing looks. I could see it in their eyes..."how did I give this kid an std? I never slept with him"
Within 20 minutes of opening the book, the dust had settled and the testing commenced.
Of course 3 days later I returned to the hospital to receive the results. Silly of me to expect any privacy in a land of 1.5 billion people; for they gave me a hallway high five and a boisterous congratulations for "passing" all my tests. The only English saying they repeated over and over..."you are very lucky male virgin."
My guess is they don't see many tests come back negative.
Hence I recommend this book for nothing more then its entertainment value…to me and a large majority of the hospital staff here in Jinan.
And on a World Cup note:
Saw the final US world cup match against Ghana last week with a bunch of my Ghana buddies here in China. I bet my passport on the game.
Guess who is now an official citizen of the Republic of Ghana?
Shit. I think i might be getting skinnier real soon.
--DT Willy
Monday, June 12, 2006
The Eastern Rule of Thumb
Pretty amazing what happens to the social norm in just 75 years. For example here in China:
"The accepted attitude of a man towards his wife was summed up in the old saying: a wife should be treated like a horse--driven and beaten regularly. If any husband didn't beat his wife, people thought he was afraid of her."
Another solid family tradition included:
"After a girl was married she was scolded and beaten by her mother-in-law. When she grew older and became a mother-in-law herself, she scolded and beat her daughter-in-law in turn. If she behaved any other way, she wouldn’t be considered a proper mother-in-law."
So basically in their Buddhist context, if you were a woman back then you keep your fingers crossed that in your next life you're reincarnated somewhere between a cricket, a horse, or a toenail.
At least they don't have to bind and wrap their feet anymore like a bad masochistic Christmas gift.
Happy thoughts from Jinan!
--dt willy
"The accepted attitude of a man towards his wife was summed up in the old saying: a wife should be treated like a horse--driven and beaten regularly. If any husband didn't beat his wife, people thought he was afraid of her."
Another solid family tradition included:
"After a girl was married she was scolded and beaten by her mother-in-law. When she grew older and became a mother-in-law herself, she scolded and beat her daughter-in-law in turn. If she behaved any other way, she wouldn’t be considered a proper mother-in-law."
So basically in their Buddhist context, if you were a woman back then you keep your fingers crossed that in your next life you're reincarnated somewhere between a cricket, a horse, or a toenail.
At least they don't have to bind and wrap their feet anymore like a bad masochistic Christmas gift.
Happy thoughts from Jinan!
--dt willy
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