Saturday, March 27, 2010

To my 10 Loyal Fans

I've decided to change blogs. I'm going wordpress now. I like the format better.

So check it out at: http://anomadlife.wordpress.com/

Friday, March 26, 2010

Panama

I have to admit I'm looking forward to going back to Panama.

As much as I complain about the heat, the lack of a sophisticated capital city (a la Bogota), and all the expats (despite being one myself)  it does have a special place in my heart. I went there in early 2008 not knowing a soul, and being relatively shy and introverted, I ending up spending a lot of time alone, just me and Panama. But I think I stopped feeling like a teenager in Panama. Anway, I'm looking forward to Panama the way you might look forward to seeing your high school boyfriend (not that I had one): Nostalgic and excited, all the while knowing there's no hope for a real future. But it doesn't make the reunion any less meaningful.

So, I will be in Panama April 27-May 23. Except for family members, my vacation invitations are rarely accepted, but being of an optimistic nature, the invitation is extended once again. As a selling point, Panama is a really tiny country, so unlike Colombia, it's perfectly realistic to see the rainforest, mountains and the beach in one week. Plus Panama City offers some excellent Miami-Vegas type partying.

April 27-May 1: Panama City, Gamboa and Gatun area
May 1-May 3: Isla Grande and Portobello and Valle de Anton
May 4-May 10: Bocas del Toro, Boquete and Boca Chica
May 11-15: The interior provinces.
May 16-20: San Blas and the outer Darien
May 21: Back to reality. OK, so not actual reality. But back to my everyday life.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Alone. At a Cafe. Doing nothing.

There is an old man sitting in front of me at Diletto (my cafe/office). He is all alone, drinking a glass of red wine and eating chips. Mostly he's staring out at nothing in particular. Maybe he had a fight with his wife or is in Bogota for a business trip and doesn't know anyone. Except he's wearing khakis and one of those safari-tourist jacket-shirts, definitely not Bogota work attire. So maybe he's foreign. And the fact that he's alone is a big foreigner indication. I don't think Colombians are all that fond of doing things alone. I always feel so sad when I see people eating/drinking alone.

And then I remember that I am here alone almost everyday and don't feel sorry for myself. Well, at least not most of the time. And I would not like it if other people felt sorry for me. But at least I'm doing work. This poor guy doesn't even have a book or newspaper. I don't think I'm the kind of person who can go to a restaurant and cafe with no computer, no book and no company. I prefer to do my thinking while moving. I'm not sure if this preference is because of efficiency (exercise and thinking in one) or because the act of doing something physical doesn't let me concentrate 100% on what I should be thinking about. If you're sitting still, you really have no choice.

Man, khaki pants has his head in his hand and is looking particularly meloncholy. It's a very sad scene. An old man with glasses and a white beard sitting in a big leather chair drinking red wine from a gigantic wine goblet.

Good news: His girlfriend just arrived. Now he looks happy. I assume it's his girlfriend and not his wife because they look happy to see each other. Now it's just me and the fat, six-foot tall gringo sitting alone.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Things Happen

Things happen here that remind you why Colombia has a bad reputation. When you think things are under control and the violence has passed, it turns out a government worker gets assasinated in Antioquia and a car bomb kills six and injures 30 in Buenaventura. Both incidents, I'm guessing, are somehow related to the FARC or another armed group. It's not particularly shocking news by Colombian standards, but I'm starting to think Colombia is kind of like Tilikum, that killer whale who killed its trainer despite years of good behavior. Unpredictable.

I wonder if anyone has ever written a book exploring why Colombians (as a society) are prone to political violence and organized crime. And it's not just something that started with cocaine...it goes back to the 1800s. I suppose the drug trade fueled things further, but what mix happened here that didn't happen elsewhere? Or what historical factors could have contributed to this kind of prolonged, low-grade civil war? I wonder if the elections will be peaceful.

And in other news, I have my first Year of Yes date tomorrow. He's asked me out a few times and I always said no. Maybe this new spirit of YES will make my blog more exciting.

Also, Frommer's contacted me to update the next Panama Guide. So I will be in Panama from May 23-June 23 or something like that. Quite exciting. Anyone looking for a tropical vacation is welcome to join me. Week-long vacation applications are acceptable. So between the U.S. and Panama, I should be back in Colombia by the end of June. Because I can safely assume to gain some 10 pounds in two weeks in the U.S., I will be starting a hardcore exercise program in order to lose weight so I can gain weight at home. Go me.

Monday, March 22, 2010

The Year of Yes

A friend of mine had a link on her facebook to this NYT series called Modern Love (http://topics.nytimes.com/top/features/style/fashionandstyle/columns/modernlove/index.html). So I started reading and ended up reading until 2:30 in the morning. I have a reading problem, and once I start, I can't stop. Anyway, one of the contributors recently wrote a book called THE YEAR OF YES, a memoir about a year when she said yes to every guy who asked her out. It sounds fun.

So I started thinking maybe I should do that. Of course, I would have to make "No" exceptions for homeless guys, obviously emotionally/mentally disturbed guys and those who've just gotten out of prison or seem like they might end up there soon. Unfortunately, those seem to be the guys most interested in me. Or maybe their situation just makes them braver than the rest.

It's always my first instinct to say no to everything. Someone invites me out on the weekend? I start thinking of way to get out of it. Coffee? Same thing. Get togethers? Too many people. I don't know why. I guess shyness or not wanting to deal with making the effort to be social. But all that's about to change! Maybe...

Perhaps that will be what I give up for lent. I know is a problematic statement because Lent started a while ago and you're supposed to sacrifice during lent, not look for ways to make life more fun. But technically, I'm giving up shyness. Also, there is the problem that I am not particularly religious. Oh well. We'll see how it goes. I'll blog if there's anything interesting to report.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Colombia

Yesterday night, in a place called La Esquina del Tango Colombia and I connected again. Sure, we connected under Argentine circumstances, but connected none the less. We'd grown somewhat distant, but I think things are good again. Or at least on the right path.

And yesterday, sitting at my cafe in the posh Rosales neighborhood, I spent the day researching and writing about Brazil, small town Montana, Delaware, Wisconsin and Mexican resorts. Sure, I spent one article's worth of pay on pastries and drinks, but it was nice anyway. I spent an entire day researching and writing, the two things I enjoy most, and made more money than I made in a day in the U.S.

Then I picked up my grandmother because I invited her to a tango show for her birthday, and we listened to tangos until 2am in the morning. It was my grandmother, her cousin Olga, her friend Sylvia and me. There was a full backup band, three singers, two dancers and a half bottle of rum involved (which my grandmother and I drank together because apparently, most women over 65 besides my grandmother, think drinking is bad). The cost of our evening for four including cover, show and rum? $50. Pretty nice, I have to say.

Now I just need to volunteer somewhere. It's good to do something nice for other people once in a while.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Cookies and Pizza

I have yet to find a place in Bogota that makes good chocolate chip cookies and puts decent amounts of tomato sauce on their pizza.

I have seen tomato plantings in Colombia, so it can't be due to lack of tomatoes. As for chocolate chip cookies, I suppose that's like asking a Centreville bakery to make a good empanada.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Diletto

There's this cafe in Los Rosales called Diletto. Los Rosales is basically like Georgetown minus the riverfront. Very nicely planned out, upscale neighborhood with non-brand new apartments and a few amazing houses. If I were super rich, I'd live here. Or maybe in La Macarena. But because I'm not, I just come here to do work and make believe.

Anyway, at this cafe I see the same 4 or 5 work-from-home type people, most of them expats. Perhaps it could be the setting  for a Hemmingway-esque novel about life abroad. Except I don't actually talk to anyone...

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Check it Out:

www.latinworld.com

Politics

I think that morality is a little more flexible in Latin America than in the United States, and politicians are very easily forgiven when the next guy comes and leaves the country worse off than the  guy before him. I think most politicians can expect forgiveness in a few years out of office. If I were a Latin American political writer, I would write a book on political forgiveness in Latin America.  I would entitle it: Forgive and Forget? Latin America's History of Political Amnesia.

I am back in Bogota after a lovely vacation in Ecuador which left me wanting to explore all of Latin America a la Motorcycle Diaries. Particularly Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Brazil. Not so much Paraguay and Uruguay. I am currently particularly interested in Latin American political history, so I may head down to La Calle del Libro sometime soon and see what I can find.

My new disciplined schedule starts today and goes as follows (Not that this is of interest to anyone, but writing it down helps):

1.) 3-5 hotel articles
2.) 1-2 Latinworld articles
3.) Personal writing for at least an hour a day.

Monday, March 15, 2010

At the Hairdresser's

In our resolve to see all of Bogota, Ivan and I took a transmilenio to the south of Bogota's last week. As I have heard many things about the south (mostly bad) but have never actually gone, this area of Bogota holds a lot of intrigue for me.  I don't know what I expected to find.  I suppose it has the same connotations as Southeast D.C., which, in my 20 years of living in Washington, I've only seen accidently through a car window while trying to find a club or bar in northwest. The sheltered life I've lived...

Anyway, in Restrepo, which is a commerical area around Calle 40 South, Ivan decided to get his haircut. It was only the equivalent of US$3, but I think we were overcharged for being American. You are taxed heavily in Colombia for being foreign. Oh well. But back to the topic. Even though I'm American, I have Latin roots, and this results in me being unashamedly nosey. I can't help it.  It's in my DNA.

So while Ivan was getting his hair cut (which for some reason took about 30 minutes) one of the hairdressers was talking about her son, who was sent to a psychiatrist because he was acting out at school. The psychiatrist asked to meet with the boy's mom (hairdresser) and asked her questions such as: What time do you go to bed? Do you have boyfriends? Do you drink? et cetera, et cetera. Girlfriend was not pleased. She informed the manicurist that she told the psychiatrist to go to hell and stay out of her life. Then she told the manicurist (not in these exact words) that psychiatrists are all nosey skanks who get off prying in other people's lives. Up to there, I didn't really think much of her comments, a lot of people would react the same way to those kinds of questions.

But then she then proudly tells the manicurist that when she came home, she took out the whipping belt and told her 14-year-old son to meet his new psychiatrist, that he was no longer going back to school and had better get a job because a real man doesn't talk to someone else about his problems.

Listening to that just made me sad.  A 14 year-old kid has problems, and instead of learning to deal with them, he learns to suppress them and go out of his way to NOT get help. Rich people in the United States talk about visiting their psychologist like a suburbanite might talk about going golfing, but in el Restrepo, Bogota, a hairdresser views the psychologist as the enemy. I'd like to think it was an isolated case, but the way the manicurist and the other hairdresser were rooting her on, I'm thinking it's pretty common.  I feel like there's a lot of child abuse in Colombia. I wonder how you even go about changing that kind of education gap.

Ecuador Pictures (Then Explanation)


































Above: Ornate Baroque-style "Compania de Jesus" church in Quito's old quarter.














Above: Panama hats at Plaza Poncho in Otavalo.  Turns out Panama hats are actually from Ecuador, not Panama.














Above: Moto taxis in Atacames.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Colombian Words

Parcero huevon marica hijueputa appear to be Colombian's favorite words.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Nostalgia, Revisted

Today a cousin invited my grandma, uncle, brother and I for lunch at his apartment, located in an older neighborhood composed of smaller buildings dating from the 1940s and 50s (estimate) out by the Universidad Nacional. I'm most familiar with the eastern part of the city, so it was strange being in Bogota and not hearing any buses or horns -- just birds chirping. A part of the city I had never really considered living in, but we'll see what happens.

While we were there, my grandmother started talking about the Bogota of yesteryear, when members of high society lived in El Centro and La Septima was Bogota's most elegant avenue. She said that back then, you could trust people and that life in Bogota was easier and more idealic. Weekends were filled with trips to El Parque Nacional for theater and ice cream, fun was more innocent and people less devious. 

As much as I love listening to these stories and imagining a more perfect world where people care about each other and none of today's modern problems exist, I wonder if there's any reality to this rosy recollection of the olden days, or if it's more of an idealized recreation -- the past reimagined.

Somehow, in my grandmother's stories, Bogota is elevated to a crimeless, cultured, beautiful city devoid of any of its current problems. Even the street people in her recollections are remembered lovingly:  La Loca Margarita who dressed completely in red and walked up and down the Septima in the 1930s and 40s with a basket of flowers and fruit, shouting "Que viva el gran partido liberal, abajo los Godos" (long live the liberal party, down with the Godos (conservative party); the almost dwarf-like accordionist dressed in a fine three piece-suit who played his songs in downtown churches and insulted anyone who didn't give him a coin; the Bobo del Tranvia, who jumped from trolley to trolley telling jokes and collecting coins. All of these characters recounted with laughter and nostalgia. 

In her story, the people dressed better, loved better and lived better, and today's world has gone to Hell. Nostalgia is a strange thing. I wonder why so many people like to believe the best days are behind us, that the world is getting progressively worse, and the "standard," or the "ideal" has forever been lost. I wonder if the world really is getting worse (in economic/health/social terms it surely isn't -- so aside from perceived human warmth, what else is there?), or if humans just have a tendency to fixate on the "great" things of the past and the "bad" things of the present.

I read a book a few years ago called "Prague," and in the book, one of the main characters is working on a research project regarding nostalgia.  I never actually finished the book, but the whole nostalgia thing is an interesting concept. I am a very nostalgic person, but I couldn't tell you why.  I romantize the past and tend to imagine it artistically-- as an impressionist painting, black and white photograph, newspaper clip, the deep baritone of 1930s radio broadcaster, or one of the willowy, Grecian-like women in Mucha's poster art. I wonder why.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Regret and Priorities

I miss my apartment in the city center.  I can't really remember why I moved out.  I paid the equivalent of US$150 and had Internet, cable (79 channels!) and utilities. Plus, my family could stay and there were no restrictions. The transmilenio was half a block away and I could walk to get anywhere.

What was I thinking when I left???

So my March/April List of Priorities:
1.) Find place to live. With cool YOUNG people with progressive/liberal mindset.  
2.) Join a gym or do some kind of exercise. It is not normal for a 25 year old to be out of breath after one flight of stairs.  
3.) Get disciplined/organized.
4.) Work on social life.

Somehow it seems like my goals are always the same.  This is a problem...

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Bus Strike

Bus drivers in Bogota are on strike.  As far as I can tell, they want more money from the government for retiring old buses and are upset that they will no longer be able to pick people up wherever they feel like picking them up.  According to the news, business has gone down 66% because shoppers don't feel like dealing with the traffic and employees can't get to work.

I am feeling a bit of cabin fever. I don't have the money to get around by taxi, and live about 15 blocks from the Transmilenio.  I miss my daily trips to Chapinero and the center...I can't quite remember why I moved out of my place in the center to begin with.  Oh well. Moving forward.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Rainy Season

So it seems cold-rainy season is back.  It was a lovely 2.5 month interlude of sunny, warm days but now we are back to reality.  Rainy season here starts with sunny mornings and afternoon showers and ventually evolves into all day general cloudiness and drizzle and strong afternoon rains. Think Seattle or Portland.

On my way to work this morning from a friend´s house, I passed the tombstone street, a solemn looking block selling nothing but tombstones and funeral flowers.  It´s located next to what used to be a very prestigious cemetery and looked particularly gloomy in today´s morning clouds and drizzle. Like a scene out of some period piece showing life in a nameless, despondent, pre-industrial revolution European country. I will take pictures one of these days.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

First Colombian Hold-up. (Not Mugging)

As the title indicates, I got mugged today.  I was making my way to the bus this morning when a woman came up to me and demanded I give her the COL$5,000 bill I was carrying in my hand.  Taken aback my her boldness, I said no.

She then pulled out a piece of glass and told me to hand over the bill, or she'd cut my face. Those who know me well are aware that I am a extremely vain, so this made me rethink my refusal. I told the woman to please hold on a moment and pullled a COL$1,000 bill out of my pocket, but she wasn't having any of that, so I had no choice but to hand over the COL$5,000 bill.

I was actually pretty lucky. I had my credit cards, laptop and $100 in cash on me. Luckily I carry my big bills close to my heart.  And in the end, she only took the equivalent of US$2.50. But lesson learned:  Don't walk around with my laptop and don't carry money in my hand.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Egyptian

I remembered to day that when I was really little, my aunt told me one time that my grandfather was European.  Somehow in my young mind, I confused this with Egyptian.  So through second or third grade, I very proudly told anyone who would listen that I was Egyptian.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Thoughts

I was doing a little facebook stalking and started getting a little depressed. As it is with facebook photos, my facebook friends (some actual friends, most people I know and am nosy about) were posing in all sorts of happy-looking photos: On vacation with friends, partying in D.C., drinking cocktails on a nighttime Alexandria cruise, celebrating birthdays, white water rafting, getting engaged, getting married, having babies, buying a house – always these smiling, dynamic nano-second stills of life moving forward. Made me feel like my life is somewhat on stand-by, that everyone is making strides toward something and I’m missing out. I think to move forward I need to make a decision: Am I here for a year? Two years? Forever? At any rate, I’ve decided against late night facebook stalking…

Being in a foreign country that isn’t completely foreign isn’t always easy, I have to admit.  Of course, I want to make it work because my roots are here and who doesn’t want to think they come from somewhere great? When I was younger, whenever I came to Colombia, I’d have this feeling of euphoria and enlightenment, like everything that made “us” different from “them” (from “real Americans”) finally made sense. I can’t pinpoint what exactly it was that gave me this feeling of relief and belonging, but I guess you could say I was in love with Colombia.

I don’t have that feeling anymore.  Maybe I’ve been here so many times that it’s all more familiar now.  Even in the most passionate of romances, love fades. Or maybe living abroad for the better part of three years has made me realize how much I enjoy being American. How free being from the U.S. is. In fact, I am realizing lately how very American my mindset is, and how I’m trying to impose my U.S. mentality on my life in Colombia. Which isn’t particularly right either.   

Sometimes I think there are aspects of my personality that are irreconcilably incompatible with Colombia. I have never been a particularly delicate or diplomatic person and have always just kind of been myself (sometimes difficult, distant, rough, short) without apology, not caring too much how much or how little people liked me. I always had a nagging thought that this was something I should work to improve, but I had enough friends to feel like I couldn’t be that bad of person, and got away with a lot just by being Jiji. I enjoy being alone (though not in hermit-like proportions) and need a lot of space to feel comfortable.  I don’t particularly enjoy unsolicited advice (though I tend to give it), and I like to do what I feel like doing. Here, it seems like someone eating lunch by themselves is pity-worthy.  And forget about going to a bar alone.  As for advice, it’s everywhere.

Here, it’s harder to be myself. I don’t know if this is specific to me or a more general thing. I love my Colombian family and am thankful for them – I’d probably be back in the U.S right now without them – but sometimes I envy other expats because they do what they want without the fear or dread of reproach or judgment.  They hang out with and date whoever they want, party wherever they want and live wherever they want and there is no one asking them what so and so’s last name is or asking them what the hell were they thinking going to this place or that place. They experience Colombia from a completely foreign perspective and I experience it from a sort of undefined middle area, where I’m not really Colombian, but not entirely foreign either. So I’m not completely excused from social norms, so I always feel a certain degree of pressure. If I go out with a guy, it’s always, “what’s his last name, where is he from, what did he study, what company does he work for, what neighborhood does he live in, et cetera.  And when I answer that I don’t know on any count, I’m informed that I still don’t get it, that I just don’t understand How Things Are Here. But because I'm not from here, I just can't bring myself to care what someone's last name is or what part of the city they live in. 

I grew up in a place where 85% of people were middle class and the small remaining percentage were divided between super rich and quasi-lower middle class. I don’t have experience with massive class/social/economic differences. So basically, I can’t make sense of this social/class system.  I try to wrap my mind around it, dissect it, analyze it, come to some kind of understanding with it, but I just haven’t been able to figure it out. In the U.S., if an investment banker married a public school teacher, no one would think anything of it.  Not the case here. And I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m just really not made for this.

But then again, there are so many things I love here that I know I could never get in the United States. I suppose every country has positive and negative qualities and I just need to figure out what qualities I can live with. A slightly more honest post than I usually write. 

Monday, February 22, 2010

Colombian Honesty Part II

My grandmother's supportive answer when I told her what the lady said was:  "She's just saying that because she didn't see how fat you were before."

Colombian Honesty

Today I was telling the lady who helps my grandmother that I ate a brownie.  She told me I was too fat and how did I expect to lose weight eating brownies.  My American sensibilities are not used to such honesty.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Marriage Proposal

Yesterday I got proposed to for the first time in Colombia.  It was not a particularly romantic or tempting proposal.  But I do appreciate the guys honesty.  Here's how it went down:

Guy:  I want to leave Colombia and go work somewhere else.  Will you marry me so I can get a visa?

Me:  What kind of monetary compensation do I get?

Guy:  I'm a good-looking guy.  People say I look like Juanes.  That should be enough.

Me: Do you have a job?

Guy:  No.

Me:  Did you finish school?

Guy:  No.

Me:  How do you support yourself?

Guy:  My parents support me.

I declined.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

A Long Day.

Excitement over grown-up new place ends dramatically.  Looks like I'm back to being my grandma's roommate for the time being...

Sunday, February 14, 2010

A Conversation with My Grandmother

When I was talking with my grandmother about possible places to move, the following conversation occured:

Me: What do you think of La Candelaria?
Grandmother:  They'll shoot you as soon as you leave the house. Or at the very least, you'll be mugged. At knife point.

Me: And the international center?
Grandmother: I wouldn't be caught dead there. Too many muggings.  

Me:  How about Teusaquillo or La Soledad?
Grandmother:  No way, that area has gone really down hill.  There are a lot of muggings. And if you leave the house, the robbers will take all your belongings.

Me:  What about Chapinero Alto?
Grandmother:  No mijita, that's too empty at night.  There are a lot of muggings.
Me: But that's a good area.
Grandmother:  Only if you have a car.  Otherwise you'll be mugged every night.

Me: Ok, what about los Rosales (one of the most expensive, exclusive Bogota neighborhoods)
Grandmother:  Absolutely not.  There are tons of muggings there.
Me:  But it's a super rich area.
Grandmother:  Exactly.  And the robbers now that, so they mug people all the time.

So according to my grandmother, Unicentro is the only livable spot in Bogota.

Updates

I've found a new Wi-Fi spot in Los Rosales. It's called Author's and it's an English-language bookstore with an adjacent cafe that sells, among other things, grilled cheese sandwiches, one of my favorite delicacies. Maybe it's not very open of me to seek out an English language bookstore as a hang-out, but it’s nice to have something that reminds you of home when you’re away. Maybe because I’m an English major and a writer, I should like tiny, intimate bookshops, but (except for my family and friends) there’s nothing I miss more about the U.S than the monstrous proportions of Barnes and Nobles and the wonderful, crisp smell of new books and overpriced coffee. Just thinking about it makes me feel nostalgic. To me, there are few smells as wonderful as that of a new book, especially a paperback.

Anyway, Author’s is medium-sized, organized, and they play that laid-back jazzy coffee-shop music so popular in U.S. bookshops. It's about a 20 block walk from my apartment, but leaving the house makes me feel like I'm at an office, resulting in me being more productive. Plus, I get my exercise in, as I haven’t found the motivation to join and actual gym yet. Maybe someday.

So I was exploring my northern England meets Munich meets impoverished Soviet-era Eastern Europe neighborhood (changes by the block), and can report that my local surroundings include half a dozen pet shops (very sad to see puppies in tiny cages), an esoteric bookstore, a cozy little pizza place, more lamp shops than one could ever need, several bakeries and plenty of those huge, unique old houses now divided into several apartments or businesses and in a sad, but slightly artistic, state of disrepair. I feel like I live in the D.C equivalent of Columbia Heights, except my neighborhood is de-gentrifying while Columbia Heights up and fell and is now up and coming. It has that look of faded grandeur, like once upon a time it was a well-kept middle upper class neighborhood, but as Chinua Achebe would tell you, “Things Fall Apart.”

I suppose that by living where I’m living I’m transferring my U.S. mentality to Colombia. If I were living in the U.S., I’d be sharing one of those old south Arlington, U-Street or Columbia Heights homes with an economist, non-profit worker and grad student. Maybe a slightly rebellious act on my part to want to live somewhere edgy, previously disregarded and with a little bit of a bad reputation, and maybe wrong of me to try to apply my American ideas in a foreign country. A phase I’ll probably grow out of when I no longer care about being provocative in that way. So I’m applying my yuppy mentality to Bogota even though it’s different here, and in many ways, you’re judged by where you live. In the U.S., people might think I was a “cool, hipster-type chick” if I said I was moving to U-Street; here, I get whispers from people who think I’m a confused foreigner who is unaware of what’s best for herself. Maybe they’re right, but being young and not taking advice very well, I’ll have to find out on my own.

I’ve always liked to find beauty in strange places, to feel like I’ve discovered something, to feel like I’m seeing something most people can’t; very arrogant sounding of me, but everyone likes to feel like they’re special. And in my neighborhood, with all those beautiful (if slightly decaying) brick houses, unkempt front yards and older-model cars, I can imagine what was and what could be, which is sometimes better than seeing what actually is, if that makes sense. But of course, if we went back to when the houses were well-kept, the lawns perfectly manicured and the cars the latest models, the neighborhood wouldn’t have appealed to me. I don’t know what that says about me.

But either way, I like my new place and neighborhood. My apartment feels like home. I want to hang pictures on my bedroom wall, by a nice frying pan and invite friends over for dinner. I don’t know that I’ll stay here for too long because I’d eventually like to have my own place, under my name, but for now, it seems perfect.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

My New Place

























































So above are some pictures of my new apartment/neighborhood.  The first picture is the view from my bedroom window (central/western Bogota), the second my living room, the third my dining area and the last a my street. By far, the nicest non-parent's place I've lived in in the last 6 or 7 years...

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Too Good to be True?

So, things have been going very well these last couple of weeks in all aspects of my life.

1.) I have 7 students who all want 4-6 hours of tutoring a week.  And most of them just want conversation.  So I am basically getting paid to talk to people.  

2.) I've started working on a new project (Latinworld.com) where I get to write articles about tourism and Latin America. It's not a full-time job, but it let's me do what I like to do and keeps me in the writing field. I'm really looking forward to this project because Latin American tourism is something I can actually get excited about.

3.) I have a new place!  And it's an adult place. Not as in XXX adult, but it just seems very grown-up.  All the places I've lived in since college are so old that the bathroom and kitchen always look dirty no matter how many times it's cleaned.  My new place is in a relatively new building and everything looks clean and welcoming.  It's pretty small, but my room has it's own bathroom (having one's own bathroom being a major indicator of being grown-up) and it's completely furnished.  My roommate is French and works as a professor, so maybe I'll be speaking French by the end of the year.

The demographics of my new neighborhood are pretty similar to my old neighborhood:  middle-middle class, lots of students, a handful of foreigners, some homeless people and about a hundred mariachis.  Yes, I will be living on La Calle de Los Mariachis, surrounded by middle-aged men in tight pants and enormous sombreros. My apartment is on a dead-end street with about half a dozen English-style houses and I'm close to an actual grocery store, lots of clothes and shoe shops and lots of cafes and restaurants. A good mix of residential and commerical.

4.) I've made some friends, am going out more and having a very good time.  I've met a good mix of foreign and Colombian people, and I'm really excited about the prospect of staying in Bogota and making a life here. I don't know if that will change, but for the first time in my life, I am actually excited about where I am and the life I have rather than thinking about where I'd like to go instead. It only took 25 years...

Friday, February 5, 2010

Routine

It looks like next week I will be starting a new tutoring schedule, 24 hours a week, at least for the next few months.  Considering I've only been tutoring 6-10 hours a week for the last few months, this should signficantly increase my purchasing power. 24 hours a week isn't exactly a full time jobs, but it should give me a pretty nice monthly income by Colombian standards, so I'm pretty excited.

So now I will need to be a little more disciplined.  I've been on somewhat of a vacation for the last few months, but now need to return to reality...

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Colombia

I spent my first couple of months in Bogota so absorbed by everything new and different -- architecture, cafes, culture, shops, streets -- that I was in a complete state of euphoria. Going from Centreville (population 50,000) to Bogota (population 8 million) is a big change.  And even though I lived in Panama City, I'd be hesitant to put it in the same category as New York or Bogota because something about it seems a little artificial. Kind of a Miami or Las Vegas-type city. So I was extremely excited about everything that comes with living in a vibrant, interesting, culturally fascinating and diverse big city. It was like being on vacation 24/7.

I spent the next few months comparing everything to the U.S, missing everyone at home, criticizing everything that I didn't find up to par and wondering if I'd made the right decision moving here. Especially when I heard about Arlington happy hours, Adams Morgan clubbing, popcorn consumption, Alexandria and Georgetown day-trips, rural country drives, family dinners, my friends' expanding purchasing power (my shrinking purchasing power) and basically, everyone going on merrily with their lives -- without me. I guess I was slightly depressed because after you see everything great about a place, you start seeing everything bad.

But now the euphoria's gone and so's the depression. I've stopped comparing everything, stopped being over critical and have started making an effort to be more social, do more things and go out more, all things that make life better. So now I'm pretty content here.  If you know how to take advantage of it, Bogota is a pretty cool place.

Now I just need to find a new apartment. My current place is too far from my classes and my room's a little small. I'd really like to find somewhere in Chapinero because it's close to the center and the north but still has a lot going on.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Street Flattery

I have reached the point where if I go out and no one catcalls me, my day doesn't feel complete. I assume something must be wrong with the men, because of course, there can't possibly be anything wrong with me. That's the kind of arrogance I've developed in Colombia. I tell myself the poor guys I happend to walk by that day don't know how to appreciate true beauty. Yes, I pretend to be all offended and put-off because catcalls are degrading and I'm a modern feminist-type woman and all that; I give them dirty looks and roll my eyes and sigh to myself. But I can't lie; being told your are beautiful many times a day gives you a slightly dilusional (if temporary) sense of confidence and self-esteem. But then I remind myself that the only real requirement for getting catcalled is being a girl. And under 50.

Anway, aside from the Barbie Botero guy, there are a couple others who stand out in my mind.  For example, the would-be Vallenato singer who proudly sang to me that he liked his women bonitas y gorditas. For the non-Spanish speakers out there, Carlos Vives was telling me that he liked his women pretty and fat. That guy has a special place in my heart. Also, the guy who walked by me the other day, licked his lips and said to me -- with very serious bedroom eyes -- "Que exceso tan rico." I have come to terms with the fact that most catcalls I get inevitably include mention of my "Botero-like" proportions.

Then there are the poets, the ones who put their hats on their chest and recite a few lines of colonial-era poetry in your honor as you walk by. I find those to be the most endearing, as it is nice to inspire poetry, even if the same two lines are read to every other woman.  Perhaps the most common catcall is "Mamita, estas muy buena." Not particularly inspired or original, but what woman doesn't like to be told that she is a mamita and she is muy buena? But maybe my favorite is the simple, hola, complete with raised eyebrow and seductive smirk. Because those guys -- the hola guys -- are so confident that they barely need words in their game of seduction.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Height

I remembered today that back in the day, I thought that my American Uncle was incredibly tall.  I guess he was (is), in comparison with the rest of the family. Also, at the time, I was surrounded by three foot preschoolers, making him seem all the taller. But it turns out he´s only 5'7. It took me a while to figure out that height does not qualify one as a giant.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Clothes

Colombian people (in general) dress very nicely.  No going to the super market in sweatpants and flipflops anymore.

Friday, January 22, 2010

San Gil and Barichara

Spent a few days in San Gil with my blonde-haired sister, who might as well be Miss. America in small town Colombia. Or in all of Colombia. Blondes are a rare and highly pursued commodity here. Brunettes not so much.


Anyway, our hotel cost $15 a night and we had a private bathroom, balcony access and cable TV. For that price, you don’t mind sacrificing air conditioning and a hot shower. The hotel was run by a nice young woman who wore those light wash jeans with no pockets in the back, a white spaghetti top and a miraculous wonder bra. My style icon. If only I lived in a hot weather place. Alas, Bogota confines me to sweaters and scarves.

San Gil itself is not a particularly picturesque town and considering it's the ecotourism capital of Colombia, we did not expect that the air would smell like diesel. But my sister and I came to the consensus that if there is one smell that characterizes Latin America, it's diesel. (Mixed with fried food, perfume and cigarettes.) You can’t get away from it. Back in the U.S., I'd occasionally pick up the scent. I'd be walking along minding my own business when suddenly, I'd smell that most Latin American blend of aromas, that perfect mixture of gasoline, old woman's perfume, unfiltered cigarettes and a wonderful, dizzying aroma of fried baked goods. It had the power to transport me straight to the motherland, hitting me with a wave of nostalgia for a country I wasn't even born in and didn't grow up in.

But back in San Gil -- The town is very typical of Colombian small towns: A hodgepodge mix of slightly dilapidated colonial-style buildings, style-less 70's monstrosities, cobblestoned streets that suddenly turn into paved streets, far more pharmacies than seem necessary, too many motorcycles for comfort, and an attractive colonial church in a surprisingly intact plaza populated by old men with little to do (but who cling –unfailingly -- to an undying admiration of all things female). Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a small town. It’s like living a Marquez or Amado novel. You see the gossipy fat woman who sells lottery tickets and cell phone minutes and never leaves her wooden stool, the good-looking town stud who fancies himself a Don Juan, the teenage girls who knowingly and frequntly walk by said Don Juan, the little kids in their school uniforms screaming and playing during recess and the town drunkard, asleep on the sidewalk with a bottle of aguardiente still in his hands at 3pm in the afternoon. I suppose the story of small towns is the same all over the world.

In the San Gil spirit of adventure, Tati and I decided to go white water rafting. Below you can see us in our rafting get-up. I think my life jacket made me look like a massive German woman named Bertha or Helga or something equally terrible, but as safety comes first, I had no choice but to accept my Bavarian lot in life. Because the river was so low, our outdoor adventure at times seemed more like still water drifting than white water rafting. But if you had seen our rafting team (composed of two slightly overweight and uncoordinated middle-aged moms, two slightly distracted and equally uncoordinated kids, one 90-pound, uninterested teenager, my sister and myself) you would understand that this group was not made for level 5 rapids. I do not think that our 15 year-old guide was impressed with his group of thrill-seekers. But for the equivalent of US$10, we got to enjoy a scenic 10k journey down the river (more like creek due to lack of rain), where we saw several iguanas, many rocks and plenty of trees. And unlike Montana where I happily volunteered to sit in the middle of the raft, I actually rowed this time.

Tati became el Lobster Humano by the end of the trip, serving as a reminder that sunscreen is very necessary when participating in tropical outdoor adventures…


Sunday, January 17, 2010

A Day

To get an idea of the world that is Bogota, let me tell you about our (my sister, father and myself) day yesterday.


We started out by heading to Salerno, a diner cafe with cheap breakfast, good service and a nice ambiance, where we enjoyed omelets, caldo de costilla and pancakes. The place is slightly reminiscent of one of those old-time diners you still find in small town America, but with a mildly European flair. Demographics: middle class families getting together and old men reading the newspaper. If they had Wi-Fi, I'd do all my work there.

Afterwards, we took a cab to my grandmother's apartment in the north, where we had lunch, ate pastries at Guernika and sat around listening to Andre Rieu, Edith Piaf and Enrique Chia, commenting on how relaxing life in Colombia is and admiring the extensive nature of my grandmother's music collection. This went on for about...five hours.

Later that evening, long-lost cousin Jaime (ophthalmologist and music connoisseur who seemed to know everything about every country, including geography, culture and social programs, despite never having left Colombia) picked us up for dinner in La Zona G. We dined on shrimp, salad and coconut rice and chatted pleasantly about life. For those who don't know what the Zona G is, it's Bogota's upscale dining quarter, home to some of the city's best restaurants. I haven't been able to figure out if it's Zona G for Zona Gourmet or Zona Gastronomico. Both work.

So after a lovely, low-key day, we came home at night and my father, sister and I were standing outside on my balcony, commenting on the massiveness of Bogota, the direness of the far-off slums and the sad, long bus journeys that maids and security guards have to make to earn $15 a day. I assure my sister, a little nervous that the slums are not so far-off, that my area is perfectly safe and she has nothing to worry about. Not so true, I guess.

We go to bed and suddenly we hear something that sounds like an exploding tire or gun shot, and I go to the window and see half a dozen people going in and out of what looks like an abandoned office building a block away from my apartment. We can hear a man screaming in agony, the kind of screaming you only hear on news specials about people who've lost a loved one, and we can hear other male voices having a heated discussion. So I have to believe that what we heard was a gun shot. Having spent the first 22 years of my life in Centreville, where the only gunshots I ever heard were in the action movies my dad used to watch every night, it's surreal to have something like that make its way into my real life. I guess that growing up in the upper middle class suburban demographic I think I'm immune from the kind of things that happen in Southeast D.C.

The shot happened late at night off the main avenue on a street full of small, seedy bars (bares de mala muerte in Spanish) frequented by young, unemployed men with suspicious haircuts who start drinking after lunch, but still, it's a bit to close to home when you can hear someone get shot from your bedroom. I guess it brought me back to reality, that I am in Latin America -- not Centreville, where car and house doors can be left open without fear. Maybe the world has spent too much time focusing on empowering women and men have slipped through the cracks and now the focus needs to shift. It seems like men are always at the root of all problems. Maybe they are feeling un-empowered.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Villa de Leyva

My dad is visiting right now. I've discovered that in order to stay happy in Colombia, it's important to leave Bogota once in a while, get away from the clouds, sad pine mountains, pollution, chaotic architecture and big city atmosphere.

So we went to Villa de Leyva, a museum-like town full of white houses and green balconies. For the Virginians out there, Villa de Leyva channels a Middleburg feel.  Just replace the English colonial buildings and Arlington/Washingtonian contractor/government worker-types with Spanish colonial buildings and Bogota uppercrust city dwellers looking for a weekend getaway.  Lots of Bogotanos have built homes in the mountains around the city and you see more foreigners than almost anywhere else in Colombia, but you also still see your share of campesino grandmothers with nylon stockings, slippers, knee length blue or dark green skirts, a Bavarian-looking hat and ruana (shawl).

















Above: The Villa de Leyva main plaza is massive; it becomes a market square on Saturdays, but with the lack of vendor stalls, plaza cafes or decorations of any kind, it looks unproportionally large considering it belongs to a small town.  It's like the Tiananmen Square of Colombian plazas (minus long history of violent protests.)





















Above: My father and I enthusiastically signed up for this "mild," "beginners"  hike through the Villa de Leyva countryside, to the Paso del Angel, a narrow, six foot long strip of mountain with steep drop-offs on both sides.  After miraculously finishing the four hour hike, I realized that any aspiration of climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro are years of serious endurance work-outs away. There was a point where it hurt to breath and I wondered if it was possible to have a lung collapse at 25.  We were both very thankful that we signed up for the half day hike rather than the full day hike.

For any of you who've been to the Minho Province in northern Portugal, the Villa de Leyva surroundings look/feel a bit like that. Rural, windy, arid, mountainous, home to people with 400 years of history in the area who stay and do the best they can despite a difficult terrain and few opportunities (outside of tourism). I like comparisons to other places.  Maybe because I'm never completely happy being in only one place, so I like to imagine I'm somewhere else too.

Anyway, unlike much of Colombia, which is vegetated, tropical and almost exploding with color, shades of brown, dull green, yellow and orange characterizes the Villa de Leyva countryside.  Tomatoes are one of the only crops that grow successfully here, and long-periods of drought mean the creeks and waterfalls sometimes run dry. But within a 45-minute drive of town, you're suddenly in a humid, green forest with much more fertile land. It's always amazing to me how fast geography changes in Colombia.
































Above: Myself, Don Parra and son on our hike.  Don Parra is a part-time construction worker, part-time guide and all-around nature expert with two kids and a nice little house a few miles outside Villa de Leyva.  Politics: Anti-Chavez, Pro-Uribe, anti-guerilla, pro American basis.

He told us a very sad story about Colombian agriculture, particularly tomatoes. Apparently, planting in greenhouses allows 3-4 harvests in the time normal planting produces one harvest, so all local farmers have now taken on the practice of growing tomatoes this way.  It's the only way the banks will give them a loan nowadays. Anyway, in order to grow greenhouse tomatoes, the tomatoes are given a specific chemical mix all day and night and the land they are planted on is left infertile within a few years due to overuse.  But there's not really anyone right now to stop the practice.  The small and medium tomatoes stay in Colombia; the extra large ones head to Canada and the United States.  Apparently, some of these chemicals have gotten in the rivers and creeks, causing mutations among the local people. So far for the theory of third world countries and a simpler, more innocent way of life that doesn't include pesticides or chemicals. It always comes down to supply and demand and from here on out, demand for agricultural goods will probably necessitate these kinds of practices.

In the second picture you can see Leonardo, Don Parra's son, crossing the Cruce del Angel.

















Above: My dad enjoying our meal at the Gato Gris in Casa Quintero. 

Sunday, January 10, 2010

T.V.

Everytime I look at my TV, I am overwhelmed with joy. I feel so grow-up making such a permanent purchase.

My little 14 inch LG has changed my life...

Thursday, January 7, 2010

More Pictures






























Above:  There are about a dozen Pacific seafood restaurants behind my apartment building.  All of them are the cafeteria-style, plastic chairs, no frills variety.  As you can see, no one is safe from graffiti in downtown Bogota.  The man sitting in front of the restaurant is selling avocados.





















Above: I think I've mentioned these little makeshift wooden carts.  They sell cigarettes, gum, mints and sometimes lottery tickets and cell phone minutes. The owner of this cart wanted to know what newspaper I was with when I asked if I could take a picture of his cart.  I told him I was a tourist. He said he thought tourist liked to take pictures of La Candelaria or Monserrate, not street carts.



 































Above: The transcendental Sr. Valasquez, hard at work and the famous Rushdie/Tolstoy, reading an old magazine and the bible. The kind of face and expression you'll never forget. Unfortunately, I coudn't get the flash quite right.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Camera

I braved the less-than-pleasant backstreets of downtown Bogota this afternoon to buy my camera battery and charger.  I´m tired of always walking around, seeing things and wishing I had a camera.



Above: A sad-looking Bogota stray dog. One of thousands.  This one was in pretty good shape, though it looked a bit depressed. I guess I would be feeling pretty down as well if my home was a sad-looking doorstep.

Downtown Bogota is graffiti central. Most are political and some are pretty impressive. Nearly all are anti-Uribe. Agro Segura was a program that was supposed to help poor, rural farmers. Instead, most of the money went to wealthy land-owners and a former beauty queen. I still don´t exactly understand how or why the beauty queen ended up with the money, but it was a pretty big scandal a few months ago.



Above: Cuba Antigua Discoteca.  I´m not sure if it´s actually functioning as a bar or apartments or nothing at all, but anything having to do with Cuba intrigues me.  A good example of a formerly attractive but dying building.  You see a lot of those former glory-type buildings here. It´s part of what gives Bogota a melancholy, nostalgic feel, I think. A lot that could be done but more that goes to waste.



Above: A typical cheap lunch spot in the city center. At this kind of place you get beans, rice, beef, arepa and a drink for the equivalent of about US$2.50.



Above: Two shoe-shiners next to my apartment. I asked the man standing up if I could take his picture and he called his friend over to sit in the chair.  Then asked me for COL$10,000. Around La Octava, there are half a dozen shoe-shiners set-up against a decaying, graffitied wall. When all the seats are full of people getting their shoes shined, it´s an impressive sight; something out of a Charles Dickens novel.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Price of Feta

A number of points.
1. ) Today I went to el Exito to buy some feta cheese. I've been in the mood for a Greek salad for the last couple of weeks and I thought it was time to be proactive and make things happen. So I get to the fancy cheese counter and a small jar of feta cheese costs the equivalent of US$15. There seem to be many goats in Colombia, so I don´t understand why it´s so expensive. I just can´t justify spending $15 on cheese...

2.) I work in a very bohemian sector of La Candelaria. In a small bed and breakfast right against the mountains near el Chorro de Quevedo, where Bogota was supposedly founded in the 1500s. After 7pm, the smell of marijuana takes over. I don´t even notice it anymore. One of my cousins explained to me that ever since Uribe took over and made the exporting of drugs more difficult, Colombians have taken it upon themselves to consume the surplus. I don´t know if this is true or not, but judging from the smell near my workplace, I wouldn´t be surprised.

Anyway, let me paint the picture of the sector where I work: Drugged out punks in tight pants and fedoras sitting with their punk rock girlfriends who almost always carry a Colombian mochila and are prone to piercings and tattoos. Half a dozen of these types sitting on the steps around the Chorro de Quevedo (fountain of Quevedo), which is currently in a sad state of abandonment. There are few things sadder than a fountain with no water. That is dire. Hippies with dreadlocks selling jewelry and playing the bongos -- on the weekends, they like to play from sunrise to sunrise. Strange daytime prayer sessions with participants dressed as if taking part in some sort of ancient Native American ritual. Tiny bars on cobblestoned streets playing reggae, serving cheap beer and aguardiente and frequented by lower class locals and staunchly anti-Uribista rich kids looking for something authentic and 'popular' where they can meet real Bogotanos. And of course, the European and Israeli backpacker crowd who stay at the many hostels around the Chorro de Quevedo.

So now, you can imagine me in the evenings, sitting in a nicely restored colonial building at the top of La Candelaria among all this folklore.

3.) When I was on my way to work today, I saw Rushdie-Tolstoy (the old man from the tailor shop) walking down Carrera 3. He had several old magazines in one hand and was wearing an old, over-sized gray suit jacket and blue suit pants. I think he wears it everyday but makes sure it is clean and ironed. He was still expressionless, his face one of those of undeterminable ethnicity. My favorite kind. He had such a bad limp that it probably took him hours to get wherever he was going. It made me sad. He is no longer just a tailor shop caricature of my imagination, but a real person with a severe leg problem. I wonder why it is that -- as far as I know -- only the Germans have an actual word for world sadness. Weltschmertz. You would think it´s a pretty wide-spread sentiment. But maybe the Germans are just more melancholy than the rest of us.

4.) They were blasting vallenatos from the Dunkin Donuts next to my apartment. I suppose it is nice to see that globalization doesn´t crush all elements of culture.

5.) When my dad and sister get here, I think I need to go somewhere a bit less somber and intense than Bogota for a few days. I think it´s an amazing city but it can get you down. There is too much of everything. Except order.



Saturday, January 2, 2010

A New Year, An Improved Me.


According to the Maya, the world will end in 2012.  I hope this prediction is wrong because I have committed myself to a number of New Year's resolutions and I'd rather not make the effort toward self-perfection if all we have are a couple of years. 

Anyway, my resolutions:

1.)  Get organized. 
I just bought a 2010 agenda to start this process.  I also folded my clothes very nicely in my closet, made my bed, dusted my room and washed all my dirty dishes.  I think that is a good start considering it is only the second day of the new year. In addition, I plan to hire a maid to clean the places I'd rather not clean, such as the bathroom and the kitchen.  If only we had a vacuum...I do have to say, though, that I have gotten a bit more organized in the last few months, perhaps as a result of living with my compulsively organized grandmother for two months.

2.)   Eat healthier/Do exercise.
Perhaps the most popular among New Year's resolutions, so I don't feel particuarly orginal posting this one. But eating pizza and frappaccinos everyday may not get me much further than 2012 anyway, so it is time to start eating "good" things. The problem with living alone is that it's almost cheaper to eat out than cook and no matter how small a milk you buy, it always goes bad. But anyway, to get this resolution started, I just spent a record amount of money at my local grocery store and bought a bunch of fruits, vegtables and other healthy things. I was extremely disappointed to find that the grocery store closest to me does not sell feta cheese, balsamic vinegar or tilapia, but I can't use that as an excuse to eat out...

As for exercise, I am not yet sure how I plan to carry out this part of the plan. I don't want to join the gym, I don't particularly like jogging and group sports have never been my forte.  Well, my sports performance in general is sub par.  So if anyone has any suggestions on how I can start exercising in a fun way, it would be appreciated.

3.)   Be more social.
Life without my family and Rasha as my daily friend can be a little bit lonely.  I am on a mission to find a daily friend in Colombia.  So far, the only daily friend I have is the homeless guy who carries around a massive trashbag everyday, has not showered in at least a few months and sings Vallenatos to me everyday when I walk by. But this is not the kind of friend I am looking for.  I prefer this friend to have a house, be a girl and be able to communicate in a non-musical way.

In order to accomplish this, I will have to actual talk to and smile at people and attend social-type gatherings. I plan to start taking French classes in the next few weeks.  Maybe I can meet a daily friend there. Plus become trilingual which will make me seem very interesting and intelligent. Or maybe I will have to join activities like yoga or expat girls' night out events. 

Those are the resolutions I have come up with for now.  If anyone out there sees another area in which I'm lacking, feel free to inform me and attempts toward improvement will be made.

Friday, January 1, 2010

2010

I have a feeling 2010 will be a very good year.