OK, so I'm a little late posting this. Sorry to keep everyone in suspense about my well-being, since it was such a devastating storm (can you feel the sarcasm?).
Dennis was a wimp, but of course all the news channels made a circus out of it. Thank God Jon Stewart and The Daily Show called them on it. Great piece if you didn't see it.
So I spent the first night alone at my parents' house, after whiling away the evening with the neighbors watching movies on DVD (never, ever rent Boogeyman). When I woke up there was no power and the house was getting hot. Seems one tree in the neighborhood fell down, and of course took the power line with it. So, I drove to my dad's office to join the rest of the family. Spent a night there and watched the entire first season of The Shield on DVD. Awesome series, if you've never seen it. Drove back to "Southville" the next day.
The next entry will have pictures (yay). I'm being sent to Atlanta for work for the week. OK, so Atlanta isn't Mumbai, but I'll find something interesting.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Saturday, July 9, 2005
Dennis, Part II
After the morning squall line hit we had a nice sunny stretch. I helped my next-door neighbor take his Whaler to the yacht club and get it out of the water. Nice to see I still have backing-the-trailer-down-the-ramp skills. Then we watched unending and unenlightening TV coverage. I even decided to take a jog while the weather held. I made it back to the house just as more dark clouds rolled in, bringing heavy rain. It was of course at that point that my sister decided she needed to board up some of the windows at her house, because local weather celeb Jason Kelly said that Dennis may get back up to a 4. Now it looks like the weather has set in for the duration. Recent predictions have been putting landfall further to our west, though the storm seems to have made a slight northward turn. Keep in mind that the worst of the storm (tornadoes) is actually to the east of the eye. My family is going to spend the night at my dad's office, further inland, but I plan to pass time next door and watch DVDs. More later...
Hurricane Dennis
Yeeeeeeeee-haw!
The first band of storms just hit Panama City. My dad and I got the plywood up just in time. We only covered the windward windows, being cynical locals. Let the recent transplants and Atlanta weekenders board up every surface in sight. We also got all the loose shit out of the back yard and off the porch (no small task). Last night I helped some friends board up their beach-house. In the process, we found that someone had been breaking in and using the place as a f-pad. Nice. Get out the blacklight, PCB CSI.
So my mom's Yorkie is in my lap as I write this, shivering like a Jamaican in Syracuse, NY. The dogs hate these storms. And they just made it through July 4th...
If this is a bad one, I'm sure they'll call it Dennis the Menace. How original. Why not Dracula? My sister believes that by assigning names like Ivan (the Terrible) and Dennis (the Menace), the meteorologists are just asking for bad storms. The catchy-ness of the name acts as manifest destiny. Then how does she explain the severity of Opal?
The first band of storms just hit Panama City. My dad and I got the plywood up just in time. We only covered the windward windows, being cynical locals. Let the recent transplants and Atlanta weekenders board up every surface in sight. We also got all the loose shit out of the back yard and off the porch (no small task). Last night I helped some friends board up their beach-house. In the process, we found that someone had been breaking in and using the place as a f-pad. Nice. Get out the blacklight, PCB CSI.
So my mom's Yorkie is in my lap as I write this, shivering like a Jamaican in Syracuse, NY. The dogs hate these storms. And they just made it through July 4th...
If this is a bad one, I'm sure they'll call it Dennis the Menace. How original. Why not Dracula? My sister believes that by assigning names like Ivan (the Terrible) and Dennis (the Menace), the meteorologists are just asking for bad storms. The catchy-ness of the name acts as manifest destiny. Then how does she explain the severity of Opal?
Monday, July 4, 2005
...water-ski skills, fireworks skills...
Saturday
Time for one of my seasonal visits to the land where I was raised, the Redneck Riviera. Hoping to avoid holiday traffic, I left after dark on Saturday. I arrived in Panama City about 6am on Sunday. A few things delayed my journey:
1) Flat tire - luckily this was before I left, and I live close to the tire center. Chunk of glass removed, tire patched.
2) Baby bird - fell into my fireplace while I was packing. I took him to an emergency vet center on the way out of town. Must be a nest in the chimney. Great.
3) Sleep - I stopped for some shut-eye at the rest stop on I-10 near Lake City. Unshaven and in my traveling tank-top, mouth open and drooling, I was THAT guy.
4) Police Officer - pulled me over in Bristol, on highway 20. Apparently, I zipped right through a stop sign when I was turning onto 20 from 12. He gave me my first ever warning. In the past I've always been stuck with the ticket. That cosmetic surgery must have paid off.
Sunday
Today's big event (other than seeing my family, of course) was going water-skiing for the first time in years. I used to go all the time. In the summer, daily. My dad competed when he was younger. I got fairly good at one time. So, you see... I'm hoping to get right up again like a slingshot.
I go through the ritual: put on the vest, put on the gloves, jump in the water, spit out saltwater, push the hair back, put on the ski, spit, grab the rope as the boat pulls it taut, set myself, and give the thumbs-up. The boat roars. I begin to rise from the water, and...
...the rope snaps.
Spit.
This gives my dad great joy. He rigs the roap back up. Maybe it was just a weak spot. I get re-set and give the thumbs-up again.
Snap.
Spit.
So, very anti-climactic. We'll get another rope and try again tomorrow. I also need a bigger vest. I look silly in my dad's vest. Now reading all this (if you don't know me), you might think I've gotten fat since the last time I skied. Not so. I've just become more, uh, robust. Seriously. I've been working out. Yeah...
Monday
We wake up early and go skiing again. It's 8:30 am, the water is glassy, and few boats are out. I go first. I pop right out of the water. Yay! My elation does not go much farther. Boy, has it been awhile. I was lucky to make it across the wake (slowly) a few times and hold on for one loop of the bayou. I used to slice all over that bastard. Jogging and going to the gym do not prepare you for water-skiing. Only water-skiing does.
The grand event began at 9pm. It was all I thought it would be. You don't really want me to describe the fireworks, do you?
Time for one of my seasonal visits to the land where I was raised, the Redneck Riviera. Hoping to avoid holiday traffic, I left after dark on Saturday. I arrived in Panama City about 6am on Sunday. A few things delayed my journey:
1) Flat tire - luckily this was before I left, and I live close to the tire center. Chunk of glass removed, tire patched.
2) Baby bird - fell into my fireplace while I was packing. I took him to an emergency vet center on the way out of town. Must be a nest in the chimney. Great.
3) Sleep - I stopped for some shut-eye at the rest stop on I-10 near Lake City. Unshaven and in my traveling tank-top, mouth open and drooling, I was THAT guy.
4) Police Officer - pulled me over in Bristol, on highway 20. Apparently, I zipped right through a stop sign when I was turning onto 20 from 12. He gave me my first ever warning. In the past I've always been stuck with the ticket. That cosmetic surgery must have paid off.
Sunday
Today's big event (other than seeing my family, of course) was going water-skiing for the first time in years. I used to go all the time. In the summer, daily. My dad competed when he was younger. I got fairly good at one time. So, you see... I'm hoping to get right up again like a slingshot.
I go through the ritual: put on the vest, put on the gloves, jump in the water, spit out saltwater, push the hair back, put on the ski, spit, grab the rope as the boat pulls it taut, set myself, and give the thumbs-up. The boat roars. I begin to rise from the water, and...
...the rope snaps.
Spit.
This gives my dad great joy. He rigs the roap back up. Maybe it was just a weak spot. I get re-set and give the thumbs-up again.
Snap.
Spit.
So, very anti-climactic. We'll get another rope and try again tomorrow. I also need a bigger vest. I look silly in my dad's vest. Now reading all this (if you don't know me), you might think I've gotten fat since the last time I skied. Not so. I've just become more, uh, robust. Seriously. I've been working out. Yeah...
Monday
We wake up early and go skiing again. It's 8:30 am, the water is glassy, and few boats are out. I go first. I pop right out of the water. Yay! My elation does not go much farther. Boy, has it been awhile. I was lucky to make it across the wake (slowly) a few times and hold on for one loop of the bayou. I used to slice all over that bastard. Jogging and going to the gym do not prepare you for water-skiing. Only water-skiing does.
The grand event began at 9pm. It was all I thought it would be. You don't really want me to describe the fireworks, do you?
A joke I must share
A very genteel Southern lady was driving across a bridge over the Savannah River one day. As she neared the top of the bridge, she noticed a young man fixen {ready} to jump.
She stopped her car, rolled down the window and said, "Please don't jump, think of your dear mother and father."
He replied, "Mom and Dad are both dead; I'm going to jump."
She said, "Well, think of your wife and children."
He replied, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids."
She said, "Well, think of Robert E. Lee."
He replied, "Who's Robert E. Lee?"
She replied, "Well bless your heart, just go ahead and jump, you dumbass Yankee."
Honestly, I have nothing against Yankees or people from any other geographic region. It's just a funny joke. Overseas, we're all known as Yankees.
She stopped her car, rolled down the window and said, "Please don't jump, think of your dear mother and father."
He replied, "Mom and Dad are both dead; I'm going to jump."
She said, "Well, think of your wife and children."
He replied, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids."
She said, "Well, think of Robert E. Lee."
He replied, "Who's Robert E. Lee?"
She replied, "Well bless your heart, just go ahead and jump, you dumbass Yankee."
Honestly, I have nothing against Yankees or people from any other geographic region. It's just a funny joke. Overseas, we're all known as Yankees.
Monday, June 27, 2005
I'm a slackass
Yes I am.
I have been on three short trips since posting last, and neglected to tell you about any of them. When this first goes up there will be no pics, but fear not, for they shall soon be added.
Our first stop, a river in El Salvador
Trip #1: Central America by boat
Ah, what could be better than a week in a 29-foot boat, fishing and cruising your way from Guatemala to Costa Rica with your father, your uncle, your cousin, Jose the captain, and Manolo the mate? Wait a second, that's... 6 dudes on a boat that can maybe sleep two in the v-berth? Yes, my friends, this is why we put in every night and found hotels, hotels surrounded with establishments serving rum. Every night but one, that is.
Marina in Nicaragua
A leetle crab
Let me tell you about the lovely customs officials of Nicaragua. They could not meet and board us at our first port-of-call because they said two huge container ships required their attention at the main port. No problem, the port was on the way to the next stop, so we decided to meet them there. Guess what - no container ships. These guys are just lazy. They make us wait awhile, then board with their black boots (which just about sent my father into epileptic convulsions) and toss all our luggage. May I point out that if we were smuggling anything, we had a full day to get rid of it already.
This is where I will move to the day after the day I have to kill someone
So we accidental hooked a sea turtle. Damn did he taste good. Just kidding, it was only a shell-wound. After a bit of panicked flipper-flapping he was fine.
So we start the day's trip late, then get beat to death by the SE wind they call Papagayo. We make it to our next stop, San Juan del Sur, just after sunset. We have to be checked here also, but the officials, who knew we were coming, have left the dock already. No problem, we'll get a hotel and meet them in the morning. No, no, no the dockmaster says, you must stay on the boat, even though it is raining and as I mentioned before the boat sleeps only two. To boot, we are out of alcohol and cannot get any until we are checked. We can't even go ashore for a meal. Here comes the worst part: on shore is raging the biggest party of the year, the town's feast for their patron saint. We get to listen to the music and revelry while we try to sleep, soaked and sober.
Manolo, striking a pose
In the morning we are boarded and checked again. We get to go in town for breakfast. A couple of American surfers are at the table next to us. I can't help but ask how the party was.
"Horrible dude."
Ah-ha! I am avenged! For some reason this party sucked. Then he grins...
"There were so many chicks we couldn't handle 'em all."
Son of a bitch. Lord, I despise surfers.
Cousin, Dad, and Uncle
So we continue as quickly as possible to the final port of Los Suenos in Costa Rica, skipping two other ports we'd planned to put in at. Gave us more time to fish and drink in Jaco, my old stomping ground where I spent six months helping open and manage a bar. That is way too long a story to tell you here. I'll let everyone know when the book is published.
Trip #2: Outer Banks with WORK FRIENDS
They love it when I refer to them as WORK FRIENDS. Mwah, ha ha ha ha. Yes, it was J____'s birthday, so I drove with her and a couple of other WORK FRIENDS to the Outer Banks. Nothing too extraordinary happened. Drinking, of course, and sunburns. That's about it. No shenanigans, because these are WORK FRIENDS.
Trip #3: Washington D.C.
This was for work, a conference on international admissions. I stayed in Georgetown dorms. The crinkly, stinky mattress gave me unpleasant deja vu. I got to see some old friends, from Furman (my alma mater) and Panama City. I did not get to see any monuments or museums. We had too much scheduled.
I have been on three short trips since posting last, and neglected to tell you about any of them. When this first goes up there will be no pics, but fear not, for they shall soon be added.
Our first stop, a river in El Salvador
Trip #1: Central America by boat
Ah, what could be better than a week in a 29-foot boat, fishing and cruising your way from Guatemala to Costa Rica with your father, your uncle, your cousin, Jose the captain, and Manolo the mate? Wait a second, that's... 6 dudes on a boat that can maybe sleep two in the v-berth? Yes, my friends, this is why we put in every night and found hotels, hotels surrounded with establishments serving rum. Every night but one, that is.
Marina in Nicaragua
A leetle crab
Let me tell you about the lovely customs officials of Nicaragua. They could not meet and board us at our first port-of-call because they said two huge container ships required their attention at the main port. No problem, the port was on the way to the next stop, so we decided to meet them there. Guess what - no container ships. These guys are just lazy. They make us wait awhile, then board with their black boots (which just about sent my father into epileptic convulsions) and toss all our luggage. May I point out that if we were smuggling anything, we had a full day to get rid of it already.
This is where I will move to the day after the day I have to kill someone
So we accidental hooked a sea turtle. Damn did he taste good. Just kidding, it was only a shell-wound. After a bit of panicked flipper-flapping he was fine.
So we start the day's trip late, then get beat to death by the SE wind they call Papagayo. We make it to our next stop, San Juan del Sur, just after sunset. We have to be checked here also, but the officials, who knew we were coming, have left the dock already. No problem, we'll get a hotel and meet them in the morning. No, no, no the dockmaster says, you must stay on the boat, even though it is raining and as I mentioned before the boat sleeps only two. To boot, we are out of alcohol and cannot get any until we are checked. We can't even go ashore for a meal. Here comes the worst part: on shore is raging the biggest party of the year, the town's feast for their patron saint. We get to listen to the music and revelry while we try to sleep, soaked and sober.
Manolo, striking a pose
In the morning we are boarded and checked again. We get to go in town for breakfast. A couple of American surfers are at the table next to us. I can't help but ask how the party was.
"Horrible dude."
Ah-ha! I am avenged! For some reason this party sucked. Then he grins...
"There were so many chicks we couldn't handle 'em all."
Son of a bitch. Lord, I despise surfers.
Cousin, Dad, and Uncle
So we continue as quickly as possible to the final port of Los Suenos in Costa Rica, skipping two other ports we'd planned to put in at. Gave us more time to fish and drink in Jaco, my old stomping ground where I spent six months helping open and manage a bar. That is way too long a story to tell you here. I'll let everyone know when the book is published.
Trip #2: Outer Banks with WORK FRIENDS
They love it when I refer to them as WORK FRIENDS. Mwah, ha ha ha ha. Yes, it was J____'s birthday, so I drove with her and a couple of other WORK FRIENDS to the Outer Banks. Nothing too extraordinary happened. Drinking, of course, and sunburns. That's about it. No shenanigans, because these are WORK FRIENDS.
Trip #3: Washington D.C.
This was for work, a conference on international admissions. I stayed in Georgetown dorms. The crinkly, stinky mattress gave me unpleasant deja vu. I got to see some old friends, from Furman (my alma mater) and Panama City. I did not get to see any monuments or museums. We had too much scheduled.
Tuesday, May 3, 2005
Days 9-12: Morocco
I didn’t realize that Morocco is really the southernmost arm of France. If I’d known this before arriving, I might not have been so enthusiastic about my visit. The attitude, the smoking, the English (when spoken) in a French accent - I hate that. However, Morocco has many redeaming features. For example:
Fashion can be good. P.S. All the pics in this entry taken by Naser.
More on her later. As soon as I walked into the downtown Sheraton, I was greeted by Naser, who was in the downstairs lounge, finishing up some email and having a drink. I joined him and we caught up on what had passed since seeing each other in Dubai. After that I went to my room, took a well-deserved nap, then woke up and washed off the travel funk.
Back in the lounge I met up with Naser and several other people involved with the college fair – some reps from other schools and some working for the organizers (see pics). We took cabs to a bar/restaurant down by the Atlantic shore. Drinks and Moroccan eats followed. After filling my stomach I began succumbing to jet-lag once again, nodding off at the table. I resorted to Red Bull. However, what really woke me up was the beginning of the fashion show (refer to above picture). Wow. That girl was just one of several very attractive ladies slinking down the makeshift catwalk. I was told they were not all Moroccan though. At least one or two were Russian immigrants. The distinction was lost on me.
Naser, myself, and our Turkish harem
After dinner and the show we returned to the hotel and decided to try out the club on the lower level. For a hotel venue, it was actually quite good, got packed around midnight. It also was filled with many attractive ladies. I was told that most of them were probably on the clock. This, combined with their dark complexion, the Latin music that was playing, and a few more beers – I could be excused for having déjà vu and thinking I was back in Costa Rica. Naser and I ended up being the last ones to leave, and we were left to take care of the tab. It was about $200. Seems drinks in this joint, be they beer or water, were about $13 a pop. Ouch.
The fair began the next day. After India, I felt like this would be a cakewalk. I was very, very mistaken. I now have some inkling of what the beaches of Normandy felt like after D-Day, for we were stormed and bombarded. I brought two boxes of materials to distribute over two days. Most of the first box was gone in two hours. After that, I began to horde. Thank God I was able to take a break when it was my turn to give an info session on my school in the lecture hall. That’s how bad it was. I preferred to speak publicly to a bunch of Gaullists.
One of the event organizers
Hasan, from Valencia and Beirut
On this evening all the exhibitors were treated to a traditional Moroccan feast. Platter after platter of food. Beat, I again began to doze off. I was revived when the belly-dancers intervened. Afterwards it was to the club again, but this time we were much more conservative in our drink ordering, considering the prices.
On day two of the college fair I was able to control the flow of people and information much better, though it was just as busy. More giggling girls came by who had suddenly found an interest in my university.
Largest mosque in Africa, maybe the world. I can't remember.
Streets of the old market
I might have to come back to Casablanca on vacation sometime.
Night three, we went to Rick’s Café, the obligatory mock-up of the establishment of Casablanca movie fame. Food was actually pretty good. I started to doze off, yet again. This was my cue to call it quits and catch a cab, as I had to get up at 5am to catch my flight out. Too bad, because Naser and the rest were going to blow it out for the final night. I said my goodbyes and made my exit.
Now those are palm trees
Fashion can be good. P.S. All the pics in this entry taken by Naser.
More on her later. As soon as I walked into the downtown Sheraton, I was greeted by Naser, who was in the downstairs lounge, finishing up some email and having a drink. I joined him and we caught up on what had passed since seeing each other in Dubai. After that I went to my room, took a well-deserved nap, then woke up and washed off the travel funk.
Back in the lounge I met up with Naser and several other people involved with the college fair – some reps from other schools and some working for the organizers (see pics). We took cabs to a bar/restaurant down by the Atlantic shore. Drinks and Moroccan eats followed. After filling my stomach I began succumbing to jet-lag once again, nodding off at the table. I resorted to Red Bull. However, what really woke me up was the beginning of the fashion show (refer to above picture). Wow. That girl was just one of several very attractive ladies slinking down the makeshift catwalk. I was told they were not all Moroccan though. At least one or two were Russian immigrants. The distinction was lost on me.
Naser, myself, and our Turkish harem
After dinner and the show we returned to the hotel and decided to try out the club on the lower level. For a hotel venue, it was actually quite good, got packed around midnight. It also was filled with many attractive ladies. I was told that most of them were probably on the clock. This, combined with their dark complexion, the Latin music that was playing, and a few more beers – I could be excused for having déjà vu and thinking I was back in Costa Rica. Naser and I ended up being the last ones to leave, and we were left to take care of the tab. It was about $200. Seems drinks in this joint, be they beer or water, were about $13 a pop. Ouch.
The fair began the next day. After India, I felt like this would be a cakewalk. I was very, very mistaken. I now have some inkling of what the beaches of Normandy felt like after D-Day, for we were stormed and bombarded. I brought two boxes of materials to distribute over two days. Most of the first box was gone in two hours. After that, I began to horde. Thank God I was able to take a break when it was my turn to give an info session on my school in the lecture hall. That’s how bad it was. I preferred to speak publicly to a bunch of Gaullists.
One of the event organizers
Hasan, from Valencia and Beirut
On this evening all the exhibitors were treated to a traditional Moroccan feast. Platter after platter of food. Beat, I again began to doze off. I was revived when the belly-dancers intervened. Afterwards it was to the club again, but this time we were much more conservative in our drink ordering, considering the prices.
On day two of the college fair I was able to control the flow of people and information much better, though it was just as busy. More giggling girls came by who had suddenly found an interest in my university.
Largest mosque in Africa, maybe the world. I can't remember.
Streets of the old market
I might have to come back to Casablanca on vacation sometime.
Night three, we went to Rick’s Café, the obligatory mock-up of the establishment of Casablanca movie fame. Food was actually pretty good. I started to doze off, yet again. This was my cue to call it quits and catch a cab, as I had to get up at 5am to catch my flight out. Too bad, because Naser and the rest were going to blow it out for the final night. I said my goodbyes and made my exit.
Now those are palm trees
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