"These post are are about as rare and bizarre as most bigfoot sightings," said Chuck Revels, leading Sasquatchologist

Another stream-of-consciousness rambler from your beloved Manic Hispanic. The more I procrastinate, the more things happen, and the longer this nonsensical diatribe is going to have to be...

As I sit here with a wet towel draped over my stomach, which is both as red and ridiculous as the red shelf at the Shoppe, I shall try to recount the most recent events of my life.

Ica: Vendimia 2009....also known as Perdimia, which comes from the verb "perder," which means to lose...as in...LOSE YOURSELF.
How you lose yourself is up to you.
The Vendimia is 1-2 week long bacchanal celebration of the grape harvest in the southern provinces of Peru. The Vendimia I went to was in Ica, where my aunt July lives - a 5 hour bus ride from Lima (This costs ~6 bucks). Some things I figured out after watching the charter bus provided film entertainment: 1. ) Patrick Swayze speaking Spanish is far worse than Patrick Swayze speaking English, which is far worse than the lady who talks about windchimes and the Maltresses. 2.) I don't particularly understand nun humor. Perhaps more importantly, I have a new favorite snack - Tio Rico's Camotes (sweet potato chips). They cost 30 cents and are sold by pretty much every street vendor in Peru. At various bus stops, people selling sandwiches, chips, ice creams, and newspapers would crowd onto the bus, try to make a quick buck, and then get off at the next stop. Needless to say, many snacks were available.
Enough transit talk. Lets get to the carne y papas.

My Aunt July, Uncle Walter (by marriage) , and 8yr old cousin Camila live on the top floor of a 3 story family apartment thing. Two of my uncle's sisters and their families live on floors 1 and 2, along with Mama Cela, the family matriarch. Even though the Castros aren't TECHNICALLY my family, I have known them my entire life, and they have always treated me as such. In fact, as far as grandmother-figures go, I'd much rather have Mama Cela than my goofy ass step-grandma who singlehandedly dominates the world of backhanded compliments. Anyways, its a fun place to stay because there's always something going on...and if not, all you have to do is yell down to someone's window and tell them to hustle upstairs.  

I shall now introduce Stefanne, my 20 yr. old "cousin" (who is really a Castro cousin of a Valdez cousin but we have called each other "prima" since we were 2) who lives on the second floor of the Castro compound.  See photo above for an accurate depiction of our adorableness.  And now, for the inescapable twist of latin american adversity...I shall now introduce, Stefanne's "BB" (bebe), Salvador, who just turned 4.  
Asi es la vida...

Stefanne is my partner in crime for several reasons.  1.) We are the same age.  2.) I have a penchant for very charismatic laydayyyssss...who, beneath their shiny aluminum christmas tree party girl exterior, manage to hide lots of baggage in their bras and in the tiny nonfunctional pockets of their super tight pants.  3.) She KNOWS people...like taxi drivers who will give her half fare, bouncers who will let her in for free, bartenders who slip her free drinks...basically, better than any lonely planet guide.  Needless to say, my male cousins don't really like that I hang out with her - she has a kid (he doesn't live with her except for during the days on the weekends though), she is a smoker, her drink of choice is whiskey and redbull, and she has a lot of...questionable friends...really nice people, but they sort of fall into the same category as she does...."mistake makers."  But I like mistake makers.  In fact, I consider myself to be a low-grade mistake maker; we have an unspoken bond that is fortified by Lucky Strikes and blind man-hating when the moment deems it necessary.  

Alright.  I've set the scene.  Now for the drama.  

MONSTERS!!!

Little kids + face paint + lots of cookies = monsters, albeit cute ones.

A few fun facts...

In Peru...
The character Homer Simpson is known as Homero Simpson, and Chuckie from the Rugrats is named CARLITOS.

I was going to the bank...

and was distracted.

BIZARRE PERUVIAN MOMENT OF THE DAY: RANDOM PARADE FLOAT WITH MILK CANS.

A compendium of my thoughts at either 3 something or 4 something or 5 something....this whole Daylight savings time/non-Daylight savings time thing...

Ok, so I realize that this blog is not really taking off...I keep meaning to post, and then I either get tackled by 5 year olds wanting to use my computer to play online flash games, or I pass out. I'm going to treat this like someone beginning a new exercise routine...if you try to go balls to the wall at the beginning, you will never keep up with it...surely. SO, I'm going to make the effort to post everyday, but it will probably just be something small. For example - randomly weird Peruvian picture of the day, or...best poorly-translated phrase of the day....or SOMETHING! So as a catch-up, and since I've been asleep for 9 hours already but its only 4 or 5 or 3 (I only slept for 2 hours last night...and this is what it has done to me), I am going to just list a bunch of the thoughts I"ve been having over the past couple of days. Think of it as one of those quasi-annoying one-hit-wonder songs where it's just some guy talking over music...which at first you think is really great and then you hear it for the 50th time and you're like OMG THIS SONG BLOWS ASS. That being said, please only read this blog post at a MAXIMUM of 49 times. Thank you.

Pseudoephedrine is a wonderful drug. Can we have it back, please? My blog title in spanish: No puedo decirte donde estoy, pero estoy bien. I can't stand kids that breastfeed when they're like 2 years old. If you can talk, get off the tit...it creeps me out, and I feel like its just a desperate attempt from the mom to just preserve they're toddler in baby stage forever. Obviously, this is me just generalizing on a really annoying familiar example that I was subjected to today. Don't perpetually babytalk to your kid about how amazing they are in the company of others. They may want to peg you, and that would be bad, since they married into the family. In general, Peruvians over-coddle their kids - Belen (3) and Ignacio (5) are still spoonfed by a nanny. I MADE A FRIEND ON MY OWN! Her name is Joanna. She was the only other girl besides me to light her own cigarette...and it was a Marlboro Red. I received this text from her by the end of the night (~3:30 am): "We are going to Ica on Friday. It is so much fun (sun, food, drinks, everything!) My friends have a house there and our cousins already know...Let's gooooooooooooo!" At first I was intimidated by her because she was beautiful and clearly very badass, but via several duo bathroom breaks, dancing, and cigarette pandering, I realized she was nice and not a total bitch, like I peg every attractive girl as when I first meet her. Freshly-made pineapple juice - something everyone should have brought to their table for breakfast at least once. Every morning, the bread-man delivers a fresh bag of rolls and leaves it on the door handle for breakfast. Peruvian yogurt comes in liter-sized jugs and you either drink it or mix it with cereal. Instead of feliz-cumpleanos, people sing a bastardized version of "Happy Birthday"...like...HAPPPY BEEEERTTTDAYYY TOOO JEWWWWW....HAPPPPY BEEEEEERTDAY TOOO JEWWWW...Is it fucked up that I also sing it this way? I have also bastardized hot dog - "ho-do", Lazytown - "Laysee Tow", and the lyrics to ACDC's "You shook me all night long." Bastardized ACDC drunk is way better than normal ACDC sober. Also in my drunkenness, I kept saying YO SOY CAFE CON LECHE...to which my cousin would respond: NO, TU ERES NESQUICK CON LECHE. American 50's music is played in a lot of clubs/bars. I still don't understand this. I taught everyone how to do this twist last night - what a way to label myself. To be fair, it was from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, which is at least obviously badass. During my first breakfast here, my cousin Belen spontaneously burst out into tears because she was afraid that baby Jesus would hate her forever and not let her into heaven because she didn't want to finish her milk. Living in the city is a bizarre experience for me. Every time I hear a phone ring, there's only a 10% chance that it is coming from this apartment. THANK YOU BABY JESUS FOR NEARLY-MANDATORY AIR CONDITIONING IN FLORIDA...it is probably what I miss the most from the US. You can never have too many varieties of potatoes. Dancing with cigarettes is dangerous...I started burning my cousins arm without even realizing it until he yelled. The only light in my room is a bare lightbulb on the ceiling, which never quite shuts off, it just flickers exponentionally less dimly, but never fully reaches 0. It's hard for my relatives to believe that I am considered to be a little shorty bit in the US. No one can fathom a man of Calder's stature. People want me to get married in Peru. Every fruit tastes better here. Hanging out with Leo and Rodolfo makes me wish I had gotten some brothers out of this whole family deal even more. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to have a Visa due to the amount of time I'm staying here, but I fudged a little on my immigration/customs forms.
Alright. Still not tired, but I'm going to try to go to sleep, since I'm going out to breakfast with Sambo tomorrow. I WILL UPDATE DAILY EVEN IF ITS REALLY SHORT, so please check/leave comments. It's good juju.

Airports are strange places...

but at least, after being here for 6.5 hrs now, I can say that this did not happen to me.    Anyhow, airports...they are strange...AM I RIGHT?  I have been atrophying here, dragging myself along the various concourses and peering forlornly in the smoker's lounge...SHOULD I GO IN? It would probably be a primo place for weird airport friends, of which I have made none thusfar (unfortunately), but then my uncle would pick me up, and I would wreak....and then havoc would ensue.  But there's this nagging feeling...what if some big creeper in aviators walked up to me in the smoke zoo and be like SMOKE MISTY FOR ME. 

Ok, clearly I need some new life fantasies.

More ramblings about the airport - 

I have to give John Gardner credit for the following:

SoyCafeConLeche (9:36:25 PM): i am in the miami airport actually

SoyCafeConLeche (9:36:27 PM): on my way to peru

JEGardner7 (9:36:49 PM): sweet. why on earth are you in such a place

JEGardner7 (9:36:52 PM): as miami

JEGardner7 (9:37:08 PM): you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy

This is true.  It is apparently totally socially appropriate to have super load cell phone conversations about the hotels you are considering for purchase or whether or not your coke...i mean "winter"... party was caught on film or not...AND DID YOU SEE WHO WAS ON THE PARTY BUS...blah blah blah  Conclusion: what a bizarre "sea of humanity."  Meanwhile, I sit in the most unassuming corner of the entire airport watching youtubes for several solid hours before I question whether temporary paralysis has set in with my lower extremities.   I am currently questioning whether or not my brain has permanently atrophied.  

There is really nothing interesting at all on which to remark...at all...just lots of miami drama and a doubled risk of carpal tunnel, or as it is called in the thrift shop "the tunnel."  I did, however, learn a lot about Airstreams, Tex Rubinowitz, and the inherently perverse nature of monkeys.   

More to come later.

Besos.

...and they speak Spanish in that place.

The problem is...my Spanish is a little...how you say...rusty. FURTHERMORE, I am becoming increasingly enamored with the idea of being a cowboy, or at least someone who wrangles things, lives on a property with saloon doors, and has the privilege of yelling "GRUB'S ON CHITLINS!" while clanging around on one of those jazzy triangular dinner bells at mealtimes. Finally, and perhaps, dare I say, the most important fact of all - I look damn foxy in chaps.
Anyhow, the time I spend trying to realize the frontier fantasy life of my alter-ego Tumbleweed Wilson is really cutting into the time I should be devoting to boning...
up on my Spanish. Christ.
According to the Rosetta Stone radio advert, I COULD BE SPEAKING A NEW LANGUAGE IN JUST MINUTES. I hear this ad approximately 5 times a day on The Dove's smooth radio waves, which perpetually infiltrate the thrift shop of dreams where I work/try on ass-less chaps for the amusement of the paid employees. While these commercials/auditory hostage situations did not motivate me to buy their product, the people at Rosetta Stone did spur me to action. SPURSPURSPUR - even my diction suffers from the buckaroo bug I caught from Clint Eastwood and Johnny Cash a while back.
Alas, I digress. Back to the real shit.
One morning, as I simultaneously admired the ingenious craftsmanship of my English muffin and my own reflection in the toaster oven, a sobering thought struck me. Even this fucking adorable face of mine won't be enough to pull me through the linguistic trenches of these next few months. Luckily, experience has taught me that having a few, well thought out phrases tucked away in your back pocket can be an invaluable resource when traveling abroad. Usually, I wait until the plane lands to come up with these numbers, but thanks to Rosetta Stone's urging, I'm going to seize the moment and start stockpiling NOW. Here's what I've come up with so far. Suck it, RS.

• Is the water safe to drink? - Es potable el agua?
  
• May I purchase some of your lovely handicrafts? - Puedo comprar algunas de tus artesanias preciosas?
• My intestines are in great distress! - Mis intestinos estan sufriendo mucho!
• Why yes, I'd LOVE to do a pisco shot with you! - Por su puesto! Me encantaria tomar un trago de pisco contigo!
• Please disregard my intoxicating beauty. I am already spoken for by a tall white man in America. - Por favor, no hagas caso de mi belleza embriagadora. Ya tengo novio - un gringo alto que vive en los Estados unidos.
• Cover your eyes! The vultures fly low tonight! - Cubre tus ojos!! Los buitres vuelan bajo este noche.
  
• I like walruses because they have harems and often roll over on their young. Whether this occurs accidently or on purpose is not important to me. - Me encantan las morsas porque los varones tienen harenes y a veces tambien se giran sobre los bebes. No me importa si esto occure a proposito o sin querer.

These should do for now.






If you can't afford the fuel, pray you get the passion
To keep the spirit rolling and get on out of here - Get to leave, Howe Gelb