Choco Is A Punk

This is Choco.

He is a punk.

That's right. Choco is a total punk. He just puked up ground beef and chicken foot all over the couch. He could have gone outside in the grass, or maybe on the nice hard tile floor. That would have been a lot easier to clean up. But no. This is Choco. He is a punk and he does what he wants.

Until now.

...

Choco doesn't leave the house much. In fact, he doesn't really do a lot of anything. Mostly, he lingers around the house, he suns outside and then plops back onto the cold tile floor inside. It's a big trip for him, those ten feet. And I can see how all that laying around must just take it out of him. Occasionally he'll muster up the huevos to yap at a passing dog before returning to his lair. I don't speak Spanish Dog, but I imagine the conversation translates to something like, "HEY!.... HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY!" He's a real charmer. I love it when his voice cracks.

...

By far, Choco's least favorite part of the day is the application of his little doggie sweater. Because this symbolizes the end of his daily reign of NOTHING. Once the sweater is in place there will be no more impromptu treats, belly scratches or irritating of the Human Clan until dawn. Or so I thought.

Soon after arriving, Shayla informed me that one of the things that was really impacting her health was Choco interrupting her sleep. He'd leap from his bed on the ground to her bed above, tunnel under the covers, wiggle around for a few hours and then scratch on the door to be let out. Not exactly the proper REM cycle, is it? 

So. Being the martyr that I sometimes am, I offered to let him sleep in my room for a while - thinking, "It's a queen-sized mattress and he's six pounds. I sleep with earplugs in most of the time. How is he possibly going to disturb me?" Turns out - like six different ways. One for each pound. Because it doesn't matter how comfy his little doggie bed is or how much I fluff it, his favorite place to sleep is right in between my legs - rendering them useless for midnight bouts of dreamy soccer matches. - OR - right on my pillow with his little cheesey dog fart butt aimed directly at my face. 

One time, I'd convinced myself I had him trained. I opened the door for us to hit the hay and he sprung up on the bed. BOING! (...God, you're tiny.) He walked straight towards my pillow. So I gave him a little, "EY!" He stopped, front foot poised. He hesitated for a second and then turned to lay on the doggie bed I'd positioned on top of my bed.

"GOOD BOY, CHOCO!"

I was so proud of him! He finally understood he had his own damn bed. And that I was nice enough to share it with him. I went over to give him a congratulatory pet on the head and that little bastard GRUMBLED at me!

"Grrrrrr, fuck you."

You little bitch.

Oh well. At least he got it. FINALLY. Until around four in the morning, when I did one of those half asleep elbow prop - side swap rolls to change it up a notch. And in the time it took me to put my head back down - guess who I found swooping low to buzz the tower? That's right: A two and a half mega-gram poop factory.

"I don't think so, Scooter."

*FOOM*  

"You're outta here, Bucko."

I gave him about 1.3 seconds of air time to find another place to sleep. Determining the first floor a much less likely path to orbit, he headed towards the door. 

Exit: Choco -> Stage Right. 

And he bumbled down the stairs.

SHUMP 
   SHUMP
      SHUMP

Grumbling all the way.

Errrm.
   Errrm.
      Errrm.

One for each step.

I shut the door, (Peace, dude!) resumed by defensive post in the Semi-Finals of the Dream League Soccer World Cup, and that was the last time Choco ever slept in my room.

...

So, in addition to various other chores, Choco became my responsibility. I fed him, walked him, and medicated him as necessary. Apparently Choco, like his owner, had some health issues to work through. Sometimes I wondered if his condition was related to his owners. Pets have been known to acquire sympathetic complications when their owners are suffering. Interesting, isn't it?

In the past, Choco has had full rule of the house. And the neighborhood. And the marketplace. He ate when he wanted, he slept when he wanted and he didn't wear a leash. Walking him wasn't so much exercise for him as it was for me. In fact, it wasn't really a walk at all. It was more like Choco darting from curb to curb and me jogging up behind him to block the cars that didn't see his skinny ass. This isn't a dog. It's a traffic violation. And this has got to stop. One of us is going to get hit. And it's not going to be me.

I quickly realized that Choco was not like other dogs. Something was way off. He wouldn't get excited. He didn't enjoy praise. He wouldn't make eye contact. And he only ate treats when he deemed appropriate. This dog needed some training. But I couldn't figure out a way into his head. We're dealing with a serious motivational problem here, people. How am I going to get this dog to do what I want? 

...

So, I'm not Cesar Milan or anything, but I do know a thing or two about dogs. The sensitivity I can feel regarding human energies around me is almost the same with dogs. It's a little harder to tune in to, but if you pay attention you'll realize that dogs really ARE man and woman's best friend. Not because they fetch for us but because they speak the same emotional language that we do. 

The next time you're around a dog, pay attention to it and watch for emotional cues. Part of it is in the tail as you may know. But watch out because there are a few misnomers in there. Dogs sometimes wag their tail and bark at the same time. Sometimes it's an excited "Pay attention to me!" bark/wag, and sometimes it's a "Come over here and see what happens" bark. In order to know the difference you need to look at all cues in combination. It's like the base coaches in baseball. You always see them do that weird hat brim sign language to tell a batter something. But each individual sign doesn't necessarily indicate a word. The whole thing together just means one thing. Make sure you have the right one. Look at the tail, eyes, body position and movement and even their mouth. Dogs do smile and frown, just like us. It's just a little more subtle. 

In addition to that intuitive understanding I also spent almost six months living on a glacier in Alaska with 240 sled dogs. Bred for strength, endurance, these dogs are a mix of many lines but their strongest trait is their undeniable resemblance to and sometimes direct recent ancestry of a real-live wolf. Humans took the nicest wolves and bred them out into herders, fetchers and hunting dogs. And the funny thing is that putting them all back together gave us something similar to what we started with. Seeing this in person reminded me of an interesting concept I'd learned in physics way back in high school. Particle motion can, within specifically regulated parameters, be reversed. It's called Laminar Flow. Check it out:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p08_KlTKP50

It's not perfect. But it's pretty farking amazing.

...

So Choco needed some work. He didn't know "come","sit", "stay" and generally didn't care what you were doing as long as you were close by to feed him whenever he decided was appropriate. In addition to being lethargic he seemed fairly depressed. I know what this dog needs! Discipline!

...

The first step I took in training Choco was to make him sit before giving him his food. This may seem simple but it is a great way to get your dog to pay attention to you and for them to realize that it doesn't just materialize. YOU are the one providing the food. YOU are the master and THEY need to show respect for receiving this food. Sounds a little domineering, but guess what? Dogs are social creatures. They function much better inside a structured hierarchy. They need to know where they fit into the pack, and it's your job to make sure they understand where that is. Dogs are kind of like teenagers. They think they want freedom but what they really need is the illusion of freedom encapsulated in an invisible framework. Otherwise they don't understand their boundaries and they can't function well.

So... "SIT! Here you go, Choco! Good boy!"

He sits. He eats. But he doesn't really look happy about it. He even thinks about it for a second after you say it. 

"SIT!"

..."you're serious?.. Ugh. Okay."

What a little bastard. You will learn, young grasshopper. You will learn.

It was always a battle with this dog. You couldn't coax him. He could not be bought. You HAD to force him. He literally didn't get it any other way. Like I said, masochist. But it wasn't all bad. And I totally loved him, too. I just wanted him to be safe and not get squirshed.

So every once in a while, I'd plop down next to him on the kitchen floor as he was walking by. I'd begin to pet him on his cheek and slowly draw him in with a tempting little ear scratch. Very soon I had him in a double barrel ear scratch/cheek massage doggie paralyzer hold. And before he knew it I had him collapsed in a full-on impromptu doggie rub down. I wanted him to know that even though I was being tough with him and not allowing him to do the things that he wanted to do that it was actually for his own good and he would have more freedom if he would demonstrate that he wasn't going to hari kari himself under the under inflated wheel of the next passing V-dub.

...

After the "sit for your food" phase, the next step was that when we went on walks he was on a leash from before we left the house until after we'd returned. If I couldn't trust him to stay by my side and out of traffic then I would trust the three feet of nylon that I had strapped to his neck! Haha! Whoops, this collar is WAY too loose! That's not going to work. There. That's better. Hehehehe... Sorry Choco, this ain't your bling. This is Phase 2 in Operation: Do What I Want.

And he totally knew it, too. I'd ask him, 

"Hey, Buddy. Wanna go on a walk?" 

And he'd get all excited; prancing over, his long nails tapping on the tile floor. 

"All right. Here we go!" 

I'd reach for the leash, his tail would drop down and he'd start to slink away. 

"Oh heeeeeeeeeeell no. We're going." *CLICK* 

Leash: ON. 

Shoes: ON

It's go time, baby.

Out the door and onto the ragged streets of Coatepec. At first we just went around the block. Enough to get him out of the house to check the PeeMail. But eventually I started taking him all the way to the town center about a mile away. The problem we kept running into was that we would reach a point at which Choco would determine he no longer fancied the direction in which we were ambling. It was like there was some invisible wall that he could see and I could not. I think on the wall that he saw were words scrawled in doggie letters, "Go back now! The cushion is still warm! You can still make it!" Um, *YANK* - NOPE! Sorry dude. MUSH!

Fucking... HEEL!

The strange thing was though, once I jerked him past that one foot distance he ALWAYS got more excited about the walk. I think this dog is a masochist or something. I did ask nicely the first time, dude.

When we got home I'd make him sit and wait patiently by the door while I unlocked it. Once unlocked, I made sure he stayed until I give him the go ahead. This part was where we really got to have it out with each other. Most of the time he would try to squeak through the tiny crack in the door and I'd have to stop him with my foot. Eventually he learned to wait just a few extra seconds until I gave him the okay. In this way he also got to understand that living in a nice house was ALSO a privilege. 

At first he couldn't wait at all and I'd have to pull him back and flip him on his back. "NO!" But one second at a time we'd increase how long he could wait. I'd hold out until right when I knew he couldn't wait any longer. Then I'd signal him and he'd dart inside; so proud of himself. So after a while he got the idea, more or less. Until one day.

...


We were coming back from a walk with the same old routine I'd been establishing earlier. He takes a seat, I remove the leash. I open the door, he waits obediently for my comma--- CHOCO, NO!! He bolted inside. God, dammit, Choco! You were doing so good!

I ran in after him and picked him up by the scruff, dragging him from whence he came. Back at the crime scene he squealed bloody murder and I flipped him on his back. "NO, Choco! NO NO NO NO NO!"

Ok.

I calmed down and got him to sit again. We took it from the top.

"Stay! YOU STAY. NooooOOO... STAY!"

I had to physically push his but back down. Come on, man. Don't make me do this the hard way. I opened the door again, he bolted and I went for the scruff again.

* Now. At this point, I felt as if the two of us had made some significant progress. I felt like I had him more or less under my control with just the slightest bit of resentment left on his part. I knew that this was his breaking point and it was time to put it all out on the table. He needed to know without any hint of a doubt that I was the Big Kahuna. And remember, I  did try to ask nicely. *

So I dove for the grab. He bit me, so I bit his ear. He bit me again, so I locked him in the back of the house. Solitary.

You see how things just got outta hand fast? This was the come to Jesus moment for him. And I intended to make full use of it. I'd known this was going to happen from the start. But you can't just show up to someone's house and start throwing their dog around. That's a little, um... Unhinged. But this was the proper moment and Shayla knew that I wasn't abusing her dog. In fact, she was right there with me, telling me how she knew he needed what I was providing. 

Good. Cause this might not be pretty.

I let him stew in there for about an hour and a half, went to check on him and he bit me again. So I flipped him on his back once more, yelled at him, and bit his ear AND his muzzle, and threw him in the tiny bathroom to think about it a little longer. 

In case you're wondering, biting a dog on their ear or muzzle is the ultimate way to tell them, "Me Alpha, you not Alpha." It's something they do in their own doggie culture to communicate to others this exact intention. So, you know... When in Rome. And it works pretty damn well. Although, I'd reserve it for when you really want to make a point. You don't want to be a dick, and it also looks very strange in public. So pick your battles.

When I opened the door to check on him again about forty-five minutes later he cowered away from me, trying desperately to find a secret passage behind the toilet.

"Come here, Choco."

He wouldn't.

He was too scared and still hoping that wall was going to open up any second.

"Come here, Choco."

He slinked over.

"Good boy."

...

This wasn't necessarily the way I wanted to do things. I literally tried every other method to train this dog. But he FINALLY got it. He FINALLY respected me as El Jefe. The Boss. And from this moment forward he did EXACTLY as I said. Exactly.

The next morning we went out for a walk. I'd decided to give the no leash thing a try. But I'd forgotten to put his collar on. "Shit." I can't have him running around without that. He was on his way out to the middle of the street.

"EY!"

He dropped immediately onto the ground. I didn't even say it that loud.

"Good boy, Choco."

And he was happier. From that one instance on, Choco was SO much happier. He ran around the house. He pranced around the yard. He jumped up onto my lap where he wouldn't have necessarily cuddled before. And he stayed the hell out of my room. 

He wanted someone to be in control. He NEEDED someone else to be in control. And I guess it was me he was waiting for. The interesting thing is that training that dog made me look internally at myself and what kinds of things I needed to be happy. And I think the moral is that I, too, need some more structure in my life. Except instead of an external master, I would only have the same one Choco had. Me.

...

It's tough. I feel myself drawn to so many things. I'm interested in so many things. And I'm actually ok, not amazing, but ok at lots of things; which makes it very difficult to choose a... "Career Path" or lifestyle or whatever. For a long time I wished I was... Not less capable, but really good at one thing so it would stand out among all the rest and I'd have a definite waypoint to follow. 

I've spun around trying lots of things out trying to figure out which path to choose, and I've finally decided that I will pick a few of the things I really, REALLY like and go for those. These are the ones I'll put my energies into. And I'm making a list of side hobbies to conquer when there's time in between just to mix it up. 

Until now, I've defined my life through intangible items: where I've been, how I've felt, ideas I've come across and how I will someday compile those into a reckonable force. But I've always been waiting for that next thing. Just one more... Thing, or idea or whatever to complete the picture. But the truth is, I'm never going to build an empire if I don't start some day. It's been a long weekend. But I think someday is coming soon.

For a long time now, I've felt this decision-making paralysis. "If I choose this activity, then I'll miss out on all these other opportunities." Or, "If I do this and I'm terrible at it then I'm a failure and I have no idea what to do with my life." Sounds sensible. But in reality, what ends up happening is that I don't do anything at all, or I wait for someone else to do something and I attach myself to that idea. That's not fair to me, or anybody else.

The nice thing is that I've gotten to this point the only way I know how. By a little something I like to call: The Hard Way. Instead of cautiously determining which things I really do like or drifting towards those things I might be interested in, I've systematically eliminated several of the things I absolutely don't like by diving in head first, and characteristically unprepared; figuring it out on the way. In this manner, I've managed to whittle my dreams down a core of aspirations by shucking off the layers of excess crap around me. 

What this gives me is the certainty to know what it is that I really want. Not just those things that I might think I want. And that, my furry little friends, is totally priceless. 

There are a lot of external influences in our society. Many of them are extremely convincing. I'm glad to say that by removing myself from a great many of those things that I've been able to see the world through my own lens. The one I made from my very own experiences; both good and bad.


I've had a quote on my facebook for some time now. I don't even know who the person is, but I came across it once and really liked it:

"Absolute certainty is the privilege of uneducated minds and fanatics." - C.J. Kaiser


Following this logic I can determine that I am, in fact, educated. Which leaves us the remainder: I am a fanatic.

:-)

I kind of like the sound of that.

...

So maybe Choco was a punk. 

...But maybe I was one, too.

I Love The Smell Of Ozone In the Morning

Today is one of the last days I'll spend at Shayla's house. I'll be leaving a little sooner than previously planned. That's okay with me. I've learned a lot here about cooking, I've gotten some good yoga in, and I've gotten to meet some pretty cool people. All while saving a lot of money and having a pretty good time. 

I thought I would've posted more blog entries while I was here but a decent amount of it was routine and so I haven't had a lot of "adventures" so to speak. But I figured I'd talk about a few of the things that I've done here for all six of my readers. Actually, there are a lot of you. THANKS!

I usually wake up around 8AM. Sometimes I sleep through my watch alarm because I sleep with earplugs in. I've learned that I either wear them or I get woken up sixty times a night by the sound of the street dogs arguing below. And when they're not barking, it's usually because someone is busy lighting off fireworks at six in the morning. This usually happens whenever there's a holiday. And there are a lot of holidays. And when that doesn't do it I usually hear Shayla scoot her walker across the floor in a lout BRRRRRAP! So... 8AM. Here we go.

I wake up, drag myself to the end of the bed and stumble out into bathroom to see what the pillow did to my face for eight hours. As soon as I crack my bedroom door the sharp smell of electricity zaps my nose. The smell is ozone gas (O3) and it's produced by a machine that converts the tank of oxygen gas downstairs into this substance that supposedly kills infectious invaders. Shayla and Maeve have a morning routine where they drink water purified by it's bubbles and blast giant plastic syringe-fulls of it into all available openings. Even Choco gets a treatment. The poor dog sits impatiently while humans spray hot air into his ears. I did some of these things for a while. But I'm not that convinced of the practicality of it and it's pretty awful stuff. Tastes terrible. So actually the title is a witty lie. I actually don't prefer the odor, to be honest. But it's kinda cool.

Next up is Choco. I take him for a lap around the block where, until I insisted on the leash, he would dart in front of taxis for ten minutes while I - the short and sandal wearing American chased him around. The purpose of this morning hike is to get him to leave a little something behind. But he rarely does. There's a lot I want to say about Choco. But don't worry, I'll have a whole chapter on him. Standby.

By this time I'm usually pretty hungry and it's time to boost the glucose levels. I think a giant breakfast smoothie is in order? Yes. Two bananas, one frozen, almond or cashew milk, fresh squeezed orange juice, a possible frozen berry cameo, chia seeds, cacao/honey/or some other healthy thing and BWIIIIIIIING! Turn that five hundred dollar blender on. Now that's a smoothie.

Any other day but Saturday I'm usually free to work on my Spanish skills, travel plans or play around on the computer as I wish. When I'm lucky, another human in the house gets motivated to do some yoga and I join in like a good little grasshopper. If it's sunny someone might get naked and soak up some rays in the courtyard. Hippies.

Lunch is also a smoothie. At first I really liked this. It was easy to make, good to eat and predictable. Now, towards the end, I kind of miss chewing things so much. But one thing's for sure - you don't have to poop as much. And that means that's probably one less time that you have to wipe your butt and throw your TP in a trashcan. Because they don't flush it around here. Not enough water pressure. That TP just sits in the trashcan staring at you as you try not to think about how disgusting that is. So anyway, I was talking about food. Mmmmm.

Shayla is a certified "foodie" and a good amount of time takes place in her kitchen. She's got great ingredients and spices from all over and prizes them like they were the last ones made. Friends and family visiting from the US generally sacrifice their checked baggage to smuggle all sorts of rarities found in the mythical aisles of the Whole Foods Temple. AHHHH! So if I don't have any other project to attend to - Or if I'm not aimlessly staring at the ants on the compost pile (a strange habit I've found myself doing) - I help out in the kitchen by prepping food. I cut things or wash things or move them from one container to another. It's not always exciting, but I am learning some healthy and delicious tricks.

While Saturday is the big Organic Farmer's Market day, trips to the regular market come up about once every two days and I get the opportunity to practice my Spanish searching for the right vegetables or chicken feet for Choco. I like the market. It's bustling. It's a hub. And it's totally old school. People just sit outside with all of their stuff, maybe a scale and they yell out their wares in a flat but sing songy worn out voice, "Papas y friJOles! Dos por VIENteeeeeee..." Over and over again. They don't pay attention to you until you have their stuff on their scale. And the produce is dirt cheap. Everything is dirt cheap here. I can't get over it.

Afternoon time is dinner prep time. More cutting and washing and dancing around Shayla's wheelie wheels of little piggy death. You gotta watch it. Dinner starts with a salad at six and the rest of the meal follows. Sometimes it's a stir fry and it's kind of cool to cook in between the actual eating. I kind of like that. 

For dessert I generally fire up the vape and pop in some stand up comedy or a movie I rented from PirateBay.se. Smile if you know it. After Shayla hits the sack (usually pretty early), I beat the shit out of some green pigs on Angry Birds or Maeve and I take a walk to the Zocalo. Last night she forced me to dance so I embarrassed the hell out of her by acting like a complete goofball in the middle of the Halloween parade. I don't think she'll be doing that again. Man, I can swing those hips. That's right, ladies, that's how we do it in America.

If I can't sleep, I jump back on the computer and do my best to wring out my experiences or chattering brain cells onto the keyboard. Some of it makes it onto this blog. The rest remains for one more day; swaying and sloshing about until the next opportunity to make a break for it.

The Ten Dollar Day

10-21-2012

20:29

Coatepec, Mexico



We threw a party for Shayla's birthday on Friday, but today was her real birthday - so Maeve and I vacated the house to let her Skype with all her family and friends throughout the world. We decided to go to Xico (HEE-ko), a nearby town and check out the waterfalls there. It definitely turned out to be a good day.

The first thing we needed to do was get some moneda (coin money). Bus drivers are real grumbly when you hand them a two hundred peso bill for a ten peso ride. All right, Grumpy Grumperson, I'll get some change. And dude, what the fuck is the deal with getting change in Mexico?! You go to pay for something and people just straight up have no change sometimes. Twice now, I've gone to pay for something and the vendor didn't have change so they just gave it to me for free. "Pay me later," they say. Dang man. I always did. But what is the dealio! I think the problem is that the government flat out just didn't cut enough metal money. People hoard it like it's going out of style.

(Bus fare roundtrip: $20)

So here's what I had to buy to make some change:

(Churros: $10)

It was some street food from the Zocalo (town square). Deep fried churros with chocolate sauce, some white shit and sprinkles. MMMMMM mmmmmm. Delicious. The first real junk food I've had in about ten days. It was good. 

The next order of business was to find Maeve a baño. She was suffering a little discomfort due to her and Shayla's morning watermelon eating contest. I'd say the real winner there was me. Cause I didn't almost pee my pants on a city bus.

We tried the church, but that was busy with its usual Sunday reality protest rally so we figured she could just tough it out on the bus. Next thing we know we get approached by a Mexican guy about my age who stopped us somewhat awkwardly,

"Ey, uh, amigos? Do you speak English?"

"Yeah man. What's up?"

His name was Miguel and his English was pretty good. He'd worked in the US for some time and was waiting on his visa to clear so he could hop back over the fence (legally) and come back with some scrilla. At first I thought he was giving us this big schpeil to ask for money but it turned out that what he really wanted was to practice his English with us. PERFECT! We'll work on our Spanish with you, too! By the way, do you know where the nearest pisser is?

Miguel showed us to his friend's autobody shop just around the corner and Maeve seemed much happier. He left us his number and if I can find it from my bottomless bag of tricks we should be meeting up to swap operating systems.

Maeve and I managed to find the bus stop. It was a little tough since there is neither a terminal nor any sort of sign denoting the usual stopping location for a bus. We used our super powers of asking in broken Spanish and followed the groups of people who seemed to be patiently waiting for something to carry them away.

The ride to Xico was pretty short. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes and the distinction between the two towns wasn't really ever made. If I had to guess, I would say the border was somewhere straddling several of the banana plantations that surrounded both villages.

Once at Xico, we promptly got ourselves lost on a dead end street trying to find a pretty looking church that didn't end up being that spectacular. We wandered back to the town center and ate a little bit of the packed lunch that we'd brought. Somewhat unmotivated and lackadaisical from all the work we'd been doing at the house we wondered if we should ask someone for directions to the cascadas (waterfalls). Turns out we picked the right guy.

Two white peeps in the middle of Smalltown, Mexico will always attract attention. But one guy wasn't staring at us at all. I figured it was probably because he'd done a fair amount of traveling himself and wasn't really that surprised to see some gringos in his town. He had long dreads and was sitting on a bench tying friendship bracelets. I went up to him and asked him if he knew the fastest way to the waterfalls.

"Las cascadas?"

"Si."

"Sígueme! Estan cerca de me casa!" (Follow me! It's right next to my house!"

And so we followed.

Sweet! Personal hippie tour guide for the day. I bought one of his bracelets to seal the deal and we were off!

(Bracelet: $50)


I was right, Victor had done some traveling. He spoke only a few words of English so despite my broken attempts to communicate with him he responded quickly and verbosely in his native tongue. It was good to get back into listening to and speaking real Spanish again, however, I definitely didn't understand everything that he was saying.

Victor took us through a couple of neighborhoods, up a gravel road where the concrete houses stopped, over a bridge and down to his jungle bungalow. Literally just a couple of wooden shacks pinned up above the riverbed. It was AWESOME. I bought a couple jars of pulque (a fermented, milky drink) and we visited on the porch. It tastes kind of like a mix between keifer and kambucha. I'm not sure if I liked it. It made me thirstier the more I drank it.

(Pulque: $30)

We spent the next couple of hours soaking in sweet sunlight and listening to the river roar around us. Myself, alone with the hot boulders, Maeve and Victor in the throws of a traveler's romance. Nowhere to be. No one to please. Doing nothing never felt so good.

Before we left the bungalow entirely, Victor showed us his shack. Yep. A shack. Inside he had just enough room for a small mattress, the jewelry he made and sold, an alter for Hari Krishna or whatever and seven hippie bunny rabbits that had dreads just like him. He loved those things and made sure to get them the nicest green pickings from the riverbank. They showed their gratitude by dutifully munching it all down.

Victor made it clear that he would really like us to buy some of his jewelry. As his only source of income I felt somewhat obligated to do so. But then again, I'd also bought his slightly overpriced bracelet as well. So I had to say no. I will say, however, that the man is very good at what he does. His wire jewelry, in particular, was extremely intricate and incredibly well thought out. I wish I could have. But I have no need for it. Thanks anyway man!

On the bus we went and back to Coatepec. Back to the house. But NOT without some chocolate first. We stopped by a local chocolate shop and split a few truffles between the two of us. Oh. My. God. So good and so cheap. 

(Total split cost: $20)

It really was a great day. The one that you can't plan and the kind of adventure that leaves you feeling a little terrified about what might happen - yet, it always ends up amazing. There really was nothing to worry about.

So. All in all, I spent $130 MXN which just so happens to be almost exactly $10 US. A whole day of fun for ten bucks. Not bad. Not bad.

Somehow I managed to screw up the picture formatting and I'm too lazy to go back and fix it so below are the photos from the day. Have fun figuring out what they are!

Spoiled Rotten

10-18-2012

Coatepec, Mexico

18:10

We produce a lot of organic waste in this kitchen. We shed orange peels, veggie skins and all sorts of "waste" that could be beautiful compost. This was always the intention, but until I got here everything was dumped into a big pile outside the back yard. It was sitting in a ditch, definitely rotting, but definitely super stinky. My goal was to create an aerated compost pile using minimal materials and a simple design. I took photos of each stage so you can see the development of the plot. After a few days, I haven't seen much change in the pile's makeup nor heat production. But I think it just needs a little more time and a little more biomass before it gets some serious momentum.

Compost Stage 1

This is what the area looked like before I did anything to it. It was basically a big heap of fruit skins, sticks and garbage that neighborly neighbors had contributed. It stank pretty badly because it was rotting in a puddle, creating anarobic decomposition. It smelled like really stinky booze.

The next picture shows the contour of the land. 

Compost Stage 2

I had originally chosen this spot to build because it was slightly higher than the surrounding area. Although, as you can see by the way the stones sit that it was still concaved into a dip. I was also interested in using the tree as one of my four post supports.

Compost Stage 3

I decided to put the extra sticks to use. I needed some material to fill in the hole. I figured they'd compost down into a nice platform underneath the stones. I placed the long ones horizontally and the shorter ones vertically to create a sort of mat. 

Compost Stage 4

I then used the extra soil around the area along with a small amount of compost to fill in the spaces between sticks. And I lined the perimeter with large stones to establish my boundary. 

Compost Stage 5

Once I finished the perimeter I filled in the rest with larger stones. Then I swept sand and gravel over the top of those to create a more level surface and better drainage. 

Compost Stage 6

The next step was to prepare my bamboo posts that I had stolen *ahem* found. (They won't miss them). I sharpened the ends as best I could and pounded them into two of the corners.

Next, I used placed the large tree branch I had also "found" across the street and tied the top of it to the tree above for stability.

Compost Stage 7

Sorry about the poor picture quality. My camera wouldn't focus on the fencing.

Here you can see the end product with the chicken wire attached to the posts. I stretched it fairly tight to add strength to the structure.

The entire area is quite large and has plenty of room to create a large compost batch.

Compost Stage 8

As a final touch, I added a ramp to the compost area. If I become motivated I may finish the area out with more rocks around the neighborhood. I think it would be nice not to have to step in the mud every time I turn the compost pile.

After all that fun stuff I still had two bamboo pieces left; one fat one and one skinny one. Shayla wanted a free-standing staff to dance for her birthday party tomorrow. So I fitted the skinny one inside the fatter one for extra strength and dropped it down into an old water jug filled with sand from the empty lot across the street.

Sand in the base makes it fairly sturdy.

Ground Up

10-17-2012

09:26

Coatepec, Mexico



Today marks one week at my most recent temporary residence. I hopped an early bus out of DF to Xalapa and got to Coatepec by three. It wasn't as nice as the bus out of Guadalajara. It didn't have touch screen Duck Hunt. But it was still nice and I enjoyed the ride more or less. You have to hand it to them. The buses here are nice. This ain't no Greyhound with seven layers of white trash grubbing up the armrests. They're clean, quiet and quite comfortable. Me gusta mucho.

It's always nice to have a little alone time, too. I'm constantly in tune with the mental and emotional energy of everything and everyone around me. It allows me to be a... Well, not quite a mind-reader. But more like a heart-reader. It's a great gift. But it's difficult to turn off and it becomes overwhelming when I'm constantly absorbing the emotional information from everyone around me. Sometimes it's nice just to be alone. That's one of the reasons I really enjoyed long distance running and other zen tasks. It's just me, myself and I. The Three Amigos. It's nice to say hello every now and again. And the bus was a perfect place for the powwow.

...

DF is just like any other city, as soon as you're out of the city limits - guess what? Cows and cornfields, baby. Everywhere. Farmers don't bother planting anything on the hillsides. There are plenty of valleys to sow their seed. Plus, it's flatter, wetter and more fertile. They're doing everything by hand - so you do the math.

Staying in DF was nice. I REALLY enjoyed hanging out with Carlos and Toño. Even though we did get out of the house a few times just to mix it up, what I really enjoyed was just hanging out, catching up on sleep and maoing down all the amazing food that Toño came up with. THANKS, Toño! Yummy!

But big cities... Yeah, they kind of freak me out a little. It's not that I don't like them, there's just so much going on I can't pay attention to anything. I'm much more comfortable in a small town. I feel like I can walk around more, despite the stares, and explore things on my own terms. I like Coatepec. It's small, the people seem nice and there are actually a few other Gringos here.

Coatepec is just south of Xalapa, a decently sized city in the state of Veracruz. Walking down the main street it feels much more like "Mexico" as I would have imagined it. It's more rural, the people are a little darker and it's not quite jungle but it's a lot closer than the dry semidesert of western Mexico. And to top it all off you can clearly see the snowpeaked top of a nearby volcano. Hell yeah!

This town is known for its incredible coffee production. I've only had a little bit, but trust me, it's good. I'm not sure how much shipping is but if anyone wants to make an order (Tom Posen) I'd be happy to send some your way!

But drinking coffee isn't all I'm doing here. The reason I ended up here for a little stint is to complete another work exchange. I spend the days on and off completing various tasks to help out my host:

Shayla is originally from the US. She went to the University of Texas, worked for Apple, did the kinds of things that any human on this planet would do - whatever she wanted. And then she got sick. Real sick.

Shayla ended up in the hospital for a long period of time. Scar tissue from a childhood case of appendicitis had been strangling her intestines; making digestion nearly impossible and rendering her very weak. Her heart stopped pumping and her blood-starved brain began to shut down; resulting in brain damage. As a result, she now needs help doing things that you and I take very much for granted. Like walking and removing a sticky jar lid. So I'm here to be an extra set of hands. And feet. I take care of her dog, Choco, run to town for groceries, help out in the kitchen and try to beat Maeve (another help exchanger) to the ever present sink of dishes. Man, she's fast.

...

I enjoy being here and feeling useful. It's a good trade. From the outside looking in it may seem like Shayla is a bit demanding. But I don't think that's accurate. Right away I knew that we were very similar and so I understood where she was coming from. She's anal! Takes one to know one! And so am I. I like things done a certain way. Why? Because that's usually the best way to do it. There usually IS a best way to do something. That... Or that's just the way I like it. So there. And if I wasn't the one physically able to complete the task then I would try to be extremely articulate about how I was interested in having that task completed. So I get it. Totally. She's not demanding. She's directing.

Coming here I wasn't sure exactly what to expect. I guess I never really can be sure. I'm living in someone else's house and earning my keep through the completion of various tasks. So I can't be too picky. Overall though, I'd say I did a fairly good job of interviewing this host. I've got my own room, there's super fast WiFi and DELICIOUS food. Delicious. Which brings me to my next point.

I think it would be fair to say that we all have a little bit of room for improvement in our lives. In all areas. I have a lot that need some work. Watching Shayla scoot around in her little chair (watch your toes!) has really inspired me to look inward and think about the things that I can focus on. I mean, she's come back from complete dependence - like, tracheotomy dependence - to a state where she can walk with a little help and do most of the things that any abled-bodied person can do. I think I can step it up a notch. Here are the things I'm currently focusing on:

- Diet
- Excercise, Flexibility, Focus
- Time Management
- Life Vector


So I'm working from the ground up. I'm taking some time to think about the places I've been, the things I've done and learned and what it is that I want to do with all of these things. Mostly, I feel a little scrambled. Ground up. Like a million bits of speckled sand splashed upon the seashore. I am the beach. Each unique grain retains a solid core, a tiny truth hauled down from wizened mountains by a thousand rivers. Tumbled and stripped of extraneous bullshit I'm left with the purest of truths. A boulder becomes a speck. A speck becomes a pearl. Or, with the proper forge and concentration, a crystal lens to see the world anew.

...

SO... Diet. 

I've never been a vegetarian. I love meat. Yummy. Animals. They're delicious. But now that I'm here... in this house... I decided to give it a shot. I figured, all the pieces are in place. Both of the other people that live here are experienced in preparing delicious vegetarian meals. The meals are extremely nutritious and fresh. I'm pretty sure I'm getting everything that I need. So why fight it. Life's about trying new things, right?

It's working out pretty well. We eat all vegetarian (plus yogurt, keifer and rarely eggs) and as much raw as possible. I'm not sure what the science is behind it all but I can tell you how I feel so far. I'm a week into this regimen and the first thing I noticed after a lot of junk food before was a much "lighter" feeling inside. Meals were filling but not coma-inducing. And remember that plugged up feeling I was having. Yep. That's gone. Now, I have what I like to call "Happy Poops"! Happy! Yay! They don't hurt and they're much more... Shall we say..? Lignin efficient. 

The other thing that I've noticed is a definite increase in energy. I feel much more alert and aware. Sustained energy. Not your usual hunger panging, face-stuffing, stomach pumping, mozzarella cheese clumping colon blow routine that half a pizza and six pack will bring about. It's good. I feel healthy. And good food starts to taste a lot better, too.

Another thing that I've noticed is a definite clearing of my complexion. I wasn't super pocked up or anything. But I noticed a clearing of the skin on my face. All but a few blackheads are gone. And I don't use anything on my face. No special scrubs. All they did usually was dry my skin and lead to an oily overcompensation. It's a very visible change and cool to see.

...

Exercise, Flexibility, Focus

These are more easily said than achieved. But I'm tired of feeling tight, weak and unmotivated. My back hurts so much most of the time that feeling "normal" is a privilege only a hard-earned *pop* or a medicated toke can rectify. Both are only temporary. They fix the symptoms but not the cause. I gots prollems.

I've had back pain for a long time. And so has my brother. And our father. And all of his brothers. And their father. Pattern? Check. I think it's caused from these four things in order of contribution:

- Lack of core strength
- Poor posture
- Stress
- Genetics

So it looks like the things that are causing the pain are the things that I also have the most control over. Luckily for me, I really am in the right place to get "straightened out". Both Shayla and Maeve (pronounced 'Mave") are pretty adamant about practicing yoga; something that I love but know very little about. It incorporates all the things that I've been missing from my physical health into one therapeutic experience (minus cardio).

Sidenote:  I think the main reasons I've found it so hard to get motivated about my own physical activity over the last few years are because:

A.  All of my physically intensive experiences from my youth were team activities. I always had somebody else to compete with. Someone there motivating me.

AND

B.  I feel like I'm so far behind that picking up momentum is tough. It's difficult to gain traction. But I will. I'm determined. I think a small push and I'm trundling this badboy.

...

Time Management

I am notorious for terrible time management. I am the KING procrastinator. "Ahhhh... It'll work itself out." That, or I don't care enough about it to watch it crash and burn. "Meh... Whatever." Not exactly a "go getter" mentality. The problem is that I just get so bored eventually. I don't think I'm ADD. I'm just very selective about what I chose to get interested in because sometimes I get REALLY interested. And that's a lot of energy. Therefore, this category is concerned with compartmentalizing my time resources and making better use of smaller bits instead of waiting for FIVE HOURS to sit down and get something done. Fifteen minutes is a dangerous amount of time to get something done if you're motivated. And I think that's my missing link. Motivation. I'm working on it.

...

Life Vector

There is too much to this section to spill out completely, but the main effort is to first look inward at myself, my skills and my interests and compile a set of possible projected futures. I'm not as committed to creating specific life goals so much as I am transforming my chaotic ambitions from amoebic globules into a formidable stream of consciousness. No big deal, right? It's fun wandering, but I think I want to make it a little more intentional. As one wise homeless drug addict once told me, "Wander well and know where to wander." Thanks, man.

...


I think next time I'll put up a bunch of pictures. I stashed a few of them on my facebook. But I really want to show you the composting station I built. Eets kewl mon.