One Moment Please...

Less than a week remains of my wonderfully informative voyage here in almost-South America. Since Saturday I have been free to do as I wish, as I finished my classes the day before, and I have been doing so extravagantly and excessively. I bring good tidings on the grade front as well: I got that paper done (and you thought I would never do it!), and I also got a 97% in my Spanish class, which is probably totally like the third highest grade ever (which was only brought down because I called the teacher a nasty name on accident, every day, and then in another freak accident, I hit her that time, with a sledgehammer).

But that is just water under the bridge, eh? Now I am on to bigger and better things, like watching movies in Spanish with nary an English subtitle to be seen. I swear, I understand at least three sentences, sometimes nearing about six; though one time it was eight (though, technically, four of them were the same, because they repeated the same thing over and over again… but I would say that counts… yes?)!

In addition, I have taken up residence with a Tico family (a new, different one), who I may have mentioned before. Chris, Angie, Harry, and Nesskens all love having me with them very much. So much that they rarely ever invite me to their house and then turn on the television, leaving me to my own devices for two hours for no apparent reason, followed by an awkward conversation about what “we” should do next time. Now they do not need to invite me, because I am already here. They can just do all those things with one less step, what luck! Seriously though, I think at least Angie enjoys my company because I actually wash my own dishes (and hers, and everyone else’s) as opposed to throwing them in the sink while she is washing other ones.

For the past three days I have visited a local high school and given a speech about myself for their English class (so, yes, it was in English). The teacher there is named Hilda Paniaqua (her last name means “bread and water”, which I find funny), and she told me I could come back anytime and help her out with pronunciation and what-have-you. Perhaps I shall. Lord knows that if the girls in my high school liked to tell me I am handsome and ask me out as much as these girls have been doing, I would have had a much more active love life. Alas, sadly most of them scarcely are even have 66% of my years behind their innocent brac—I mean faces, so it just is not meant to be. I shall just have to keep to myself following all those “No Sex Tourism” signs they have at the airport, because they are so darn convincing!

Unhappily I prepare to give Costa Rica my salutations and board the plane to Texas, crying the whole way. By the time I reach Minnesota, my face and airplane pillow should be dry, so I look forward to meeting whomever shows up with a cheery disposition and presents galore*. Of course, I do not expect anyone other than my mom (my other mom, not either one from here) to show up, because I think I left my car at her house, and I am going to need that back.

Next time you hear from me, I will sum up life in Costa Rica in one beautiful and heart-wrenching post, which will probably make you cry more than that one time Derek Shouster called you a “big fat dummy-face” and then stole your chocolate cupcake in third grade.

Well, maybe not. You did cry a lot back then, and it will probably be a tough contest. Gosh, what a baby you were!

I love you, almost as much as I love delicious, melty ice cream (which is a lot), and I will see you soon!

P.S. Actually, I am pretty sure that I love delicious, melty ice cream a whole lot more than I love you, because I am not consuming your inexpensive (only $1!) and caramely (oh goodness the caramely goodness!) body at the moment, which means you have a long way to go; maybe next time.

*One of these two things may be in short supply, though that is a surprise for another day

Parace Un Tanto Sin Mama

It is my pleasure to inform you that your hopes for my well-being here, in Costa Rica, are still fulfilled at the utmost, though I cannot pinpoint or foresee a time when this would not be the case, because, as you know, eternal optimism makes for an arduous time of anything obstinate to tranquility and contentment.

My studies here are varied and interesting, and perhaps now is the time wherein elaboration on their merits is idyllic. Although I learn more in the hours I spend outside of the institute where the classes proper are held, they still make for an entertaining pastime.

Four hours a day, five days a week, I have Spanish class. This consists of myself and up to three other students discussing the previous day in ‘preterito perfecto’ and then playing flash card games or watching movies from Spanish-speaking countries, though, sadly, with English subtitles. Despite the slow-moving and repetitive methods our teachers use, I still manage to learn a few new words each day, even considering all their efforts to the contrary. Coincidentally, it seems that whenever I discover a new word in my studies it shows up at least four and a half times later that day, which I think is rather convenient and encouraging.

One day a week, on Tuesdays, for four hours, I have Biology. Fifty percent of our class days have consisted of field trips to various locations around the country, usually concerning science only laterally, if at all. I still have yet to turn in a paper that was due before we left the United States, but given my suave and charismatic ways, I have extended the deadline accordingly. Of course, I will do it eventually, I need just a smidgen of time to collect my thoughts without so many dazzling activities to choose from.

One day a week, on Wednesdays, for three hours, I have Intercultural Communication. This is yet another class, in which morsels of information manage to be discovered, regardless of the teacher’s labors conversely. Our class discussions on the poorly written textbook exclusively exist for the teacher to expound on long-winded tangents and then insist he will sit on his hands (somehow this is supposed to prevent his interjections) for the remainder of the dialogue.

The real class, on the other hand, is life. Every day that I squander with my Tico friends or family leads me closer to my objective of not-looking-like-a-complete-tourist-when-I-go-outside-my-safe-zone. Perhaps the stress of these situations is the grounds for my malfunction, but I find that in the external world my speech skills devolve to that of a three year old (or myself, when I first arrived). The ten days I have after I finish classes are imminently approaching, and will surely test my limits, because most, if not all, of my English-speaking friends will have returned to the United States, thus leaving me with the only alternative of *gasp* speaking exclusively in Spanish!

Given that there are no comments from my many fans, I can only assume that I have been working diligently and adequately for your tastes, and that my saga is as engaging as it is verbose. However, if this were not the case, surely someone out there would inform me?

I thought so as well.

Have yourself a good week or two, and I shall be back whenever it is convenient for me, perchance with more news.

P.S. I was not actually mugged, as I reported earlier, which should be a given when evaluating most of my outlandish claims; however, in the past week three of my friends were robbed, something I find rather remarkable, as well as vaguely foreboding. Wish me luck in my final morsel of time here, so that I may not fall victim to armed robbers or assailants, and that I may return safely to my beloved home and “real” life (whatever that may entail).

¡Voy A Morir!

‘Family’ is a significant concept; so significant it that took me about twenty years, more or less, to realize its importance. To accept and love one’s family is a great step on the route to adulthood, and a stride that some would argue is essential in this end. It is with these thoughts in mind that I will now depict those who—perhaps crazy for allowing me to live here in the first place—are nonetheless agreeable and entertaining Ticos that I call ‘my family’.

Xinia (mom): The head of the household without question and my favorite mother ever. In addition, she is also the woman who graces me with her presence at all of my meals (in addition to cooking them) as well as being a substantial catalyst for my apprenticeship to the magnificent Latin language I now consider myself at the ‘Intermediate-Medium’ level of proficiency. I have scolded her constantly for not siring a daughter that I could have married, so that I should have lived in Central America and stay in her house for all time. She is one-and-forty years of age, got married when she was seventeen and seems to enjoy my sense of humor as much as anyone would require, sometimes more. Last night I may have irrevocably insulted her and her religious beliefs by attempting to explain (in jest, obviously) the concept of ‘autotheism’ and how it consists of me worshiping myself... (if I had a nickel for every time I affronted someone unintentionally I would never have to work again, and I could probably pay for some sort of classes about not-being-a-complete-idiot-and-toning-it-down-once-in-a-while, eh?)

Boliviar (dad): My father is relaxed and unobtrusive for the most part, even if he is constantly making light of somber subjects and being scolded by my mother. According to the information sheet I received when I first arrived here, he works as an ‘administrator’. This may be true, but I have never seen him out of the house for more than a few hours at a time, and he usually is home before I am (at around 1:00 PM most days) sleeping or watching television throughout the afternoon. What a neat job! He spiked his hair up into a mini-hawk recently, punches me incessantly, and furthermore attempted to scare a friend and me by wearing a Halloween mask and walking as though he had just ridden a horse for about a thousand miles. Do not be fooled! as this is all to be understood as a cover for his lightning fast kicking speed, with which he almost killed the same friend referenced before. He is four-and-fifty years of age, so if you do the math, you might find, that in Costa Rica that sort of thing apparently is ‘a-okay!’

Alejandro (youngest brother): Little Ale loves Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and being an eight-year old kid in general. In fact, in two days he will no longer have this luxury, for his years will have caught up with him and he shall turn a whopping nine years of age. He loves to play any game I can show him, though sadly I have only the few that are on my iPod and the default Windows Vista FreeCell, Solitaire, and the like. I could almost count on my hands and toes how many words he has actually said directly to me, even given his preference for sitting in my company watching me type or sort my music. I cannot wait to have kids so I can throw them about in a similar manner that I have grown accustomed to do with him.

Leonardo (middle brother): Leo is sixteen and home slightly more than I was at that age, which is not saying much. He supposedly knows how to speak English pretty well, but I have only heard him say “Hi!” and my name... and I am not sure my name counts entirely. Regardless, he is nice when he is around.

Estaban (oldest brother): ‘The Big E’ goes to school for computers, and works when he is not at school. Therefore, he is gone when I wake up in the morning, and does not come home until a few hours after I go to sleep. Of course, I habitually crash at around 8 or 9 o’clock at night, so his feat is not that astounding.

Chispa (family pet): The most schizophrenic little thing I have ever seen, the family dog loves to beg for food at the table. If you feed her, she will love you for at most, five seconds, before relapsing into a ferocious, bloodthirsty, wuss. Being that Chihuahuas are known for this type of behavior, I suppose I cannot blame her... but... c’mon! Really? Also, she is the only dog that I will ever condone dressing up in people clothes, because it is so darn cute and somehow it is okay... but only this one. No more.

Grandma, Luis, and the others: When I first arrived here there was a nice old lady that slept in the computer room and only once said something to me (while I was stretching, she made a motion as if to copy me and then laughed, mumbling Spanish the whole time... obviously I had no idea what she truly said, but I suppose it was a joke or something). She is no longer here, and if the family ever explained her relation it was lost on my complete lack of Spanish-speaking I have since rectified. It is for this reason that I just call her ‘Grandma’. Luis is a cousin of someone (I think) and works at Office Max six days a week, sixteen hours a day. He only comes by for dinner or breakfast—which my mother graciously provides—and then leaves without me ever seeing him go. I have met other family members like aunts and uncles, but they were but droplets in an ocean of stimuli that have since been lost in the expanses of my atrocious memory.

So there they are! Only a few weeks before I come home... but surely the knowledge will be put to good use. Tune in next time when I run out of money and only eat scraps from the table, like Chispa!

Toodles!

I Think He Knows!

So, I have been informed that my duties have been neglected, and as a result, I am out of the will. In an effort to re-institute my position as the sole heir of what I am sure is to be countless masses of wonderful riches, I shall return to my informative capacity as a Costa Rican informant to the ignorant masses stuck back at home in the snow.

Firstly, this week is Semana Santa, where the whole country takes work off and flocks to the delectable tropical beaches and drinks themselves stupid. I, hoping to gain a bit of culture and learn about the natives here, have followed in this pilgrimage of sun, the ocean, and underage drinking. There are between seven and eleven of us staying in our bungalow during any given night, but I am not entirely sure it counts as "night" when people come home after the sunrise the following day. Our hotel feeds us a wonderful breakfast each morning, and I have recently consumed a plate and a half of pancakes and French Toast, which was so wonderful that I think I may never eat again so as to keep the savory flavor of the sugary goodness inside my memory banks for eternity.

Accordingly, my lack of posting has been a result of a few factors: it costs two dollars an hour to use the internet, and that is money I could be spending on food or surf boards or drugs; also, it is a vacation week and why do I want to spend precious time when I have no responsibilities surfing the Internet, when I could easily do that when I return to my home city and get homework again; and, lastly, I just do not know what to say.

Obviously.

I went snorkeling yesterday, saw tropical fish and a turtle, lost a lens to my glasses so now I am blind as well as burned, met a troupe of fourteen-year olds who led sing-alongs of epic proportions (who I later heard were among the party-goers drinking themselves stupid and hooking up with men far beyond their age... what is wrong with the youth of today I ask you?!), swam to a far away island and almost drowned, bought groceries for the next three days because all the stores will be closed for the Holidays, witnessed a good amount of relationship drama I hope I never have to live through again, learned about the Hurricane and its effects on rich people in Florida, and did a little jig.

Previously, I have just been enjoying myself immensely, though, sadly, I have not practiced as much Spanish during this week as would be required for me to be awesome and studious, so methinks I shall do some chatting today, assuming I do not find something less responsible to take up my time.

If you are coming to visit me in Costa Rica, I recommend you do it now, and forever, for I truly love this place and hope, somehow, I can live here someday, perhaps starting today. Hopefully this is enough for those of you who are worried about my mugged-ness, and my health, however, I assure you, I was only mugged those two times, and they happened pretty much in the same day, so I count them as only once; in addition, the only thing they stole was my dignity.

And $200... but hey! all is well that ends well, eh? I got them back by infecting them with herpes. Go STDs!

Love you all, and even though I miss you, I do not want to come home, so you should come here instead.

¡Hasta luego!