Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Q
I concurred a great many of my fears this last weekend.
1. I rode a horse. While I've done this before, it remains to scare me. In addition to the stamped of these wild beasts, I would also frightened by the fact that we had not one of those door-handle like thingys to hold onto. The trip itself was not that bad, Quigly (my horses name) held his own and me too. He was a champ and we talked one another through the entire experience.
2. I shot the "Tube." After being assigned an inner tube, a helmet, and (if you're wearing a bikini bottom) a leather diaper, one must hike a quarter mile up a hill to find the beginning of a scary-ass water slide powered by river water. I had to sign a waver to do such an activity, and I was not excited. essecially, there is a damn at the top of the slide that collects water as you fasten yourself appropriately in the slide. When the damn is compromised, the weight of the water pushes you at warp speed down the hill into a pool at the bottom. I call it screaming, but everyone else called it a handsome "Man Cry." --I was doing that a lot.
3. I fucking zip-lined! Holy shit was that scary. Essentially, you attach yourself to a metal string and slide down a mountain. One is in control of how fast one goes by using your hand as a break... That is, of course, if the lines are dry. They were not. Fuck that shit.
All in all, I really enjoyed Buena Vista. It was very pretty, and a lot of fun. I spent an amazing two nights with my best friends and some new ones too. We sang, we drank (a little) we jumped in the pool naked. Or, at least, I did... I do that sometimes.
Costa Rica is great, but now that all the excursions are over, I'm thinking the initial appeal of the country is kind of dying. I'm ready to be home. I'm ready for some Del Taco and Monkee time.
1. I rode a horse. While I've done this before, it remains to scare me. In addition to the stamped of these wild beasts, I would also frightened by the fact that we had not one of those door-handle like thingys to hold onto. The trip itself was not that bad, Quigly (my horses name) held his own and me too. He was a champ and we talked one another through the entire experience.
2. I shot the "Tube." After being assigned an inner tube, a helmet, and (if you're wearing a bikini bottom) a leather diaper, one must hike a quarter mile up a hill to find the beginning of a scary-ass water slide powered by river water. I had to sign a waver to do such an activity, and I was not excited. essecially, there is a damn at the top of the slide that collects water as you fasten yourself appropriately in the slide. When the damn is compromised, the weight of the water pushes you at warp speed down the hill into a pool at the bottom. I call it screaming, but everyone else called it a handsome "Man Cry." --I was doing that a lot.
3. I fucking zip-lined! Holy shit was that scary. Essentially, you attach yourself to a metal string and slide down a mountain. One is in control of how fast one goes by using your hand as a break... That is, of course, if the lines are dry. They were not. Fuck that shit.
All in all, I really enjoyed Buena Vista. It was very pretty, and a lot of fun. I spent an amazing two nights with my best friends and some new ones too. We sang, we drank (a little) we jumped in the pool naked. Or, at least, I did... I do that sometimes.
Costa Rica is great, but now that all the excursions are over, I'm thinking the initial appeal of the country is kind of dying. I'm ready to be home. I'm ready for some Del Taco and Monkee time.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
CR And Shit.
There is a sense of danger on the streets here. Everyone keeps their belongings close and no one wears anything in their back pockets. Fare for the bus is taken out ahead of time, so one isn’t caught looking through a purse in the presence of strangers. It is recommended that no one go out at night—I don’t agree. The sidewalk, even when well lit, has a sensation of suspicious activity. One is constantly being watched, and no one seems to think otherwise. The homes, as secure as they can be, have bars on the windows and alarms set to kill. Each house, no matter the neighborhood, has a fence encasing it scantily clad in barbed wire and spikes. It must be hard to be a teenager in this country. Not only would it prove difficult to sneak out of your bedroom window because of the metal bars, but surely the roof of the house directly next you ones would not appreciate the weight of an escapee. For a lot of places, there is literally no yard. Homes might as well just share spices kept on their respective spice racks and not bother with dry wall at all. Sound travels easily here, as no one makes any; safe for the children and the dogs about, they all feel it is rude to be noisy at night (less so in the morning). This would make having an underage drinking party especially difficult considering all they want to do is drink, dance, and screw. What else do they have to do?
It seems that wherever I go, I get stared at for standing out just a little. Whether it be my gaudily stripped t-shirt, or my rolled up, Capri-like skinny jeans. People are always staring. Oddly enough, most of the males have either a Mohawk or a rattail hanging from the back of their heads. That is what they should be concerned about. If you thought boobs were big in Utah, you should reconsider the thought. They are huge here, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. Women wear tight fitted clothing (like everywhere) and some kind of support system that makes their chest stick out like a male erection. Finally, women are on par! Only kidding.
No one seems to mind that there is so much graffiti on the buildings that line the roads. Maybe they do mind, but no one seems to bother covering it up. I have to say, a lot of it is really impressive. Chelsea has been taking pictures of it, so if you’re interested, refer to her photo albums on the Faus when she uploads them. Art does exist in this culture, but not how one would think. There are a lot of places in towns that sell painted souvenirs and handmade bracelets (beautiful!), in addition to the evasive paintings on the walls of abandoned homes. There are galleries, but I doubt people attend them. I’ve visited the National Theater in downtown San Jose and there are some really pretty statues. The theater holds orchestras but as far as I can tell, no live theater. That is a bummer.
It is perfectly normal to see someone just laying on the sidewalk trying to catch a few hours of sleep before waking up to their life without many privileges. In addition, there are people who are trying to sell their different things (pork rinds, tortilla chips, cell phone cases, newspapers, etc.) in the streets—I don’t know how well it works, but if it works for them it works. There are also the select few who have to neat talent of being able to either ride a unicycle or juggle bowling pins. I’ve only seen two performers who can do both. These people also work on the streets, showing off for the cars that are stopped at traffic lights and collecting any money they can.
Costa Rica is a strange place. I like it here, but I’m ready to come home.
It seems that wherever I go, I get stared at for standing out just a little. Whether it be my gaudily stripped t-shirt, or my rolled up, Capri-like skinny jeans. People are always staring. Oddly enough, most of the males have either a Mohawk or a rattail hanging from the back of their heads. That is what they should be concerned about. If you thought boobs were big in Utah, you should reconsider the thought. They are huge here, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. Women wear tight fitted clothing (like everywhere) and some kind of support system that makes their chest stick out like a male erection. Finally, women are on par! Only kidding.
No one seems to mind that there is so much graffiti on the buildings that line the roads. Maybe they do mind, but no one seems to bother covering it up. I have to say, a lot of it is really impressive. Chelsea has been taking pictures of it, so if you’re interested, refer to her photo albums on the Faus when she uploads them. Art does exist in this culture, but not how one would think. There are a lot of places in towns that sell painted souvenirs and handmade bracelets (beautiful!), in addition to the evasive paintings on the walls of abandoned homes. There are galleries, but I doubt people attend them. I’ve visited the National Theater in downtown San Jose and there are some really pretty statues. The theater holds orchestras but as far as I can tell, no live theater. That is a bummer.
It is perfectly normal to see someone just laying on the sidewalk trying to catch a few hours of sleep before waking up to their life without many privileges. In addition, there are people who are trying to sell their different things (pork rinds, tortilla chips, cell phone cases, newspapers, etc.) in the streets—I don’t know how well it works, but if it works for them it works. There are also the select few who have to neat talent of being able to either ride a unicycle or juggle bowling pins. I’ve only seen two performers who can do both. These people also work on the streets, showing off for the cars that are stopped at traffic lights and collecting any money they can.
Costa Rica is a strange place. I like it here, but I’m ready to come home.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Volcano Is A Cool Word. Just Sayin'.
I finally have internet here in my house which makes me feel like the 20 dollar flash drive I bought seem like a waste. Especially considering it has a tiny memory.
Saturday we woke up early to ride in a bathroom-equipped tour bus for four hours. Had it not been pee ready, I would have been significantly more upset about the fact. We were heading in the up direction that took us on a mountain. Every so often the conversation (which consisted of us bitching and complaining about our Tika misfortunes) would slow and I would find myself gazing out the window. Mostly I saw poor people and farms. Every once in a while, I’d see a goat or a puppy and exclaim, “Hi, puppy!” but only when I saw the dog, not so much the horned beast. This trip is taking us to a volcano named Arenal. I don’t know many facts about the volcano otherwise I’d throw some out. What I do know is that it looks exactly as one would assume a volcano to look like, which does not always happen. If one were to Google image search the word “Arenal,” one would be pleasantly bombarded with images of a beautiful, tropical wonder. Do it.
Because the volcano is currently inactive, we went to a nearby resort called Tabacon. You can image search that too and be really jealous. Do it. After doing so, one can basically just imagine how much fun that was.
The weekend excursions were limited this past Sunday and we were to do our own thing. Being short on cash and a little more frugal than I’ve been, I joined a few friends who were heading to a beach that was about four dollars away. I don’t remember the name of the beach, but it was shit. And two of my friends got robbed. One lost her eight hundred dollar camera that was purchased solely for this trip, and the other lost her entire bag. It contained things such as her wallet (card included—that was a fun time trying to cancel it from the beach), her camera, and the clothes she planned to wear on top of her swimming suit. All bullshit things aside, I bought a few souvenirs and got a little drunk from my Gogogadget-flask. I know I say “Best. Idea (Invention). Ever.” A lot, but sometimes you just cannot go without saying it.
I miss people more that I lead on. I miss my friends, and I miss my family. I miss fireworks and I miss being in Utah. I really hope everyone is doing well and still having fun without me. I know it is a difficult task, but being without you isn’t exactly easy either. I love you all. Keep me updated and keep reading my updates.
Derek! ;D
Saturday we woke up early to ride in a bathroom-equipped tour bus for four hours. Had it not been pee ready, I would have been significantly more upset about the fact. We were heading in the up direction that took us on a mountain. Every so often the conversation (which consisted of us bitching and complaining about our Tika misfortunes) would slow and I would find myself gazing out the window. Mostly I saw poor people and farms. Every once in a while, I’d see a goat or a puppy and exclaim, “Hi, puppy!” but only when I saw the dog, not so much the horned beast. This trip is taking us to a volcano named Arenal. I don’t know many facts about the volcano otherwise I’d throw some out. What I do know is that it looks exactly as one would assume a volcano to look like, which does not always happen. If one were to Google image search the word “Arenal,” one would be pleasantly bombarded with images of a beautiful, tropical wonder. Do it.
Because the volcano is currently inactive, we went to a nearby resort called Tabacon. You can image search that too and be really jealous. Do it. After doing so, one can basically just imagine how much fun that was.
The weekend excursions were limited this past Sunday and we were to do our own thing. Being short on cash and a little more frugal than I’ve been, I joined a few friends who were heading to a beach that was about four dollars away. I don’t remember the name of the beach, but it was shit. And two of my friends got robbed. One lost her eight hundred dollar camera that was purchased solely for this trip, and the other lost her entire bag. It contained things such as her wallet (card included—that was a fun time trying to cancel it from the beach), her camera, and the clothes she planned to wear on top of her swimming suit. All bullshit things aside, I bought a few souvenirs and got a little drunk from my Gogogadget-flask. I know I say “Best. Idea (Invention). Ever.” A lot, but sometimes you just cannot go without saying it.
I miss people more that I lead on. I miss my friends, and I miss my family. I miss fireworks and I miss being in Utah. I really hope everyone is doing well and still having fun without me. I know it is a difficult task, but being without you isn’t exactly easy either. I love you all. Keep me updated and keep reading my updates.
Derek! ;D
Enhancing My Thoughts (Or Destroying My Analysis) Seven Literally Masterpieces At a Time. J.K.
Imagine you’re walking through a forest; A forest of your choosing. The tree’s are as you see them. They may be tall, short, green, brown, or even blue. They may have a lot of branches are leaves, or they may have very little. The trees that I imagine are very tall. They’ve got little to no branches, and what they do have lie at the very top of the trunk. One has to really squint to see them, especially considering that the light shining through is more dominant than the obscurity blocking it. The roots that these grey trees are feeding from are large and overgrown. They once moved like water to wherever they wanted, but they’ve since found refuge in a place most comfortable to them. The obstacles that these tree roots have created are easy to move about, but it isn’t without effort; they’re everywhere.
I realize I have no reason for walking in a forest when I am suddenly stopped by the sight of a pot. A pot, as a closer look proves, a cauldron lies in the middle of my path. Not one someone might try cooking with, but brewing instead. The pot is about the size of a flesh covered skull and is made of copper. The rustic look it gives makes it look as though someone has tried brewing in it before, making it look both worn and black.
I could have easily walked around the pot, or cauldron as it may be, but I felt as though that would have defeated the purpose of the walk. This cauldron is in my path for a reason, but whatever the reason, I know not why. I have two choices: I can either keep in on me and pick it up, or step around it and continue on my path. I consider both options and decide to step to my left and continue through the sea of wooden legs. Had the trees been planet in a lineage fashion, my walk would be determined for me, as stepping diagonally or zigzag would feel unnatural, but as they’ve grown wherever they have, this is not the case. I can step wherever I want and that mind set is what led me to this river. I don’t know where it came from or why it is here, but it is in my way. I suspect passersby usually drown in it due to the fact that it is both wide and assumedly deep. But, being learned in the magical arts, I simply wave my wand and a bridge appears. I cross with ease and continue on my destination less journey.
After having crossed the river, the thought of my journey strikes me again. Where am I going? Where am I coming from? Where ever it is, I hope it is different than this forest; it gives me goose bumps. I ponder a little more on where I am when A wall comes straight for me. This is definitely the most difficult task I’ve encountered on this trek. The wall is neither climbable nor destroyable. I don’t know where it begins, ends, or hides. Using a spell I read about in a book, I make a small incision in the white brick in front of me. Doing this gives me the opportunity to peer through to the other side. Honestly, it isn’t much more appealing than where I am at. It looks as though there is a sunless desert on the other side with trees that are rotting and falling apart. The sand is grey just as the sky is. It is both freezing cold and oven hot at the same time, or so it seems. This cannot be what the other side looks like, surely... But I’ve been wrong before.
Upon analysis, the forest and trees represent how I see life. I see life as a dark and decrepit place, as we have it. There isn’t much life around, just things above me. The taller the trees, the more problems one might have. I’m told that if the trees were linear, life would be more smooth sailing because there aren’t very many reasons to keep you off track. Not only were they not, the roots also kept me on my toes. The pot is a representation of a love life. The bigger the pot, the closer to matrimony one is. If the pot is carried to the river, a matrimony will be well welcomed. The river is sex. I don’t remember exactly what
he said about it, but I like to think that if it is deep then so is her vagina. Mostly because I think that is funny... There was something to be said about if one was able to swim across it, step on rocks to get across, or find a broken tree, and cross it on foot. I don’t think the analysis had anything to say about magic. It is said that what you see on the other side of the wall is what you believe the afterlife to be. I guess it just goes to show you that I am a bitter soul—which is basically exactly how my day has been. I woke up way too early.
Derek Williamson
XOXOXO
P.S. I miss my Monkee. :( Me estran(~)o mi mono.
I realize I have no reason for walking in a forest when I am suddenly stopped by the sight of a pot. A pot, as a closer look proves, a cauldron lies in the middle of my path. Not one someone might try cooking with, but brewing instead. The pot is about the size of a flesh covered skull and is made of copper. The rustic look it gives makes it look as though someone has tried brewing in it before, making it look both worn and black.
I could have easily walked around the pot, or cauldron as it may be, but I felt as though that would have defeated the purpose of the walk. This cauldron is in my path for a reason, but whatever the reason, I know not why. I have two choices: I can either keep in on me and pick it up, or step around it and continue on my path. I consider both options and decide to step to my left and continue through the sea of wooden legs. Had the trees been planet in a lineage fashion, my walk would be determined for me, as stepping diagonally or zigzag would feel unnatural, but as they’ve grown wherever they have, this is not the case. I can step wherever I want and that mind set is what led me to this river. I don’t know where it came from or why it is here, but it is in my way. I suspect passersby usually drown in it due to the fact that it is both wide and assumedly deep. But, being learned in the magical arts, I simply wave my wand and a bridge appears. I cross with ease and continue on my destination less journey.
After having crossed the river, the thought of my journey strikes me again. Where am I going? Where am I coming from? Where ever it is, I hope it is different than this forest; it gives me goose bumps. I ponder a little more on where I am when A wall comes straight for me. This is definitely the most difficult task I’ve encountered on this trek. The wall is neither climbable nor destroyable. I don’t know where it begins, ends, or hides. Using a spell I read about in a book, I make a small incision in the white brick in front of me. Doing this gives me the opportunity to peer through to the other side. Honestly, it isn’t much more appealing than where I am at. It looks as though there is a sunless desert on the other side with trees that are rotting and falling apart. The sand is grey just as the sky is. It is both freezing cold and oven hot at the same time, or so it seems. This cannot be what the other side looks like, surely... But I’ve been wrong before.
Upon analysis, the forest and trees represent how I see life. I see life as a dark and decrepit place, as we have it. There isn’t much life around, just things above me. The taller the trees, the more problems one might have. I’m told that if the trees were linear, life would be more smooth sailing because there aren’t very many reasons to keep you off track. Not only were they not, the roots also kept me on my toes. The pot is a representation of a love life. The bigger the pot, the closer to matrimony one is. If the pot is carried to the river, a matrimony will be well welcomed. The river is sex. I don’t remember exactly what
he said about it, but I like to think that if it is deep then so is her vagina. Mostly because I think that is funny... There was something to be said about if one was able to swim across it, step on rocks to get across, or find a broken tree, and cross it on foot. I don’t think the analysis had anything to say about magic. It is said that what you see on the other side of the wall is what you believe the afterlife to be. I guess it just goes to show you that I am a bitter soul—which is basically exactly how my day has been. I woke up way too early.
Derek Williamson
XOXOXO
P.S. I miss my Monkee. :( Me estran(~)o mi mono.
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