I am disgusted.

Right now the Bush twins are on tv, and I want to crush my head under the car.

They are playing the "cute, sassy, and dumb" card. They're dropping first names now. Dick, Condi, Karen . . . I am going to call D right now. This is too outragous. They are now pretending like their speech writers know popular music.

Elisabeth Dole spoke earlier tonight. It's clearer than ever now that there are two Americas; the real one, and the one the republicans imagine.

It makes me want to wretch.

The torch is out, the Olympics are over.

Time to change the channel. I'm thinking about it.

I'm lazy. I don't feel like putting away the clean dishes. I don't feel like replacing the garbage sack. I don't feel like fixing the trickly toilet downstairs. I don't feel like doing the laundry or changing the sheets. I don't feel like vacuuming or picking up the dirty socks on the living room floor. I don't feel like watering the dry tomato. If I had a jacuzzi, I wouldn't feel like sitting in it.

I don't even feel like changing the channel, but I guess you gotta start somewhere.

Yesterday was the faculty/staff picnic to kick off the year. I skipped, of course, but two of my coleagues called me from the event, telling me to come and show up. I said 'no' because I had to go to the frame shop to get my Guatamalan paintings framed.

Back in Guatemala, I was shopping for painting in Panajachel; one of the types of paintings they sell is an overhead shot of Mayans working, either in the field or at the market. So you see all the vegegtables or fruits that they're picking, you see the shoulders of the Mayans in their traditional costumes; occasionaly a worker will look up at the artist.

So I found a couple of paintings that I really, really liked: one was a fruit market, and the other was a flower market. I thought my Mama might like them. There are tons of artists that copy this form; the two I picked out were real oil paintings with texture and blending. You can see the mangos turning from green to red.

The lady would not come down to two for Q300. I wasn't going to pay more, especially since I was out of money. So I hemmed and hawed, and said I really like them, they're really nice, but . . . I needed to get out of the shop. So I said, maybe I'll be back, I have to ask "la mujer." I'm going to go talk to the little woman.

So I left the shop and started walking down the street, and I saw three women from my group. They asked me what was going on, and promptly volunteered, each of them, to be "la mujer." Besides, they wanted to see these paintings. Since they couldn't all three be "la mujer," E decided to do it; besides, we could chat in French.

So we went back into the shop all together, speaking French. The others poked around, and were a stressfull distraction to the shop keeper. We hemmed, we hawed, and in the end E decided there were three that she like as well; one was a flower harvest, and the other was a corn harvest. There was also a coffee been harvest, but she decided she could live without it.

So I want two, E wants two. L chimes in, and asks the shopkeeper if we could have all for for Q600; she agreed, and we were all happy, since I got the original Q300 price that I wanted.

So now I'm back in Seattle, and going to the frame shop is my excuse for not going to the faculty/staff picnic. I find me a frame shop in Seattle that's open on Saturday until 7pm; I pack the canvasses in to the car and I'm on my way.

When I get there, this blonde guy just starts pulling the samples off the wall, just pulling and pulling, he might have pulled two dozen samples off the wall. I just kept saying, no, something simpler, something simpler, something smaller, something simpler. Smaller. Simpler.

Finally, we found something I liked, and he measured and punched his calculator, and said Ok, that will be $103.

Ok, I said.

So times two, that will be $206, he says.

Yikes!

I agreed, but told him that in Guatemala, I haggled the price down to under $50 for both paintings.

He said, wow, you have good haggling skills!

I said, yah, but they're not going to help me today, are they?

No.

So I paid my deposit and left. I'll pick them up in two weeks.

After that I drove north to meet my friends at the Crest to see Harry Potter III. As I get off the freeway, I notice there's some congestion due to a car that's smoking out of control.

Is that R? Hey R!

So my friend's car is smoking, and I got his attention. I though about just arriving to the movie on time, but . . . . So I turned the car around and offered my services.

We don't need anything, says R, AAA is on their way.

I ask, what you doing this far north?

He says, we were on our way to the Crest to see "Control Room."

Oh! I was going to meet my friends to see Harry Potter!

Well, he says, if I need you, I'll know where to find you.

So I got back in the car and headed back to the Crest. Of course, I honked at R when I passed them again, and then pointed and laughed. He waved back.

Finally, I got to the Crest; my friends were waiting for me with my ticket. How was the faculty/staff picnic?

Yech, it was awful, you should be glad you missed it.

They're right.

Olympics is about to end--I'm watching Closing Ceremonies right now on CBC--and I have to say that I saw way too much synchronized diving, and thankfully absolutley no rhythmic gymnastics or synchronized swimming. I was subjected to trampoline. I was disappointed by Tae Kwan Do (not enough kicking and jumping) but was absolutely delighted by judo. Especially women's judo!

Right now there is an entire country clapping in 7/8 time.

Here's another one of my Mama's stories. It's too bad she doesn't live in San Francisco with her brother and sisters; she'd have a funny story every day.

On the day that we brought uncle Johnny home, we decided to walk to the shopping mall located across the road from their house to buy food. The Chinese
restaurant that served cook-to-order was closed. We went to the other place that
has turo-turo, ready to serve food. We pointed at the chicken with double mushroom, beef with chinese greens, fried rice and pancit.

While eating I noticed a smell suggesting that one of the dishes might not befit to eat anymore. I sniffed, auntie Rosaling sniffed, then I said did you bring any immodium with you? The two of us were in denial and were determinedto satisfy our hunger no matter what until uncle Rey took one bite of the pancit just to spit it back out. He confirmed our suspicion. We said we will return the spoiled pancit and get a refund.

We finished eating, then auntie Rosaling and I walked back to the store to return
the spoiled pancit. She was walking in front of me but we were conversing. Then I saw a lady standing in front of a hair salon. I stopped momentarily to ask her: "Are you a hairdresser?" She said "Hair Palace" in a Vietnamese accent. Again I said, 'Are you a hair dresser?'" She again replied,"Hair Palace", in her native accent. I said, "do you work in there?"pointing inside the shop. She said "yes". I said are you a hair stylist? She said"yes". "Are you good?" Of course she said "yes". I asked,"how much do you charge for a haircut?" She said "twelve dollah".

Okay, so I went in. She gave me to another hairdresser after they spoke in Vietnamese. Maybe she did not like me right away because I asked too many questions.

Meanwhile, auntie Rosalinda kept walking towards the food store. She kept talking thinking that I was still behind her. I don't know how many people shemet alomg the way. People might have thought she was ambagel (psychotic) . After she returned the spoiled food, she came back the same route and wondered where I had disappeared to. Then she saw me sitting on the hairdresser's chair having a
haircut.

So she said to me, "Pakad ko no wadman kad beneg ko, salita ak lan salita, anggapo ka manaya!" (I thought you were behind following me. I did not realize you were gone and I kept talking!") I laughed and she sat down and waited for me and we walked back to uncle Johnny's house. This time, I walked beside her so she won't be mistaken of talking to herself. Wouldn't be funny if I pulled a joke on her on the way back? HeHeHe!!!!!

Pay Attention

My white friends always tell me they like going out to eat asian food with me because there are no rules.

There are rules, children, just not yo' rules. So pay attention. You may have been making an idiot of yourself.

You are eating rice.
Before we start, if you are eating asian food, then you are eating rice and something. You will be ordering something to compliment your rice. Rice is the given. Anything you order besides rice is meant to flavor your rice. The vast majority of dishes that you order were created to go with rice. They do not make sense without rice.

If there is no rice on your table, you are not having a meal; it is just a snack. In the 70s my family would go out for pizza; afterwards we'd go home and eat rice. In the 80s, we would order pizza, and my dad would say, "Ok, pizza's on it's way! Better make rice!" No, we did not eat pizza and rice; but there had to be rice at least at the table.

Fried rice is a kind of rice. Generally, it is what you do with your leftover rice. It is homestyle food; it is not very sophisticated. Do not order it if you want to impress someone.

Chinese for dinner.
Check your menu. If it does not say "Individual Combos" or something like that, you will have to order family style. You are not at Burger King; get over it.

First, put your menu down. You must appoint a dictator. If you order democratically, i.e., go around the table and let everyone choose a dish, you will end up with 5 kinds of chicken and no vegetables. Chinese food is not well served by democracy.

If you are the dictator, your job is to order a good meal. If you are not the dictator, you may either lobby the dictator (especially if s/he is incompetant), or you may leave it to the dictator.

A normal order will have one or two kinds of meat, a lot of vegetable options, and steamed rice. If you order correctly, your vegetarian friends will eat well. If you order incorrectly, you will have too many main dishes and not enough sides.

The rice bowl is for rice. Put your rice in it. There is soy sauce on the table because white people like to soy sauce their rice. This is what asians consider "gross." GROSS!

Rice is meant to be sticky. If it's not sticky, you can't eat it with chopsticks. If you soy sauce your rice (GROSS!) it will lose it's sticky. Also that soy sauce will clash miserably with almost every sauce that your food comes with.

You will notice that your rice bowl fits nicely in the palm of your hand. That is because it is meant to be held in the palm of your hand. PICK YOUR RICE BOWL UP OFF THE TABLE. If they didn't want you to pick it up off the table, they would not have made it that size and shape.

You should learn to use chopsticks; it's not hard. Ask your server. If you're not comfortable, use your spoon; you'll look like a child, but it is acceptable. You should never need a fork or knife; everything is bite-sized. If you decide you can't live without your fork and knife, don't be embarassed to ask; however, don't order noodle soup. Noodle soup can only be eaten with chopsticks and asian soup spoon.

At Chinese restaurants (and/or homes) you eat the food as it arrives; you DO NOT wait until everyone is served. Confucious say: Better a man wait for food than food wait for a man.

You may now start eating. If you're in China, you might pick a bite of food directly off the serving dish and put it on your rice. Then, you'll lift the rice bowl close to your face and put that bite of food into your mouth with your chopsticks.

If you are not in China, you'll have to make a plate. When want food, PICK THE DISH UP OFF OF THE LAZY SUSAN. Offer to serve the people around you; then serve yourself. Do NOT spin spin spin spin spin the susan, and then serve yourself from the susan; it prevents others from serving themselves.

Tea should be served the same way; serve everyone around you first. NOTE: drinking a lot of hot tea cuts through the greasy/salty in your mouth and in your gut. It will keep you from getting the runs. If you are at a table for four or less, the youngest person should keep everyone's tea cup filled. You may thank the person for pouring by tapping three fingers on the table.

If you ordered fried rice, eat it off your plate with your spoon. If you ordered a big bowl of noodle soup, lean over the bowl, grab a single bite of noodles with your chopsticks; your soup spoon should be in your other hand to help the noodles into your mouth.

If at any reason your rice has become sauced and has lost it's sticky, put down your chopsticks and use your spoon.

When your done eating, your chopsticks should be matched and parallel over your rice bowl.

Jinx!
Don't ever stand your chopsticks up in a bowl of food. Don't point with your chopsticks. Don't let your kid play drums with chopsticks. Don't ever use just one chopstick to poke something. Don't do the walrus tusks; would you do that with spoons or knives? Stupid. Gross. You look like an idiot. Very original. Yah, take a picture. Fascinating.

Japanese dinner
Unlike at the Chinese restaurant, you'll probably wait for everyone to be served. You'll notice that it's not family style, and that your rice bowl is bigger and heavier. That means you don't pick it up. However, you'll still be eating over your rice bowl. Put it in front of you.

Your miso soup is served in a special bowl that goes to your mouth without a spoon. If there's stuff in it, like noodles or tofu or seaweed, dig it out with your chopsticks. By the way, miso is a side dish, not a soup course.

Nigiri sushi? You may prepare your sauce dish with wasabi and soy sauce, although it's not considered very elegant. Put your nigiri FISH SIDE DOWN into your sauce dish; otherwise your rice ball will disintegrate.

If you are serving yourself from a common source (i.e., wasabi, ginger, shared appetizers), Japanese people like to serve themselves with the backs of their chopsticks, so as to not contaminate other people's food with the mouth-end of their chopsticks.

When you're done with your food, your disposable chopsticks go back in their little paper sleeve, so the server doesn't have to touch them.

For teriyaki: ask the server to put the sauce on the side, or no sauce at all. Real teriyaki is a cooking technique and marinade, not a sauce. Sauce is purely for white people. If you forget and end up with saucy rice, pick up your spoon, put the chopsticks in the other hand, and eat with the spoon.

Japanese restaurants sometimes serve curry with rice on the same plate. In this case, use your spoon as above with your chopsticks in the other hand to move stuff into your spoon.

You are never expected to eat saucy rice off a plate with your chopsticks.

Korean and Vietamese cuisines are also chopsticky. It is a great sign of respect (especially to Koreans) if you clean your bowl or plate of every last grain of rice.

Thai, Filipino, and Indian cuisines are not chopsticky (although they'll give you chopsticks if you ask). You should eat with a spoon, with your fork in your other hand to push food into your spoon.

Filipino and Indian cuisines also have some pretty important non-utensil techniques. Ask your friends to show you. In the mean time, CUT YOUR NAILS. There should be ZERO room for food to collect under there.

Ok! Eat now!

My friend D is a better writer than most of us. Her essay about her hair http://eratoscreed.blogspot.com/ is a masterpiece.

D wrote some really nice things about me in her blog, so I feel obliged to respond with something equally as gracious. And I really, really would love to write something nice about her, and I could, because she does kick ass. But I'd really rather write about how crazy she gets.

Not today, though. In the future. Just so I don't forget, here are some notes.

*Food accidents and her lack of agency
*The bat
*Michigan Militia or Oprah?
*The club
*She ate out of my bowl
*D's role in Emergency Week (emergency food, emergency underwear)
*I don't understand email
*kuh-kuh-kuh!
*You know she likes porn
*I shave it!
*Lost baby carrot
*Cellist and the masturbating neighbor

Ah, damn, I'm cracking myself up. There are more stories to tell. I love you, D!

I have a rule that when I travel, I don't let other people dictate where I'm going, especially when they what they want to do is waste their time in an indecisive group, especially when what they end up doing is going to McDonalds. I figure that I didn't spend my hard earned money to go so far from home to let other people dictate the terms of my experience.

Auntie Baby N is the same way. After we all overate, and everyone else had left to go watch tv, Auntie Baby N stayed at the table with me and told me stories.

A few years ago, her friend told her to join her on a cruise. She had the money at the time, but was afraid to blow it all on a trip, so she spent the money on other stuff. Then her coworker told her, you know, you may not get another chance! So she changed her mind, and charged the cruise to her credit card.

The cruise went from Rome to Greece, to Israel, to Egypt, in 17 days. They spent most of the time on the ship, which she got sick of, but when they got into port, there was a bus waiting for them. Tour guides took them around after that to see the sights.

The guides also take them to jewelry stores because they get a percentage of whatever the tourist bus buys. In Italy, a guide took them to a jewelry store and they stayed for a long time, but in the end the tourists didn't buy much. So after that, the guide took them to another jewelry store! Well, the tourists refused to get off the bus, so the guide told them to screw off and got off the bus. That was the end of the tour; the driver took them back to the ship.

Then, when they were in Athens, they had some free time to climb up to the Acropolis. Well, one guy decided he didn't want to go. He was scared of heights ever since he had run his car off the road and ended up teetering off the edge of a cliff. So the guy told the group that he would wait for them below. Apparently, everyone in the group felt bad for him, and they decided not to go up either. So then Auntie Baby N, said I'm going! and she took off up the hill, muttering under her breath, I did not charge this trip to my credit card and travel all this way on a boat to NOT see the Acropolis. So she went, and she's glad she did.

She also went to Israel, and she's glad she did, because the next year, Isreal was no longer a tourist destination due to the intifada. She says Tel Aviv was cleaner and nicer than American cities.

And then she went to Egypt, saw the pyramids, etc. While on excursion, they were offered the chance to ride a camel. Everyone said, oh no, that's ok. Nobody wanted to ride the camel. So then Auntie Baby N said, I'm going! and she took the seat behind the camel driver, muttering under her breath, I did not charge this trip to my credit card and travel all this way on the boat to NOT take a camel ride. So she got on the camel.

Camels are tall.

When the camel stood up, Auntie Baby N got dizzy. I'm afraid of heights, she told me, not afraid of being in a tall building, but afraid of falling. I can't stand at the edge of a ledge and look down. So she asked the driver to put her down.

We'll just go a little way, he says.

No! Put me down now! Put me down! Put me down! Putmedownputmedownputme DOWN!

So finally, the driver kneeled the camel, and Auntie Baby N got off. She was very relieved.

Then somebody said, what's that on your jacket?

She turned around to look, and there was a big clump of crap on her back. What is it? It's a poo! There's a poo on the back of her jacket! When she got of the camel and was standing beside it, the camel had poo'ed and then with it's tail, had flung it onto her back.

Gross! A camel poo on your back!

You know what, says Auntie Baby N, it didn't smell! It didn't smell bad! Camels don't eat meat.

The camel is a vegetarian?

Yah! Even the poo was like a vegetable!

She removed the jacket, rolled it into a ball, and then threw it away. I couldn't keep the jacket! she said.

Gross, Auntie.

She invited C and I to go eat at her place. We're definately going.

I have very little desire to recount the horrifying tales of how I rescued my condo association from the looming spectre of cluster f*ck. Maybe someday I will. For now, these are the lessons learned: a) white people and chinese people should learn to communicate and get along, and b) T is either a psychotic freak or an evil genius. Don't worry, though, because we're not going to let her rent, and we will collect her back dues.

Also, I have a special talent for diplomacy.

Change of subject.

Friday afternoon I hopped in the car with C to go visit grandma. When we got there after 45 minutes of traffic, we found grandma in the nursing home parking lot with a pirate's hat on her head. The staff was throwing a family picnic with a 'Pirates of the Carribbean' theme. It is so sad and sadistic to dress the elderly in cheap costume; the absolute hillarity of it all is suprisingly complex.

Grandma was talkative, and insisted on trying to feed herself corn on the cob. No success, but she was trying all sorts of new things. She had some bbq chicken and some goldfish crackers. Apparently she's refusing to eat the purreed food now, which means she's going to have to make a committment to put in her teeth every day. She was wearing her glasses, so she was able to read some fo the signs in the parking lot ("carpool parking only!").

Apparently she was screaming "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!" but there was a nurse there who calmed her down in Ilokano--you're not going to die, mama, you just have diarrhea.

Another time, she was asking for Lori. Lori? and they sad, R, you're going to have to talk in English, because we can't understand that mumbo-jumbo. Grandma said "I AM speaking English! I want LORI!"

Mumbo-jumbo, of course, is racist for 'Ilokano.'

I stayed the night at Auntie R's. Uncle E's neices and nephews are there, and they're happy to do all the cooking and cleaning. B practices her English on me when no one else is around.

They made a tub load of pansit bihon and some beef bbq for dinner, which we packed up when we got a call that Lola N had 48 hours to live. After her stroke and a few months of nursing home care, her diabetes went undiagnosed, and a would on her foot became gangrenous. So now her blood is infected, and the best they can do is give her morphene for the pain.

All of those V*********s are in Seattle to say goodbye. It's good to see everyone, and I'm glad I was there for her annointing. My family is 50 or 60 times funnier than other families, even when they're sad. The best is all the sisters, aunties who are in their 50s and 60s who still tease each other like they're 12.

My parents are going to the Bay Area to visit Uncle J.

I believe tomorrow is my last day of summer. It's already raining cats and dogs.

Thursday is payday; it's the day I start Atkins again. Friday I have classes. Yech.

I love my mama's stories about her and her kuyang:

When we were kids Your uncle Johnny would borrow a dime from me. He would say (in Pangasinan): "Ading, can I borrow your dime? I will pay you back." I would say "okay" and loan him a dime then he never paid me back!

Sometimes he would say, "Ading, let's go pick some guavas. I will climb and pick and you catch them when I throw them down ." So we went. I would catch the guavas with my dress as a "net". I was the "kid pulot" (pick up kid).

Then he would come down and we would divide the guavas. We would put them in one big pile and he would begin to split them, supposedly equal so he said. We would sit under the guava tree and he would start like this:

kienmo- kienko,
kienmo-kienko,
kienmo-kienko,
kienko-kienko-kienmo,
kienko-kienko- kienko-kienmo

one for you, one for me
one for you, one for me
one for you one for me
one for me, one for me, one for you
one for me, one for me, one for you

When I protested that he was not dividing it equally, he would say well he did the most difficult and riskiest job. So I agreed, I thought that was fair enough. We did not fight. I figured there were more than enough and could not have eaten all of my share anyway.

About the corn (maize). On Saturday mornings we would walk to the market to buy some yummy food. Some of them would buy bibinka or puto or other yummies. We would eat in the market or while we walked home. My favorite was maize. Sometimes my brother would also buy maize for himself . He was a fast eater and he would finish eating his maize before I could even start on mine. I was always a slow eater and by the time we start walking home I would still be taking my time eating my maize.

My brother would walk beside me and would say "Ading, can I have a small bite of your maize? I would say " okay, you can bite a little only". He would say "okay" then I'd hand him my maize and by the time he gave it back to me there would only be one bite left for me! I never got mad. But he did it everytime!

On one of our morning walks to the market, I kept my distance in anticipation that he would ask for a "tinsy winsy" bite out of my corn. When he approached me I started running away and he started chasing me. I still had a lot of bites left on my corn but this time I thought I 'd rather sacrifice my corn than be taken advantaged of. When he cought up with me I threw the whole nice yummy corn to the ground. He could no longer eat it, of course, and that was the end of his maize eating bullying trick on me! Everyone thought the maize was "sayang". (They felt bad that it was wasted.) I felt proud. I stopped the bully!

Ping!

So we all wandered through the jade factory past the workshop into a seating area. We were not that excited, as Leo had just walked us all over Antigua, and this part of the tour seemed pretty gift-shoppy. This big hippy-looking white woman showed up and told us we have to touch everything. She then took out a steel mallet and hit a rock with it, and said �jade.� The hammer bounced off the rock with a bright �ping.� She hit several other rocks with the mallet, and each time it bounced off, she said �jade.� Finally, she hit another rock, which absorbed the energy of the mallet; it just went �thud.� Not jade, just a rock.

Jade is super hard; which is why Asians and Mayans alike consider it to be a sign of permanence and eternity. Westerners think of diamonds; Asians and Mayans think of jade. To work with it takes something geologically harder; nowadays, they use dimond-cutting machinery to cut the jade. Workers use a lot of water and wear surgical masks to avoid dust.

Ok, she said, everyone has to hit the rock! So "ping!" I hit the rocks and put the mallet down.

She started giving us a geological and chemical explanation of jade and jadite and all the other kinds of jade and all the other kinds of fake jade, and we realized she was not just a tour guide. �Why isn�t anyone hitting the rock? You have to hit the rock!� Our group was trying to be polite, but she really wanted everyone to experience hitting the rock.

She showed us all kinds of samples, passed them out to us like they were candy. She insisted that we touch everything on all surfaces. The real jade was extremely heavy and had a glassy texture. The fake stuff was light and greasy. Her name is Dr. Mary Lou Ridinger; jade specialist and mine-owner. Her story appeared in National Geographic.

Then she told us the story. In the 70s, she went to Guatemala and asked around where all the ancient Mayan jade came from. The Guatemalans said, oh we took it from the Mayan tombs. And where did the Mayans get it? No one knew. On top of that, the Guatemalans did not believe there was any more jade left. They treated the archeologists like they were idiots for wanting to find jade in their country.

So Dr. Ridinger asked for government permission to look for jade; they laughed and said sure whatever, and even gave them the licenses for mining, processing, and selling.

Anyway, Dr. Ridinger found an ancient mine, and since none of the Guatemalans knew what to do, she bought it for herself. She kept looking though, because from the artifacts they knew that there were six sources of jadite. By 2004 she had found and bought all six.

By this point, we had all stopped to listen, and she told us to keep touching. Keep touching! Apparently, jadite dulls when it�s not touched; that�s why she insisted that we touch everything everywhere . . . especially in the gift shop; that deep bright shine comes from human contact.

She talked about some of the constraints she had on her business; she won�t sell raw jade to China or Japan since there�s so much fake jade there, the prices will go down; she employs Guatemalans at all stages in production and selling; like a good archeologist she insists that the work they do be replicas of the ancient Mayan work, not Buddha. Her company has become a blessing to the Guatemalan people who are employed by it and who benefit from the cultural revival.

On the tour through the museum, I asked her how I could tell the difference between real and fake jadite. She said that she was one of only 4 people in the world who can tell by sight. The reason why is that in the 70s she spent thousands of hours dropping jade samples into heavy liquids. After months of that, she realized she could start to tell by sight what was jade and what was not; she only dropped every other sample to make sure she was still on track; then every 5th sample, every 10th sample . . . .

When she tells people this, they cross themselves, because heavy liquids are highly toxic and you have to wear a gas mask nowadays to get anywhere near it; of course she just had it on her kitchen table with no protection.

Anyway, the funny part is that since she became able to tell jade by sight, she�s walked through many of the major museums of the world and identified all the fakes right through the display case glass. One way you could tell, she said, was that if it is behind glass and no humans are touching it, it starts looking like a crusty rock again. Jade has to be handled in order to shine; it takes a half an hour of casual touching for the shine to come back.

She said the worst was the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, one of the world�s greatest and most important archeological museums. The Aztecs demanded jade tribute from the Mayans, so there�s a lot on display there. Of course, the Mayans hated the Aztecs, so they sent them the fakest, cheapest, most brittle crap they could find. Funny! Now it�s in museum.

Anyway, Jades S.A. is her company: http://www.jademaya.com/. If you look on the internet, you�ll see that there were more characters in the Guatemala jade drama than just her, but the way she told it, it was all her. It�s a better story that way. Her granddaughter does some designing; as did Bill Clinton when he came to visit. He designed something nice for Chelsea. I asked if I could see a copy, but they were sold out at the time. They offered to cut another copy; it would take an hour. I declined politely.

Later, our tour guide took us to some ruins of 17th and 18th Century churches all over Antigua. Most people think they came down in one of the many earthquakes, but most are in ruins after being siezed and distroyed by a liberal government. All that's left is the facade, and usually the plaza in front, which the Guatemalans turn into a park with plants, trees, and benches.

Anyway, our guide was pointing out the stone work inside the churches, indeed more ornate and detailed than in Europe. Of course, our guide says, Guatemalan stone workers were used to working with jade; this stuff was nothing! So the stone columns have fine grooves in the ruins of churches.

Now the entire city is a UNESCO world heritage site, so the ruins stand as they are.

Yikes, so apparently stuff went down at the condo association while I was in Guatemala. There was a domestic violence call, a so-called music fiasco, a shouting match regarding a disputed meeting place, and three people are talking about moving out. I really should get out of here too. Maybe my cowsin M can get into one of these condos, though, and that will be the start of the V********* family compound.

I'm watching more synchronized diving, and I'm hungry. Unfortunately, I don't know what to eat.

Well, I give the Opening Ceremonies a solid 9 of 10, with my only criticism being that the art/culture portion of the show seemed to be more geared toward the camera than the stadium audience. I really dug the parade, but I'm sure it was a bore for the cheap seats.

I remember LA 84; it was lavish and decadent; Seoul 88 was Asian-exuberant (complete with bbq doves); Barcelona 92 was a groovy party. I missed Atlanta 96, and I have no memory of Syndey 00, besides Olivia Newton-John, and a torch that was all concept.

I'm watching CBC coverage; right now they're showing syncronized diving. The Chinese excel at things that involve conformity, followed by the Canadians and the Aussies.

Somebody just turned off my sprinkler!

So I'm back now from Guatemala, and I like having someone cook for me. In fact, I have no desire to cook for myself at this point, and I don't even know what to eat. I had planned to cut carbs as soon as I got back, but I don't have the energy.

Here's a short discourse on my experience with fried chicken in Central America.

August 2000. I'm in San Salvador, and there are Pollo Campero restaurants almost on every street. Where there's not, a restaurant, there's a billboard. In the street itself, there are pickups and motorcycle delivery with signs showing the cowboy hat-wearing chicken, "Pollo Campero" and the phone number--apparently there's a central dispatch. I ask my friend and international peace activist Chencho Alas what Campero is all about, and he wretches and talks about how its a disgusting, greasy, salty heart atack; basically KFC. So I assumed he wasn't taking us there.

On the flight back to Houston, every single Salvadoran man, woman, and child had some Campero to go; there was a branch right there in the airport. Since Chencho was gone, I asked the woman in front of me in line what the deal was with the Campero. She looked at me shaking her head. "You can't get this in the States. This is good fried chicken. You cannot find anything like this in the states. You can't get this at Kentucky."

July 2004. I'm in Antigua Guatemala, it's my 2nd day here, and the rest of my group hasn't arrived yet. I'm on my own for dinner. So finally, four years after that salvadorana's testimony, I'm going to see what the fuss was about. I go into the snooty looking Campero (the word "pollo" seems to have disappeared from the logo) that's just off the Parque Central, right on the shi-shi Quinta Avenida.

It looks like any other fast food restaurant with a big noisy dining room. I notice that there's a to-go counter and a big line; forget it. I ask the guard if I'm supposed to wait to be seated; he says yes. After a minute he taps me on the shoulder and tells me to sit at one of the empty tables. Fine.

I order extra crispy tipico; pechuga. When it comes, it's a stingy handfull of dead fries, some machine-made cole slaw, a roll, and a pepsi. The chicken? It's a couple of steps up from KFC, but not as good as Secret Chicken in Seattle. However, since Secret Chicken Lady has passed on (may her soul rest in peace, amen) so Campero might be a close second to Ezel's spicy.

I ask the waitress a lot of questions. Do I eat with fork and knife? no. How much do you tip in Guatemala? 10% or more. Where do I get an umbrella? turn right at the Parque and walk three blocks to the market. Do you bargain? At the market, yes. How much should I pay for an umbrella? 30Q should do it.

When I get to the market, I find me an umbrella stand and I get ready to beat the man down to 30Q. He offers me 15Q. I'm surprised, and I'm not sure what to say. I tell him fine, I don't want to bargain, and I give him his less than $2 and walk away.

August 2004. My program is over, and tomorrow we leave for Panajachel, which is a resort town in the mountains on Lake Atitlan. People call it "Pana" or smirk and call it "Gringotenango." So last day in Antigua, and I'm on my own for dinner.

I know the drill this time. I sit down, and when the waitress finally comes, I order the traditonal super; pechuga. This is basically the same as last time, but original recipe instead of crispy.

I prefer crispy.

Before I leave, my waitress from 2 weeks ago recognizes me and asks me how I've been, asks me if I've been to Peten; I say yes, even though I haven't. Have a great day, I say! You too! She is in love with me.

The first rule of working at a fried chicken restaurant should be "don't flirt with the customers." I should have told her about the umbrella.

I walk to the plaza and order a blackberry granita, which tasts like blackberry pie, and drank half of it. There is such a thing as too much blackberry granita. They should offer it with a scoop of ice cream.

I walked into the park, and a Mayan lady tries to convince me to buy a huipil. Why don't you buy from me? she asks me in English. When she hears my Spanish, she tells me to buy one for my mother, What, you don't love your mother? She follows me the length of the park, talking about how hard business has been and how I speak spanish well. I find her a group of eager Salvadorans and wish her well. Otro dia, pues.

I'm going to buy some picamas.

Hi everyone, it's been a long time since I've posted. It's hot today, but I don't really notice.

Today I showed up for class at 2pm; the waiter told me I was the first to arrive . . . since the class didn't start until 4pm. Whoops.

Today I bought some more gifts for myself. I also had Fernando make me a cacao.

Last night I let J talk me into meeting them at a bar. We went to Rick's Bar, which was noisy, but had cheap cuba libres. Then we crawled to el Mono Loco, where cuba libres were two for one, and there was a drawing for a free beer with each purchase of cuba libre. I drew "quiz", and answered the question correctly ("the Manhattan Project") which got me a Gallito. J proceeded to win the caption contest; he used his 50Q voucher to buy a round for everyone at the bar. I got critical acclaim for my limerick entry in the poetry contest, but not the popular vote. Then we crawled to the Casbah, where a guy was either hitting on me or trying to pick a fight. I just put my hands up and said "ok!" and he left me alone. I walked home with my keys between my fingers.

There seems to be a shortage of comfortable furniture in Guatemala. Everything seems geared toward either ease of storage, low cost, and/or proper posture.

I finally managed to pay all my mortgages over the phone. I found out that online payment wasn't working because every week it seems, they sell my account to someone else. It's got to be a scam.

I owe the lavandera 10Q.