Stuck in the Mud

I just returned from the Navajo Nation in Arizona where I conducted my thesis research. Going on a nice lorry ride seemed like an integral component to my research. An afternoon spent with the remaining Anglos on the Reservation bumping along the wash, crashing through the river. The canyon walls radiated the warm southwest red and the air was spingly crisp. What I didn't plan on was getting wet. One would think you could keep your feet dry. Well so much for that. Dave our driver managed to bury the lorry to the frame and wedged the drop stair in the back into the mud. As the odd man out I got to lift it back up. Cold muddy hands--but wait there is more. In order to lift this heavy metal stair back up I step out into the river, placing my feet temptingly on a small spit of sand. I thrust the stair up and another woman latches it in place. The shifting weight throws my balance and dry feet firmly into the river. Wet shoes, wet socks, wet pants. Sometimes you just have to laugh at your predicament.

Real or Not Real?

Reality TV has finally reached a breaking point. For years we have sat idly by as plotless media was beamed at us. But now it has gone too far. The latest show, CBS's Deal or No Deal takes the cake. The show is simple. A contestant stands in the middle, surrounded by an audience. 26 sexy woman carrying shiny metal briefcases arrive. The contestant selects one; briefcase not woman. Each case is filled with an amount of money ranging from $0.01 to $2,000,000. The contestant selects 6 cases to eliminate. Each of the selected cases is opened, revealing an amount of money which is not in the contestant's case. After each round of case eliminations, "the banker" calls from his office and offers to buy the contestant's case, confronting him with the creative option of "Deal or No Deal." This continues until either the contestant sells out or the value of their case is revealed. The show has no substance and manages to eat up an hour of programming time with long pauses between case selections, banker offers, and dramatic lighting and sounds. The sexist nature with scantly clad woman encouraging you to pick them and their money is only slightly degrading. No skill, strategy, or intellect is required of the contestants. In essence it is slightly more exciting than watching a person scratch a lottery ticket. What will they come up with next?

Figure Skating Gala

So now that the Olympics are over I can finally vent. Figure skating--why is it the only thing you can watch. Is this a reflection of some underlying obsession by Americans or does it demonstrate an archaic product that media wants to prove they can shove down our throats and make us like? All I know is that I would have appreciated the opportunity to watch the men's curling team win their first ever medal. Instead I got the figure skating gala, a chance for all the medalist to skate again for all their fans. This is just wrong, why should they be the only sport to get this opportunity. It is called the Olympics, not the world pageant of home-schooled adolescents gliding around in fashionless rags. We should demand more...more equality in presentation from the media. All the athletes deserve to be respected and portrayed in all their glory and shortcomings.

Congratulations Weid

Well some more time has passed and another one of my college buddies has made the next big life step. Congratulation to both Weid and Darcy. I wish you all the best and a wonderful life filled with love. With this move it puts the guys up 2-1 over the Beaumont ladies. Who is next?

Duck Cheney

I find myself reading a fascinating story about our Vice President. Apparently, he accidentally shot a friend. Now the entertaining thing about this is the way the media does everything they can to make this sound more palatable. The media reported that the lawyer was "peppered" or "sprayed" with "bird shot." This clearly makes the incident seem better for...for the man not in intensive care with pellets in his heart. Let's be serious here, the man got shot in the face with a shotgun. He would be missing his face if he hadn't been 30 feet away. Shot in the face while hunting with the Vice President whom did not have a valid duck stamp. Ok, so let's get the headline right.

Vice President Shoots Man in Face While Poaching!

Now isn't that the headline you would expect to see if it were anyone else but the Vice President involved? What happened to ethical reporting and a media with a backbone?

Congratulations Mr. Thaxter

Timing a little off, I just want to extend a congratulations to my friend on his recent marriage. I am glad someone is far enough along in their life to make the commitment. Now if I could only decide which pair of jeans I want to wear. Vi ses.

Smok'n Hair

I witnessed something curious today. A man walking down the street. Fro in full bloom. Now sometimes you will find the pick garnish. But, no not this time. Something much more creative. A single stick of incense adorns this tuft. Oh yes, it is lit--smoky fragrance bump'n down the street behind him. I think this new fashion statement has potential. Not only does it smell nice, but the idea of the stick burning to an end, igniting the fro compels me to follow him for a few blocks more.

Maybe it was the Couscous

I make my way to the airport, time to leave Morocco. I feel sick, my stomach all in knots. Hot and cold streaks, a fever for certain. By the time I return to Rome, my body is engaging in full body shakes, shivers when I am hot. Frequent trips to the lou. I awake, one more hectic day in Rome, some peace in Copenhagen, chaos in Newark, and solace in Denver. It seems my travels are done and I find myself home. Food poisoning, ravaged, I struggle to reclaim my reserves. I am filled with so many wonderful memories.

Eyes of Passion

At lunch I felt the presence of someone staring at me while I wrote. I look up eager to engage the stare, she turns away. Curiously I watch. She is older than I, eyes of passion define her. She radiates--helpless romantic. We hold a gaze--just a moment. She speaks French, how an accent melts me. I utter no words, letting my eyes do the talking. Her's shine so brightly piercing metal like the craftsman of the souq. On we went, eyes engaging in a tantalizing game of passion. We leave the restaurant at nearly the same time. I reach the street, disappearing into the mass of the plaza. No words were uttered, none needed. We were perfectly fulfilled from afar. I will cherish her half-smile and suggestive glances. She is my love of Marakech.

Tannery Tour

After a morning jaunt to Jardin Majorelle I returned to the Medina destined to witness the art of leather making. A world class header shared with some kids in a dead-end street. I am clearly going to have a great day. I take a wrong turn and end up in a familiar, but wrong place. This time a free guide missing a front tooth decides to show me the way. Now he moves through the crowds with unbelievable ease. I struggle to keep up, my best crowd navigating skills shamefully inadequate for the challenge. He waits, and we continue. He pawns me off to a guy at the tannery who shows me around. This new guide show me the tanks of chemicals, Berbers slogging through poisonous liquids. Blood, guts, feces, and fluids converge in the dirt gutters streaming towards some downhill location. Here the leather is treated, prepared, and cut. Within the bordering houses, the leather is sewn into the final product. It takes two months for the leather to go from raw material to final product. The aroma is no worse the Greeley, which I guess says a lot for Greeley. From here I am taken to the rooftop of a rug store where I can see down on both the Berber and Arab taneries. So I settle for a rug, tip my tannery tour guide, and continue towards the hotel. Pleasantly enough I run into my first guide. He asks me what I bought and tells me that I got a great price. Now he asks for a tip of a cigarette. Of course I don't have one, so we settle for a pen. This is good to remember, when traveling always have a smile and a pack of smokes or a case of pens. I find myself eating lunch overlooking the main square. A persistent desert wind cooling the air and flipping the pages faster that I can fill them.