Mail = Happy: For those who feel the need to send mix CDs, burned DVDs or other random stuff, send them via U.S. regular mail (regular mail is the cheapest and fastest). The addition of “Pastora” to my name (translation shepherdess) is to help keep honest people honest. Why did I pick the title shepherdess? Because I clearly couldn’t be a monja (nun), which would require a costume and probably result in eternal damnation! Also, it doesn’t hurt to throw on some crosses next to the phrase “Dios te bendiga” (God bless you) anywhere on the package. My address is as follows:
AP 216
León Nicaragua
Central America
I’ll give you a topic…“Cuidado con el ángel” is neither cuidando (careful) nor about an ángel (angel)…discuss!: There is a telenovela (soap opera) that plays on TV called “Cuidado con el ángel” the main character is named Marichuy. Now I would like to give a plot summary that should explain why I should never watch soap operas. They have an affect similar to that of the siren’s call, I am both lured in and mystified, and when it’s too late to turn around I see them for what they truly are, an ugly mess.
Here’s the plot, and keep in mind that I am summing up 3 months of episodes: Marichuy likes a guy, guy has a wife, his wife goes crazy and turns into a “ho” (not the garden variety but the street version), guy falls in love with Marichuy and marries her because he thinks his wife has died, crazy wife returns, Marichuy finds out she is pregnant, Marichuy gives birth and doesn’t tell her husband, guy now has 2 wives one crazy wife and Marichuy who just gave birth to his child, Marichuy goes blind, a maid who has multiple personality disorder enters into the story and peruses the man who already has 2 wives, multiple personality maid ends up cured and only has 1 personality, old wife is still crazy but goes through electrical shock therapy…and who knows what next weeks episode has in store, I know I will be watching.
“Killer Clowns From Outer space”: I will venture to guess that not many people have seen this wonderful adaptation of clowns that come to earth on a mission to kill people. It has been acclaimed as a “Horror film classic, one that must be watched not once but again and again, if this movie isn’t saved on your TiVO it should be.” It is often shown on late night cable TV (around 3am) so for all the insomniacs, this film might be your only option. Alas, I did see this film, it was an utter and complete ridiculous waste of my time, and if I had a “do over” I would chose not to watch the movie. However, life doesn’t just handout “I saw a bad movie do overs” and therefore what was done is done. It has been many years since I last saw this film; still, the clown images are forever engraved on my mind, which leads me to the déjà vu that occurred yesterday. A real life clown came to my neighbor’s house, and he looked like he had just stepped off of the movie set of “Killer Clowns From Outerspace 2: Birthday Surprise.” I will set the scene: The music playing was a never ending CD of translated Barney, the big purple dinosaur, and friends singing Spanish lyrics in squirrely high pitched voices accompanied by the ever so cheerful accordion and xylophone. Here’s a sample of the lyrics I was subjected too:
Barney es un dinosaurio
que vive en nuestra mente
y cuando se hace grande
es realmente sorprendente!!!
El le brinda su amistad
a grandes y pequeños
después de la escuela
juegan todos muy contentos!!!
Barney nos enseña
muchos juegos divertidos,
el ABC y el 123
también son tus amigos!!!
Barney viene a jugar
cuando lo necesitas,
el también te ayudara
si crees en fantasías!!!
Basically, hearing this song made me grateful I was born in the 80’s, “pre-Barney,” and instead with Fraggle Rock. Who knows what irreconcilable damage has been done to children born in the “Barney-era,” but I suggest a study be done to find out. In the yard a piñata of Chica Fresa (strawberry shortcake) was hanging surrounded by 40 adults and small children sitting in plastic chairs. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for the party to begin, the music had been playing for around 15 minutes and kids were getting ready to hit the piñata. I was standing and taking pictures. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something colorfully scary…the payaso (the clown). He came in dancing like a clown on crack and the cries of small children could be heard far and wide. His brightly painted face revealed nothing of a diabolic side, but when he smiled something sinister lurked. He hopped around clapping and singing to the Barney music. Oh the horror. At this point, I knew it was too late to escape the party and so I gritted my teeth and stayed. The party started at 4pm and my clown nightmare did not end until after darkness had encroached around 6:30 pm. Dinner had been severed, ice cream was handed out and dripping from the faces of children, prizes were given and the piñata had spilled candy all over the yard. Overall, (aside for the clown) it was a successful party. Next, my Nica friend and I spotted the birthday cake, we were both in shock and tongue tied but she was able to utter one word, “CHOOKEY.” Who is Chookey? Obviously, Chookey is Spanish for Chucky (remember that doll that comes to life and kills people). The cake was suppose to depict a smiley Chica Fresa, but instead chica fresa appeared a little worse for wear and looked more like the horror story killer doll Chucky. I ate my slice of Chucky in peace, because the party clown had long since departed (or perhaps took a space ship back home?), and I went to sleep that night, making sure to keep one eye open just in case the clown should reappear in my nightmares.
Drop the beat: One of my former students just turned 15 yesterday and she celebrated in grand style with one heck of a birthday party. The party was supposed to start at 4pm but in Nica time that means at least 6pm, and then I added an extra 30 minutes for good measure. I arrived at 6:30, just in time to see the choreographed popping of the champagne cork ceremony. Another one of my 15 year old students was trying to remove the cork, while over the loud speakers an adult was yelling, “Calmly, watch the eyes, calmly…watch your EYES…EYES…EYES.” The problem was that they believed he was opening a bottle of champagne, but in fact it was just wine (I knew because I had gotten a glimpse of the bottle earlier and it clearly stated “Vino”). Whoever was in charge of buying the champagne had dropped the ball and picked up a nice bottle of chardonnay by mistake. The cork therefore never “popped” but instead was picked out of the bottle piece by piece. The wine was served to about 30 adolescent boys (who were in for a surprise). It was clear that none of them had tried wine before and they were all about to give a toast to the b-day girl and then take a sip. On the count of 3 they raised their glasses and took a sip; thus, forcing their faces into awkward puckers and looks of disgust. However, to their dismay their toast was far from over. The b-day girl would now proceed to circle around all the boys and with each pass they had to take another sip of the wine they held in their hands. Pass one, pucker faces, pass two, winced eyes with averted nose, pass three, they faked it. Finally the toast was over and the party could get under way.
“I liking. ..I liking”: That’s what I hear every other day when I pass by a pool hall that happens to sit on the corner directly across from one of my favorite “pulperias” (corner store). Only men are inside the pool hall and they are all intoxicated. For some reason they feel the need to yell at me in slurred English. Normally, I ignore their jaunts, but the other day I was irritated and decided to respond back. I spoke in Spanish/English and replied, “I liking…doesn’t mean ANYTHING in English and that they should stop yelling nonsensical English phrases and stick to Spanish!” They all nodded and seemed to be in agreement.
I came down with “gripe” (a mild cold) a few weeks back: Everyone told me that I had contracted gripe due to A) the change in climate, because December is the coolest month in Nicaragua which translates into a low 80 degrees Fahrenheit OR B) the dust that had been stirred up in the air due to the recent peanut harvest. Anyway, I went to the market to load up on some food and I wanted to buy a piña (pineapple). My voice was a bit hoarse due to my cold and therefore I was noticeably sick. Well, my market friends asked me what I wanted a piña for, and I told them that of course I planned on eating it. That answer just didn’t fly. They responded, “Brik, no no no you can’t eat piña with a cold.” I replied, “But I want to eat piña.” They sold me the piña against their better judgment but not without numerous warnings as to how I was going to jeopardize my recovery. Later that night my students came over to my house to chill, and they noticed I was drinking ice water. I received that same solemn warning that I had at the market. “Brigs, you are going to just make your gripe worse.” Once again their warning went ignored. To end my day, another one of my friends came over and he had brought with him a pint of chocolate ice cream (he didn’t know I had a cold). The moment he heard me speak, he insisted that I not eat the ice cream and gave it to my neighbors instead. I did recover from my gripe, but I am still irritated about the ice cream.
Charlie Brown brings the peanuts: It was a normal Monday night; I had just finished dinner and was getting ready to relax with a book. Then the inevitable knock on my front door. Four of my favorite chavalos (kiddos) stood at my door with their smiley faces; one kid was on horseback and the other three on bikes. They said, “Bris do you want peanuts.” “Peanuts?” I replied. “Yes, we just harvested 3 sacos (sacs) of peanuts, do you want some.” “Well, how much do they cost?” I wondered. Turns out they only cost 1 cord/pound or the equivalent of 5 cents/pound. So I told the kids I would buy 3 pounds, which sounded like quite a lot but I figured I could make peanut butter. The kids took off for their house and returned 10 minutes later with 1 saco (or the equivalent of 30 pounds of peanuts). “Wow, that’s a lot of peanuts,” I thought. The kids then revealed that they had no way of measuring only 3 pounds of peanuts, and therefore my only option was to buy 30 pounds. In my mind I went over all the things I could make with peanuts…peanut butter, peanut butter cookies, peanut sauce, more peanut sauce, some kind of peanut jelly, peanut bread, peanut stir fry, peanut soup, peanut juice…as the food options wore thin, I began to think I was better off not buying all 30 pounds. Then again the economist in me said that $1.50 for 30 pounds was a pretty good deal. I then imagined myself sitting in a room with a group of strangers having to admit that “Hi my name is Brie, and I’m addicted to peanuts. My addiction is rather recent, and after consuming 30 pounds of peanuts, I went off my rocker, broke into a peanut field and was found by a farmer eating raw peanuts at 3am. After, being sentenced to rehab and community service I find myself in group therapy having to admit that I am addicted to a protein enriched nut, I went nuts for nuts.” While the economist said buy the peanuts, the realist in me said hold out until the kids find a measuring scale, because no one should consume 30 pounds of peanuts. So I told the kids I still only wanted to buy 3 pounds, they were fine with that as they rode off back to the fields.
