Why isn't there a Razzles in El Salvador? (International Edition)

So I opened my G-Mail account to find an e-mail from Kid Cement waiting very patiently at the top of the list. Inside that beautiful little package was a story comprised of a smaller vocabulary than that of an upside-down marmoset, but the story was so funny I almost shit a brick. Well played, Clem, I appreciate the e-mail thoroughly.
If you aren't already, I suggest you become friends with my friends immediately. Depending on the day, they can be mighty hilarious. If you take my advice please do yourself a favor and ask about the 'weather girl.'

That's about it for the international part. Some cross-cultural sock hops from the stoop of Razzles Daytona, Florida. For the record I miss a hell out of a lot of you like you wouldn't believe. Stories like weather girl bring me back.

We have swearing into the Peace Corps this Friday at the Embassy here in El Salvador. We've got to get as dolled up as possible and stroll proudly into the embassy here in El Salvador to impress the Ambassador or whoever the hell it is that shows up. Wish me luck with that; my wardrobe consists of clothes even a damn hobo would consider strictly nightwear. The ambassador (...or whoever the hell it is that shows up...) may laugh me out of the joint - or throw up in his own lap.

This weekend was a little sideways.

Saturday morning we had our fiesta in order to properly thank our families for all the hard work they've done for us. They feed me (a seriously daunting task), a veces levan mi ropa, put up with my shit, scold me when I'm bad, me apoyan when I'm sad, and try their hardest to force a smile every time I tell a woeful, culturally insensitive joke in broken Spanish. They are the best.

The fiesta was good, but this country, and this town in particular, is relentlessly hot. If you weren't sitting in the shade se desei suerte. It was boiling. The kids loved the pinatas, the families enjoyed the games, and I personally loved the food because it was free.

Saturday night we took a bus to San Salvador, our first night in the capital. I'll skip the boring stuff and get right down to it. We ended up at a bar called La Luna. The band that night was a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band and it was a blast. The lead singer of the band didn't know the words, but she didn't need to because enough people there did haha. Imagine rocking out to a song you grew up listening to, maybe even a song you love, and abruptly the song ends to a woman going on a rant in Spanish. A large, large slice of Americana...live American songs... and very suddenly you are given a strong reminder that you are far from Worcester County. It's utterly astonishing how many times I need to be reminded that the person I am having a conversation with does not speak English and that I am not supposed to be able to know how to speak Spanish. Reminders scare the shit out of me, to be honest, until I open my mouth and realize I do, in fact, speak a little bit of this funny, funny tongue. I live in El Salvador now...

The night ended by me showing my goofy-ass and infinitely entertaining friends how to play 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy.' Cowboy always beats Bear, Bear always beats Ninja, and Ninja always beats Cowboy. If you think about it... it makes a whole lot of sense. What you do is stand back to back with one other person, both people scream 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy!' and jump a 180 with the appropriate gesture of a bear, a ninja, or a cowboy. Holy shit that is the best drinking game ever. Bring that one home to all your friends, get them about 12 beverages each, and at about 3 AM peel them off the hotel floor and teach them this fantastic interpretation of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and go god damn bananas. Write here with the results. We'll have a tourney when I get back in two years. I always throw Ninja...test me.

We got to play in the Stadio Cuscatlan, which was a blast. Things were made infinitely more difficult by the Marlboros and Pilsners consumed the night before, but we successfully proved to those damn Japanese that we do not, even a little bit, know how to play soccer. Haha, only the girls beat the JICA team and (gracias a dios) they smoked them like 7-0. Way to go girls! Bringing home the gold while we men licked our wounds and made up excuses with words like 'Marlboro,' 'Pilsner,' and 'hangover.' Way to step up to the plate and get things done. I think we won by aggregate thanks to you guys. Felizidades!

I got a dog, officially. His name is Guanaco and he is fuckin lazy. He sits in my lap and doesn't move. He's a sleeper and that's all there is to it. To be honest, he doesn't even like me that much. He'll come around, though. Everyone always does (right, Nora?). He's tiny. 2 months old and he doesn't make a sound.

I also bought a handwoven hammock today and it is beautiful as well. We got to watch like 5 dudes going to town on these looms and believe me that shit is complicated. They have to dance on these pedals while pulling the loom around and around and making sure the colors are perty in some way shape or form.

Training ends in less than 3 days. Thank the high heavens. By Friday I will be an official volunteer getting silly drunk with about 100 other volunteers celebrating. After swearing in there is an open bar rented out to us so we can (finally) get to know each other on the most personal level of all... the inebrated one. I got a good feeling about this one, haha, and by Saturday I will be living in La Pena, Metapan, Santa Ana, El Salvador. I will be living in one of 35 houses in my tiny, tiny, rural community, living in a corn shed made of adobe.

Long story short this could be the last of my posts for a few weeks. I hope you've enjoyed what I have to offer so far. I certainly have.

Va


Gregorio