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| The Toopah of Mount Mallaui |
| 08.31.04 (1:48 pm) [edit] |
The continuation of "In Search of Mount Mallaui":
The ash and smoke was intense. My eyes burned as I poured the last ounces from my canteen over my head. I was mad at myself for not being more frugal with my water earlier. I wrapped the damp cloth over my nose and mouth and proceeded at a labored pace. Tree branches, vines and twigs all conspired to rip at my khaki ensemble. I could see blood stains on my calves and arms. I heard a wail. My heart raced. She's close!
Suddenly the smoke became so thick, that I couldn't see my hands in front of me. I stumbled along, nevertheless, then finally got on my knees and crawled. Then the ground seemed to harden. I could feel that I was walking on stone slabs. I reached out and felt an opening with stone figures on either side. I knew I was at the entrance of the toopah, the temple of the high priestess of Charananananajhani. As I crawled inside from the smoke and ash, I could make out a light at the end of the dark entrance tunnel. I heard another wail. I recognized the voice. It was Mal.
I rose to my feet and ran towards the light. I had to stop myself with a skid at the end of the tunnel. There was at least a 50-feet drop off, from the tunnet exit and the main chamber of the temple. The toopah was enormous. My eyes could hardly believe what they were seeing. Above me, the dome of the toopah was green and red with carvings of pagan figures dancing with their hands pointing to the apex of the dome. At the center, the smiling face of Oooga Bu Ni Mah, the guardian of the heavenly city. All who wish to enter the heavenly city in the afterlife must petition Oooga Bu Ni Mah, according to the legend.
50-feet below me was a ring of fire, a moat of molten lava to be exact. In the center of the ring of fire was the altar of the high priestess. On it lay Mal and one other person. I could not make him or her out. The wailing seemed to be coming from him or her. He or she seemed severly injured and bleeding. The high preistess was nowhere in sight. I decided that the time to move was now. I would have to crawl down a long and winding stairway and cross a tiny bridge over the ring of fire. Then untie Mal and the stranger. We may have to carry him across, I thought to myself.
As I made my way down the stairs, the toopah shook and the ring of fire bubbled. The lava-level is rising!!! I'm too late!
To be continued....
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4 Comments
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| The Dos and Don'ts of Public Urination |
| 08.30.04 (3:48 pm) [edit] |
First off, let me get this one out of the way -
DON'T DO IT!
And also -
Seriously, don't do it.
Honestly, there is no good excuse for it. How many times must I step into an innocent-looking puddle on the street only for it to turnout to be piss? I don't care how drunk you are or how far the nearest toilet is.
Finally, if you're already in the act, don't look around and solicit witnesses. Any wanker can pee in public.
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7 Comments
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| New Hotness |
| 08.30.04 (2:34 pm) [edit] |
Dear Jon,
Don't cry, but I'm no longer obsessed with you. I've moved on to the "new hotness" (Michael Rosenbaum) as you are "old and busted". Hope that you will be able to carry on without your one and only non-obligatory* fan in the world.
Nat
*obligatory fans include grannies, aunties, parents, friends, girlfriends and siblings that must support you even when you make poor career choices and sport a crap haircut.
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4 Comments
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| GOOOOOOOOOOOLD!!!!!!!!!!! |
| 08.27.04 (4:35 pm) [edit] |
For a small nation, we're not doing too badly at the Olympics. Every medal means so much. On Wednesday, Jamaica's Veronica Campbell won gold in the Womens 200m and now the women won the 4x100m relay. On a side note, Marion Jones fumbled the baton and as a result the US women did not complete the race. Highs and lows. That's sports for ya.
WAIT!! I just got word that they've declared a National Holiday in Jamaica to celebrate. No work on Sunday. Wooohooo!! HALLE-
Wait a minute...
The Complete results on Olympics.org.
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0 Comments
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| In Search of Mt. Mallaui |
| 08.26.04 (11:06 pm) [edit] |
In the deepest jungle, the volcanic ash of Mount Mallaui leaps high into the air. The ground trembles as black clouds fill the sky. The red-butted chimps of Charananananajhani screech while jumping from tree to tree, birds fly towards the east. The jungle is misty and humid. I swat a fly away from my neck and wipe my brow with a damp cloth. The heat is oppressive. The natives fear Mount Mallaui's frequent eruptions. Their eyes red from the soot and smoke stand out in the haze as they run in the opposite direction. A little girl stops and looks at me curiously. She seems please to know that I speak Charananananajhanihini.
"Behk tuh ba toopa Mallaui Mumu.""How do I get to the toopa of Mt. Mallaui?"
"Kewa che che baboop?" "Are you mad?" asks the native girl.
"Kwe lele nooru ba toopa Mallaui Mumu. Ma chupa e de,""I must find the toopa of Mt. Mallaui. My friend is there," I explain.
Before she can give an answer the girl's mother slaps the back of her head and says, "Booka!" I'm not sure what that means, but I gather that she wasn't happy that her daughter had stopped to talk with me. Before I can ask her for help, they are gone. I'm alone now. My only hope it to follow the plumes of smoke. I surge forward, rubbing my eyes and coughing. I hope I am not too late.
to be continued...
Can you guess what "toopa" means?
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1 Comments
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| Commentary by Miss Jamaica Barbie 2002 |
| 08.25.04 (2:33 pm) [edit] |
Dear Readers
This is my first column for Natblog Magazine and I am extremely excited about it. At first I had a hard time deciding what to write about and after speaking with my editor (Nat), I realized that I'm just a brainless piece of plastic molded into the shape of a woman who has had two rows of her ribs removed, breast enhancement and leg-extensions. So all the pressure I had been feeling to write a brilliant and witty little column was gone.
"Frankly speaking, people will be surprised that you can spell "column" much less write a coherent and entertaining piece. So get over yourself and eat a hamburger, you skinny little biotch!" I'm sure she was only kidding about the last part. I mean, how could I possibly eat a hamburger. Not only am I too small but my lips are sealed.
Anyway, today I wanted to write about the stereo...the ster-e-o...hmmm ....sound it out....ster-eh-oh-tie-puh...nevermind. You know what think that people assume about you once you say you're Jamaican. Umm...gonna try one last time. S-T-E-R....UGH! Firstly, not all Jamaicans smoke pot/marijuana/ganja/weed....Now some of you who have visited our beautiful island have complained that you have been offered marijuana the second you stepped off the plane. Rooooight! While there might have been the odd incident, truth is most people that tell such stories are exaggerating or repeating a story they heard from another tourist who heard it from another tourist....So please don't just assume that we have a stash hidden somewhere or know someone who can hook you up with some premium cannabis.
Secondly, not all Jamaicans have dreadlocks or are practicing Rastafarians. Some people wear dreadlocks as a fashion statement, while others take things very seriously. I can't tell you how many times I have met someone only to be told that they are disappointed that I am not a real Jamaican with dreadlocks and all. How is it that someone who has never been to the island but seen a documentary on Bob Marley on TV is suddenly an expert on what a real Jamaican is?
Finally, Jamaicans do not run around the place 24-7-365 saying "Yeah mon! Irie!" It's really cute and brings us much joy and amusement when you all say it to us in the spirit of soli-...um, soili, no.....solid...sounding it... out soli-dar-ity....solidarity, but don't get carried away. What's cute at first can soon become a little annoying.
Well, that's all I wanted to say. 'Till next time. Soon come.
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8 Comments
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| From the Corner of My Eye |
| 08.23.04 (1:00 pm) [edit] |
From the corner of my eye, I saw him. There I was sitting in the shade of the bus shelter, waiting to go on campus. The sun was clouded out and I could smell rain on the way. I checked my messenger bag and saw my umbrella in the bottom. I breathed a sigh of relief. Us witches can't afford to get wet, I thought to myself. He came closer, stumbling against the wall as he made his way to the bus shelter.
From the corner of my eye he seemed average - average height, average weight, average age. Then I smelled him as he stepped past me to sit down. Not so average smell. He had the smell of butter left out of the fridge for days - rancid sweet. He coughed up some phelgm and spat it on the ground in my direction. I unfolded my newspaper and tried not to look at him or show my disgust.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out a pipe, a package of what seemed like tobacco and some matches. He lit his pipe and puffed, coughed a few more times, spat a few more times, then inexplicably he began to belch. He seemed to have no control over himself. Gas or phlegm. I didn't know which was worse. May be you should quit, I thought to myself.
From the corner of my eye, I could see him sneer at me. I was hoping he'd continue to ignore my presence until the bus came but I was out of luck. "You awwigh?" he said to me, gesturing with his pipe in hand.
"Excuse me? I can't understand you, sir." I said.
"YOU AWWWIGH?!" he yelled.
"Yes, I am fine, thank you. You, sir?"
"Gooh! You pea oh shit." I found it funny that he chose to enunciate properly when he was swearing at me. I moved further down the bench after his last outburst. He belched at me. I could smell beer and possibly whisky on his breath. I started to get up. "You go da schwoool?"
"Yes, I do." I turned to look at him as I put my bag strap over my shoulder. Where's the f***king bus when you need it?, I thought.
"How doh a n$&&%r like you pay tuition?" He smiled as he asked the question, revealing blackened and rotting teeth.
"I beg your pardon?" I was in shock. At this point, I was walking away and looking over my shoulder hoping to put as much distance between myself and this racist drunk. In all my years of living in Texas, I have never been called that to my face. As I walked further away I could see him gesturing at me. I heard the word again.
My phone rang. It was my brother, Bud. I told him what happened, and he told me to go home and next time I was in a situation like that to call the police. Yeah, um, what could they really do? I guess they could arrest him for public intoxication.
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9 Comments
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| "I don't feel sexy." |
| 08.20.04 (4:07 pm) [edit] |
It's a common feeling experienced by males and females across the globe. Plastic surgery has come along way in helping to alleviate negative feelings about oneself.
"I just wanted to look like everybody else and not stand out because of my ears, " said Boris, who recently flew out to Brazil for an ear-straightening procedure. The 4 year old German Shephard has lots of company as the new wave in cosmetic surgery includes "Doggie-botox", "Eight-nipple-re-alignmen t", "Ballsack Implants" and "Tail-extensions".
The above might not be entirely factual but it's not far from the truth. Click here.
Favorite quotes from Fark.com:
"Great. If I wanted to, I can make my pit bull look like Michael Jackson. Not sure if it's an improvement though..."
"I think any pet owners who go for this should be "put down."
"Ah, the idle rich. Don't like all the foreigners in the neighbourhood? Buy a Bel Air mansion. Don't like steak and potatoes? Buy filet mignon and caviar. Don't like a wart on your dog's ass? Slice it off. Because god knows that wart would reflect badly on YOU."
And finally, my personal favorite,
In response to:"I recently had my Irish Setter's lower lips worked on. He had some folds that basically formed a pouch for crap to get stuck in and stink like hell."
"I know what you mean. My ex-wife had this *exact* same situation with both sets of lips."
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1 Comments
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| You've got the right stuff, baby! |
| 08.18.04 (3:14 pm) [edit] |
We've all done it. Well, some of us anyway. Well, ok, just desperate saps like me. We've signed up for these internet dating services and found ourselves ranking the qualities we find most important in a mate (or soulmate if you believe in that concept). It's not easy to come up with the list but when you finally have a clear idea what you want it's makes it easier to distinguish the contenders from the pretenders. After writing things down I realized in a Freudian twist I was describing my Dad.
Here are Nine of the characteristics I find important and in no particular order although #1 is probably the most important to me followed closely by #8 and #9.
1. We have to be equally yoked - intellectually and spiritually. I want someone who believes in God, but I don't want an uber-religious overly pious person like Ned Flanders raised to the nth power nor do I want someone who believes in nothing, has the backbone of a centipede and lakcs a moral compass. I want someone who is smart and sharp but not a know-it all, intellectual snob.
2. Great sense of humor...so funny a little pee comes out.
3. A mischievous streak. Nothing meanspirited or cruel, just funloving and playfully teasing.
4. Thrifty but not stingy. I don't need a gambler or a super risk-taker or a frivolous Bennifer wannabe but I don't want to live with a tight-wad Scrooge. Someone who knows how to live within their means and save for the future.
5. A calm person. I'm already uptight. I don't need a nervous wreck. I don't need a perfectionist, nit-picker either. I need someone who knows when to pick his battles and doesn't sweat the small stuff. Still, he needs to have standards. Good hygiene is mandatory not optional.
6. Ambitious but not a workaholic. Good to have mutual goals and individual aspirations that do not contradict but someone who will take lots of time off to spend with me and goof off.
7. Loves to travel.
8. Open-minded. Someone who doesn't have a chip on his shoulder about how "the man has him down" and likes all kinds of people and doesn't feel the need to tell crude jokes about various ethnic groups just to be funny.
9. Makes friends easily and is not anti-social. I'm a people person and I need someone who will want to hang out with my friends and in turn has a nice group of friends of his own.
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11 Comments
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| A Bridge Too Flat |
| 08.18.04 (12:16 pm) [edit] |
Um, well it's more like a bridge too flat and narrow. This bridge is simply known as "Flat Bridge" in Jamaica. It crosses the winding Rio Cobre river. Ever since I was a child, I have hated having to cross this bridge. May be it's because it can only take one-way traffic, may be it's because during heavy rains it's over run by the river, may be it's because there are no frickin' guard-rails and may be it's because so many people have drowned after falling over or crashing their cars into the rushing water underneath. Either way, it makes a nice photo-op, doesn't it?
In recent years the authorities installed a traffic light to regulate the one-way traffic over the bridge. Before, it used to be first-come-first-cross (i.e. sheer chaos).
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3 Comments
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| A Room with a View |
| 08.17.04 (5:40 pm) [edit] |
I visited my cousin Cockroach's home while on vacation. He said the best view from his house was from the master bathroom, so I grabbed my digi-cam and hopped up the stairs. I quickly snapped the photo and while viewing it on the LCD display discovered that I had captured two brazen criminals in the act of stealing a mattress from a neighbor's home. You can see them right there on the bottom right corner of the photo. They moved so fast that by the time I got downstairs to tell Cockroach, they were long gone. Oh well. Someone's sleeping on the floor tonight and it ain't me.
Some men earn it, some men steal it, some men do without.
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9 Comments
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| The Death of Giantsfan |
| 08.16.04 (2:38 pm) [edit] |
Actually he's not dead, but missing. Giantsfan got a teaching gig at a University in a city far far away, the name of which I am not at liberty to divulge for safety reasons (he's currently being stalked by red-butted chimps from Charananananajhani for outstanding parking tickets received while on a visit to East Timbeschezikistan over Spring Break). Anyway, I was hoping to return to Austin in time to catch him and to say a proper goodbye. Just in case I missed him, I sent him a postcard from Jamaica taunting him to get his extremely pale self down to the Caribbean to get a tan. Today I returned to the office to find his part barren and stripped of all Giantsfan-ness save a slinky and a grey stress-squooshy toy in the shape of a brain. I also discovered that he never checked his frickin' office mailbox and never received my postcard. Damn it! I had writted such cutesy anecdotes. This makes me sad. Didn't know how much I would miss him till he was already gone.
So, in tribute to Giantsfan and his quirks I will recite one of my favorite childhood poems:
Free Windy
by Gaseus Anonymous
Mary Mary
Quite contrary
How did your bowels explode?
With refried beans
And collard greens
Chicken on a sesame roll.
Break wind freely
Wherever you may be
'Cause holding it caused the death
Of flatulent Mary Lee.
Wait a minute. That's really not very nice, now is it? I'll type up something he might recognize that's more appropriate than Free Windy.
"Another Man's Done Gone"
Sometimes I think I'm gonna lose my mind
But it don't look like I ever do
I've loved so many people everywhere I went
Some too much, and others not enough
Well I don't know
I may go
Down or up or anywhere
But I feel
Like this scribbling might stay
Maybe if I hadn't seen so much hard feelings
I might not could've felt other people's
So when you think of me, if and when you do
Just say, "Well, another man's done gone"
Well, another man's done gone
Since I do not have permission to post a photo of Giantsfan (for security reasons), this is the t-shirt I designed for him.
To learn Gianstfan's secret new location rollover the image with your mouse.
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6 Comments
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| I'm Back |
| 08.15.04 (11:48 pm) [edit] |
Try to contain your excitement! Awww, c'mon. I missed you even if you didn't give a rat's hind leg about me. I'm back home after a month in Jamaica. I managed to avoid being blown away by Hurricane Charley but not without the drama. More on that later.
While away from home I attended 4 weddings and a funeral, and no I did not run off and shack up with Hugh Grant and bear his bastard child. Besides, I'd need more than a month to do all that and also I find Hugh a bit too posh for my tastes. I'd rather have triplets for Sean Bean sans epidural.
Mom and I at my cousin's wedding in Miami 2 weeks ago.
I got to spend some quality time with my Mom, my brothers, visit other relatives and old friends that I haven't seen "since Whappy killed Phillup" (Jamaican for a very long time ago), temporarily regain my Jamaican accent only to lose it at Houston George Bush Intercontinental Airport on arrival much to the confusion of the immigration officer.
from l to r: Car and Bud, my brothers. Any wider and Bud would be sterile.
I've returned home to a mountain of mail, three dead plants (despite Missi Jackson's valiant efforts), 20 voicemail messages (the majority from my local State Farm Agent: "Hi, I was in the neighborhood..." repeated 8 times) and two bags of unidentifiable rotten vegetables I left in the refrigerator. Ain't life grand.
I promise to post more photos once I get them downloaded.
Toodles.
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13 Comments
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