That is Carol’s theory. “It would be better if it occurred once and then he learned the lesson, but it has happened three times. It is too hard for me to understand that kind of things. How can that happen? Is it that he loves breaking and twisting his legs? You see? This town is full of crazy people. I believe a trained dog, or a trained monkey could get off the bus without twisting their legs. They do not even have to be trained. ”
There’s an even stranger story. Strange things happen in Cartagena. Hannibal, one of the times he broke his leg, he had to get a surgery. He was operated. He started his recovery sessions. A few days later, he started feeling something weird in his leg. He had been noticing his leg was not going through a normal recovery. He went back to the doctor to check it out. He had to take an x-ray. When he received the x-ray back, he discovered the surgeon had accidentally left one of his operating tools inside Hannibal’s leg.
“What would you expect from a monkey making a surgery on another monkey’s leg? A complete mess. A complete disaster. That is what you should expect from that surgeon making a surgery on Hannibal’s leg. You cannot judge who is worse, either Hannibal who likes jumping off buses, or the surgeon who leaves his tools inside the patient! That is the way this town is. One incoherence after the other. It is endless, never ending.”
At least Hannibal was smart enough to place a demand on the surgeon, and, at least, he won the case. Fortunately. “At least his case was not a total circus, where gorillas and dogs play like most things are in this town. No, at least his case was handled professionally and he got what he deserved. Imagine what had happened if another gorilla handled the case? What kind of craziness would have happened?”
Hannibal is the reincarnation of Mike Tyson, or a gorilla. “The same thing, either Mike Tyson or a gorilla, they’re exactly the same. Both mentally, physically, and emotionally. They’re exact.” Carol says every time we chat about Hannibal. “They all have no brains. The only difference between Hannibal and the other two is that Hannibal died long time ago. Even though you see him walking in and walking out of the house, day after day, he is already dead. That is what I have concluded by his actions. That would be the only answer to why he never speaks, or to why you can never understand what he mumbles, or to why he has always got his eyes closed. How can someone walk, watch T.V., or eat with their eyes completely shut? He’s a zombie! That is why he walks the way he does, and that is why he has the strength he has.”
“But Grandpa, how did Hannibal die?” I would ask Carol just to see and listen what kind of answer he would invent. “Look, son, the answer is pretty obvious. He died doing what he likes the most. Jumping off moving buses.”
domingo, 24 de febrero de 2008
Entry # 8 Carol 6
Lourdes is planning her lesson and does not have time to speak, so Carol always gets frustrated and gives up. He sits in a rocking chair beside Lourdes, turns on the T.V. to TV Espanola. When he gets bored, he imitates my grandmother as she writes down notes in her notebook. He imitates how intensively her pen moves up and down and how hard the pen hits the notebook. He then gets bored of that activity and proceeds to his nap.
Carol has an enormous bed in order for him fit comfortably and properly. He sleeps perfectly still, he does not move. He naps for about an hour, or sometimes two. When he wakes up, he changes his clothes and gets prepared to leave again. Most of the time, he has no event or hobby or fun thing to do. His only choice, you could guess, would be going back to “La Tinaja”. Few are the days when one of his friends invites him to a little reunion to talk about nonsense and drink whisky.
Carol loves whisky. When there is a reunion, he takes his own bottle, his own cup, and his own Styrofoam refrigerator with his own ice. He does not like other people’s ice, even if the reunion is at a restaurant. He always takes his own things. He also gets a little shovel for himself to pour his ice in his cup. He does not share with anybody.
When he is going to out to a reunion, he walks out of his house in a different way as if he was going to “La Tinaja”. The way he walks, his face gesture, it’s different. When he is going to a reunion, you can feel, you sense his happiness. He gets to talk nonsense and drink whisky around people that laugh at everything he says. The way he walks out of his house, he walks as if he was dancing to a rhythmic song going on in his mind. He also has a big smile in his face, not evil, but happy. He is so spontaneous, you can easily see what he is feeling.
My grandparents live in an old, big, and dirty house. Since it is so big and since they are old, they cannot take care of it by themselves. It is a custom, in Cartagena, and most of South America, to have maids, and employees that help you do your house chores. My grandparents have seven different workers. Each of them, stranger and more peculiar than the other.
Hannibal. He is my grandparent’s house guard. He arrives every night and leaves in the morning. Hannibal has twisted his leg three times. All of them, getting of a public bus that drops him off a block away from my grandparent’s house. “He loves getting off moving buses. He is so stupid he does not know that when the bus has stopped, it is safer to get off. He just jumps off the bus as it is moving at 80 miles per hour, as they are used to here in Cartagena, and obviously, his ends up screwing up his leg.”
Carol has an enormous bed in order for him fit comfortably and properly. He sleeps perfectly still, he does not move. He naps for about an hour, or sometimes two. When he wakes up, he changes his clothes and gets prepared to leave again. Most of the time, he has no event or hobby or fun thing to do. His only choice, you could guess, would be going back to “La Tinaja”. Few are the days when one of his friends invites him to a little reunion to talk about nonsense and drink whisky.
Carol loves whisky. When there is a reunion, he takes his own bottle, his own cup, and his own Styrofoam refrigerator with his own ice. He does not like other people’s ice, even if the reunion is at a restaurant. He always takes his own things. He also gets a little shovel for himself to pour his ice in his cup. He does not share with anybody.
When he is going to out to a reunion, he walks out of his house in a different way as if he was going to “La Tinaja”. The way he walks, his face gesture, it’s different. When he is going to a reunion, you can feel, you sense his happiness. He gets to talk nonsense and drink whisky around people that laugh at everything he says. The way he walks out of his house, he walks as if he was dancing to a rhythmic song going on in his mind. He also has a big smile in his face, not evil, but happy. He is so spontaneous, you can easily see what he is feeling.
My grandparents live in an old, big, and dirty house. Since it is so big and since they are old, they cannot take care of it by themselves. It is a custom, in Cartagena, and most of South America, to have maids, and employees that help you do your house chores. My grandparents have seven different workers. Each of them, stranger and more peculiar than the other.
Hannibal. He is my grandparent’s house guard. He arrives every night and leaves in the morning. Hannibal has twisted his leg three times. All of them, getting of a public bus that drops him off a block away from my grandparent’s house. “He loves getting off moving buses. He is so stupid he does not know that when the bus has stopped, it is safer to get off. He just jumps off the bus as it is moving at 80 miles per hour, as they are used to here in Cartagena, and obviously, his ends up screwing up his leg.”
jueves, 21 de febrero de 2008
Entry # 7 Carol 5
When he arrives, he sits in the same seat he sat on the morning when he ate breakfast. It’s around 11 o’clock in the morning, and Carol is served his lunch by one of his employees, Rosiris. His lunch is always the same: meat, rice, potatoes, and a salad made with lettuce, tomatoes. He pours a lot of lemon into the salad as well as vinegar. He has a device that helps you squeeze the lemons. You just have to cut the lemons in half, and then put a lemon inside the device. Then you press the device and out come the juice. The acidic juice in lemons has eaten the device up. How old can that device be?
Carol is served his salad on a separate dish from the meat and rice. He eats the salad first. When he’s done, he drinks the leftover lemon juice on the dish. He then moves the dish away and grabs the other plate, the one with the rice, meat, and potatoes. He eats his lunch fast, as if he was in a hurry. When he is done, he stands up, goes to the refrigerator, opens the door, takes out water bottle, drinks the amount of water he likes, and puts the bottle back in. He does not use a cup or anything similar; he drinks off the bottle that is for everyone’s use. That refrigerator is full of chocolate boxes never being open, sometimes chocolates bitten and then put back in; water bottles are half filled, you find boxes of candies that have been there for ages. Who knows why don’t they throw them out?
When Carol is done having lunch, he goes upstairs back to his room. Normally, he finds his wife writing from one notebook to another or preparing that afternoon’s and evening’s lesson. She does that if she’s not in a lesson. My grandmother teaches History of Modern Art at her house’s living room. She takes notes and copies notes and recopies them into new notebooks, and so on. It’s a never ending system. She’s got thousands of notebooks which are perfectly organized on a library she has at her house. That library is full of dust and spider webs. It looks as if it was two thousand years old. She also records TV shows or movies that will help her with her lessons.
If she’s in a lesson, than my grandfather goes directly to his room and puts on his pajamas to take a little nap. He hates those lessons full of old ladies. He hates it that when he is having lunch, there are old ladies coming in to his house, saying hi to him as he is eating, and then go upstairs to the T.V. room or to the living room, where the lessons are held.
If my grandmother is not in a lesson, then she is planning it. Carol goes upstairs to find Lourdes his wife planning her lesson in the T.V. room. When this happens, then Carol sits around in the T.V. room trying to make a conversation with Lourdes, but, he is never able.
Carol is served his salad on a separate dish from the meat and rice. He eats the salad first. When he’s done, he drinks the leftover lemon juice on the dish. He then moves the dish away and grabs the other plate, the one with the rice, meat, and potatoes. He eats his lunch fast, as if he was in a hurry. When he is done, he stands up, goes to the refrigerator, opens the door, takes out water bottle, drinks the amount of water he likes, and puts the bottle back in. He does not use a cup or anything similar; he drinks off the bottle that is for everyone’s use. That refrigerator is full of chocolate boxes never being open, sometimes chocolates bitten and then put back in; water bottles are half filled, you find boxes of candies that have been there for ages. Who knows why don’t they throw them out?
When Carol is done having lunch, he goes upstairs back to his room. Normally, he finds his wife writing from one notebook to another or preparing that afternoon’s and evening’s lesson. She does that if she’s not in a lesson. My grandmother teaches History of Modern Art at her house’s living room. She takes notes and copies notes and recopies them into new notebooks, and so on. It’s a never ending system. She’s got thousands of notebooks which are perfectly organized on a library she has at her house. That library is full of dust and spider webs. It looks as if it was two thousand years old. She also records TV shows or movies that will help her with her lessons.
If she’s in a lesson, than my grandfather goes directly to his room and puts on his pajamas to take a little nap. He hates those lessons full of old ladies. He hates it that when he is having lunch, there are old ladies coming in to his house, saying hi to him as he is eating, and then go upstairs to the T.V. room or to the living room, where the lessons are held.
If my grandmother is not in a lesson, then she is planning it. Carol goes upstairs to find Lourdes his wife planning her lesson in the T.V. room. When this happens, then Carol sits around in the T.V. room trying to make a conversation with Lourdes, but, he is never able.
Entry # 6 Too Long
Too long
“Hey you, it wasn’t too long for me, man.”
“I want to bong for you? Bro, I am not bonging for anyone. Who do you think I am? A bonger?”
“Bonging? What is your deal? Who told you anything about bonging? It’s always the same when dealing with you man, it’s impossible.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Come on, did you already forget what happened the other day? The big fight you started man?”
“Fight? Ah yes, the fight. But bro, that wasn’t my fault.”
“You were the one who misinterpreted the other guy, and since you are so hot tempered, you had to punch him in the face! Man, I’m telling you, it is hard to deal with you.”
“What was I supposed to do bro? I thought he’d said: ‘It’s the gay over there that’s causing the fire.’ ”
“No man, you’re nuts. He said it was the hay. You see, you have listening problems. Look, I just told you it was too long, and you started arguing about bonging man, you see? Get the point? You make assumptions too quickly. You also get upset too quickly. You’re like paranoid all the time.”
“Paranoid? Bro, it isn’t my fault that people these days don’t know how to speak clearly. It is a complete mess to have a conversation with someone. You think they call you ‘gay’ or they tell you to ‘bong’. Get my point bro?”
“You are wrong.”
“I know I’m strong, but bro, what does that have to do with this?”
“No! Man, you are WRONG. You’ve got listening problems, it isn’t that people can’t speak properly.”
“Ok bro, that is your point of view.”
“And the rest of the world’s point of view as well.”
“I don’t care, bro.”
“Ok, let’s talk about something else. Was that long for you?”
“Too long bro.”
“Too long?!”
“Too long bro, didn’t I just tell you that?”
“Yes, why do you get mad, man?”
“I am no madman bro! Why are you calling me a madman for? It was too long for me, if it wasn’t for you, then that’s fine, you don’t have to call me a madman! What’s your problem? Always trying to insult others. For Christ’s sake!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“You laugh about it as well? You’re sick bro.”
“No, man, I asked you why you had to get angry?”
“Ok, angry, bro, it’s that I don’t like repeating myself, and bro, it was TOO LONG.”
”No it wasn’t, man”
“Yes it was bro, didn’t you see?”
“Yes indeed I saw it, but, it wasn’t long.”
“Are we talking about the same thing?”
“Yes man, we are, and I am pretty sure it was not long.”
“It was too long bro, too long for me at least.”
“Well, then, that’s another thing. For me, it was not long at all.”
“Not long at all. Who are you, Superman? Come on bro, it was TOO LONG?”
“No man, it was just a 3 hour exercise drill, which equals nothing. Long would’ve been 4 or 5 hours.”
“It was just a 3 hour drill. Long would’ve been 4 or 5 hours.”
“Why are you repeating me man? Do you want to be like me?”
“Yes bro, everyone wants to be Superman.”
“I am not Superman.”
“That is what you just told me bro.”
“No I didn’t. Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“Just admit it bro, you think you are Superman.”
“No man, what are talking about?”
“I’m telling you that you think you are superman! Why do I have to repeat myself? The next time, it won’t be words I put in your mouth, but I’ll put this fist right through your forehead.”
“Come on, dare.”
“No man, who would dare fighting Superman! I need to get kryptonite.”
“Stop it man, I’m really losing my nerves.”
“Oh, how scary, Superman is losing his nerves. I’m going to have to run away.”
“Ok man, that’s it, you just crossed the line.”
“Bring it on bro!”Round 1, Fight!
“Hey you, it wasn’t too long for me, man.”
“I want to bong for you? Bro, I am not bonging for anyone. Who do you think I am? A bonger?”
“Bonging? What is your deal? Who told you anything about bonging? It’s always the same when dealing with you man, it’s impossible.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Come on, did you already forget what happened the other day? The big fight you started man?”
“Fight? Ah yes, the fight. But bro, that wasn’t my fault.”
“You were the one who misinterpreted the other guy, and since you are so hot tempered, you had to punch him in the face! Man, I’m telling you, it is hard to deal with you.”
“What was I supposed to do bro? I thought he’d said: ‘It’s the gay over there that’s causing the fire.’ ”
“No man, you’re nuts. He said it was the hay. You see, you have listening problems. Look, I just told you it was too long, and you started arguing about bonging man, you see? Get the point? You make assumptions too quickly. You also get upset too quickly. You’re like paranoid all the time.”
“Paranoid? Bro, it isn’t my fault that people these days don’t know how to speak clearly. It is a complete mess to have a conversation with someone. You think they call you ‘gay’ or they tell you to ‘bong’. Get my point bro?”
“You are wrong.”
“I know I’m strong, but bro, what does that have to do with this?”
“No! Man, you are WRONG. You’ve got listening problems, it isn’t that people can’t speak properly.”
“Ok bro, that is your point of view.”
“And the rest of the world’s point of view as well.”
“I don’t care, bro.”
“Ok, let’s talk about something else. Was that long for you?”
“Too long bro.”
“Too long?!”
“Too long bro, didn’t I just tell you that?”
“Yes, why do you get mad, man?”
“I am no madman bro! Why are you calling me a madman for? It was too long for me, if it wasn’t for you, then that’s fine, you don’t have to call me a madman! What’s your problem? Always trying to insult others. For Christ’s sake!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“You laugh about it as well? You’re sick bro.”
“No, man, I asked you why you had to get angry?”
“Ok, angry, bro, it’s that I don’t like repeating myself, and bro, it was TOO LONG.”
”No it wasn’t, man”
“Yes it was bro, didn’t you see?”
“Yes indeed I saw it, but, it wasn’t long.”
“Are we talking about the same thing?”
“Yes man, we are, and I am pretty sure it was not long.”
“It was too long bro, too long for me at least.”
“Well, then, that’s another thing. For me, it was not long at all.”
“Not long at all. Who are you, Superman? Come on bro, it was TOO LONG?”
“No man, it was just a 3 hour exercise drill, which equals nothing. Long would’ve been 4 or 5 hours.”
“It was just a 3 hour drill. Long would’ve been 4 or 5 hours.”
“Why are you repeating me man? Do you want to be like me?”
“Yes bro, everyone wants to be Superman.”
“I am not Superman.”
“That is what you just told me bro.”
“No I didn’t. Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“Just admit it bro, you think you are Superman.”
“No man, what are talking about?”
“I’m telling you that you think you are superman! Why do I have to repeat myself? The next time, it won’t be words I put in your mouth, but I’ll put this fist right through your forehead.”
“Come on, dare.”
“No man, who would dare fighting Superman! I need to get kryptonite.”
“Stop it man, I’m really losing my nerves.”
“Oh, how scary, Superman is losing his nerves. I’m going to have to run away.”
“Ok man, that’s it, you just crossed the line.”
“Bring it on bro!”Round 1, Fight!
lunes, 18 de febrero de 2008
Entry # 5 Carol 4
Carol insults everyone, and when he is nervous, he gets worse. The cab driver enjoys every word that comes out of my grandfather’s mouth, even though some are insulting for him. He doesn’t laugh instantly, but when he drops Carol off at “La Tinaja”, Gerardo’s restaurant, he can’t control it, he cannot avoid it, it strikes him like a lightning, and he laughs like a madman.
The cab drivers love him. He makes up stories as well. Once, there was an ugly lady taking her dog out for a walk. “Look how sweet the lady looks, they are mother and son, did you know?” carol would ask the cab driver as they turn on the car and drive towards “La Tinaja”. The cab driver would not speak, he would just accommodate the baseball cap he was wearing and look at Carol with a strange look in his eyes and a unique smile, moving his head from left to right as if to say, “No, but please tell me how the hell can that lady be the biological mother of the dog.”
“Look to the front! Don’t look at me, we’ll crash! Well, doctors are impressed with this, they couldn’t believe it either. The idea of a female giving birth to a dog just didn’t fit in their scientific minds. I too, was impressed when I got the news, but I believe it now, just looks at them, they are identical! Look at the lady’s face and the dogs face. Ah? Don’t you see the similarities? She is an ugly lady let me tell you, probably too ugly to find a human husband. She started liking dogs. Doctors call that type of sexuality Doggosexual, or when a human is attracted to dogs. She probably has lots of lovers. I can’t understand what it is that she likes about dogs. She is a Doggosexual, that’s more amazing than her son being a dog! Don’t you think?”
The driver takes off his cap, scratches his head, and puts the cap back on. Carol starts forming an evil grin in his face, as he usually does. He sees the driver hesitating and doubting on whether the story is true or false. For Carol, the driver’s hesitation is a sweet victory. He loves making people think “Wow, how can this be possible?”
Carol walks into “La Tinaja” cursing like a madman. Cursing about anything that crosses his mind: the motorcycles, and the holes in the street. He’s got a reserved spot where he sits for a while, observing the way people work and listening to what these people talk about. He sees people come in, go out. It’s always the same. The phones ring, they make phone calls. He observes and listens.
After a while, he gets bored, tired. He asks for someone to call a cab for him. The same story occurs again: drivers fight for being the one that gets to pick up Dr. Rumié, he gets in cursing his life, the driver’s life, the taxi, the city, and the entire world. He is then taken back home.
The cab drivers love him. He makes up stories as well. Once, there was an ugly lady taking her dog out for a walk. “Look how sweet the lady looks, they are mother and son, did you know?” carol would ask the cab driver as they turn on the car and drive towards “La Tinaja”. The cab driver would not speak, he would just accommodate the baseball cap he was wearing and look at Carol with a strange look in his eyes and a unique smile, moving his head from left to right as if to say, “No, but please tell me how the hell can that lady be the biological mother of the dog.”
“Look to the front! Don’t look at me, we’ll crash! Well, doctors are impressed with this, they couldn’t believe it either. The idea of a female giving birth to a dog just didn’t fit in their scientific minds. I too, was impressed when I got the news, but I believe it now, just looks at them, they are identical! Look at the lady’s face and the dogs face. Ah? Don’t you see the similarities? She is an ugly lady let me tell you, probably too ugly to find a human husband. She started liking dogs. Doctors call that type of sexuality Doggosexual, or when a human is attracted to dogs. She probably has lots of lovers. I can’t understand what it is that she likes about dogs. She is a Doggosexual, that’s more amazing than her son being a dog! Don’t you think?”
The driver takes off his cap, scratches his head, and puts the cap back on. Carol starts forming an evil grin in his face, as he usually does. He sees the driver hesitating and doubting on whether the story is true or false. For Carol, the driver’s hesitation is a sweet victory. He loves making people think “Wow, how can this be possible?”
Carol walks into “La Tinaja” cursing like a madman. Cursing about anything that crosses his mind: the motorcycles, and the holes in the street. He’s got a reserved spot where he sits for a while, observing the way people work and listening to what these people talk about. He sees people come in, go out. It’s always the same. The phones ring, they make phone calls. He observes and listens.
After a while, he gets bored, tired. He asks for someone to call a cab for him. The same story occurs again: drivers fight for being the one that gets to pick up Dr. Rumié, he gets in cursing his life, the driver’s life, the taxi, the city, and the entire world. He is then taken back home.
Entry # 4 Carol 3
His stories always have some kind of atrocity, barbarity, nonsense, disparate, which makes them greatly humorous. He loves fights, gossips, indignity, and scandals. He loves when I get near him and tell him a story about a fight or a big scandal that might be caused by a gossip.
After he is done with the newspaper, Carol goes back upstairs, and takes a bath. His bathroom has the coldest water in the entire country. Carol and his wife, I suppose have become immune to it. They no longer feel how cold it is. They have lost sensitivity. I have tried bathing there, and it is a complete, difficult, and complicated task. It requires skill, agility (neither Carol nor Lourdes have it), and a whole lot of strength. Yes, lots of strength to resist the cold water from burning your skin or freezing you to death! Carol and Lourdes have mastered the trick, and do not see the cold water as a problem as I would.
He bathes and does whatever else he has to do, and then picks up the phone and asks the Taxi Company to send him a cab. He no longer needs to give his name or address since the operators who answer the phones recognize his voice and know where he lives and everything.
Cab drivers compete for being the one who gets to pick my grandfather up. He always makes them laugh. Since Carol is really tall and has long legs, it is hard for him to find a cab with enough space for his body to fit comfortably. The cab drivers try to make the cab as comfortable as possible for him. They pull the front seat as far back to give Carol the most amount of space. Normally, he gets picked up by a Renault Clio, a small sized car. As he gets in, he says: “Damn it! Why do these stupid people keep making smaller and smaller cars?! It is impossible for me to be comfortable in here! Damned life I have!” The cab drivers just laugh and say: “This old guy is something special.” As they drive him to his nephew’s office, where he goes every day to visit, he always warns them about wholes on the street. He gets horribly nervous when the car is moving; and when he gets nervous, he does nothing else than curse and get mad.
“Be careful! Watch that hole over there! It’s a crater! The whole damn car could fit in there! Drive like a human, not like a chimpanzee! You are going to get us both killed! This city is not worth anything! All the streets are filled with holes, the mayor does nothing to fix them, and he just steals everyone’s money! Damn it! Watch that motorcycle/taxi over there! Can’t you see that the driver is a gorilla? In fact, a gorilla would drive better. Understand? Look at him! He’s a complete ignorant! Knows nothing about traffic signals, in fact, knows nothing about anything! Watch out! Keep your distance! Look at that motorcycle/taxi over there; he’s carrying an amazingly fat lady with a cake on her hands at the back of the motorcycle. I bet you a thousand dollars that they will both get killed. Be careful and wary or you’ll be the one that kills them! Yes, yes, I’ve told you a thousand times these motorcycle drivers are all gorillas. Watch out with the pedestrian! You almost hit him! Don’t you know about the Cartagena’s pedestrians’ favorite custom and hobby? I’ve got no idea why, but they love jumping in front of cars so that they get killed! Yes, I worked at the hospital, and I had tons of cases with hit pedestrians by taxis. People here in Cartagena are mad! Didn’t I tell you this is total chaos? Everyone acts as if they were drunk and drugged chimpanzees.”
After he is done with the newspaper, Carol goes back upstairs, and takes a bath. His bathroom has the coldest water in the entire country. Carol and his wife, I suppose have become immune to it. They no longer feel how cold it is. They have lost sensitivity. I have tried bathing there, and it is a complete, difficult, and complicated task. It requires skill, agility (neither Carol nor Lourdes have it), and a whole lot of strength. Yes, lots of strength to resist the cold water from burning your skin or freezing you to death! Carol and Lourdes have mastered the trick, and do not see the cold water as a problem as I would.
He bathes and does whatever else he has to do, and then picks up the phone and asks the Taxi Company to send him a cab. He no longer needs to give his name or address since the operators who answer the phones recognize his voice and know where he lives and everything.
Cab drivers compete for being the one who gets to pick my grandfather up. He always makes them laugh. Since Carol is really tall and has long legs, it is hard for him to find a cab with enough space for his body to fit comfortably. The cab drivers try to make the cab as comfortable as possible for him. They pull the front seat as far back to give Carol the most amount of space. Normally, he gets picked up by a Renault Clio, a small sized car. As he gets in, he says: “Damn it! Why do these stupid people keep making smaller and smaller cars?! It is impossible for me to be comfortable in here! Damned life I have!” The cab drivers just laugh and say: “This old guy is something special.” As they drive him to his nephew’s office, where he goes every day to visit, he always warns them about wholes on the street. He gets horribly nervous when the car is moving; and when he gets nervous, he does nothing else than curse and get mad.
“Be careful! Watch that hole over there! It’s a crater! The whole damn car could fit in there! Drive like a human, not like a chimpanzee! You are going to get us both killed! This city is not worth anything! All the streets are filled with holes, the mayor does nothing to fix them, and he just steals everyone’s money! Damn it! Watch that motorcycle/taxi over there! Can’t you see that the driver is a gorilla? In fact, a gorilla would drive better. Understand? Look at him! He’s a complete ignorant! Knows nothing about traffic signals, in fact, knows nothing about anything! Watch out! Keep your distance! Look at that motorcycle/taxi over there; he’s carrying an amazingly fat lady with a cake on her hands at the back of the motorcycle. I bet you a thousand dollars that they will both get killed. Be careful and wary or you’ll be the one that kills them! Yes, yes, I’ve told you a thousand times these motorcycle drivers are all gorillas. Watch out with the pedestrian! You almost hit him! Don’t you know about the Cartagena’s pedestrians’ favorite custom and hobby? I’ve got no idea why, but they love jumping in front of cars so that they get killed! Yes, I worked at the hospital, and I had tons of cases with hit pedestrians by taxis. People here in Cartagena are mad! Didn’t I tell you this is total chaos? Everyone acts as if they were drunk and drugged chimpanzees.”
Entry # 3 Carol 2
The guests laughed their tears out as they heard the story. Carol has a vast repertoire of similar stories, where he invents a total nonsense, but he gives a large amount f details and puts on a serious face, which makes people sometimes buy his stories.
My maternal grandfather, Carol, is a retired psychiatrist. He worked at a psychiatric hospital in Baltimore where he treated teenage criminals. He loves imitating how one of his patients spoke. He was named Ronald, and was a black American about nineteen years old. “Hey Doc, I wanna (want to) go to my houw (house).” Carol would then answer, “Soon baby, soon” with his eyes closed and an evil grin in his face.
During the days of the week, when his friends are working, he has nothing to do. There are no activities that he considers as fun and, therefore, he gets tremendously bored during afternoons.
Carol wakes up at five in the morning, goes to the TV room, and watches “TVEspañola”, a Spanish TV channel. That is his favorite channel. It is the only channel he watches. I have no idea what is it that makes “TVEspañola” his favorite channel. He always watches the same shows, the same news, over and over again.
At six in the morning, he stands up off his rocking chair, goes down the stairs to eat breakfast. When he is done, he sits at the garage, at a rocking chair, and reads the newspaper. He does not like bad news and normally, he chooses not to read them. What he does like, is reading a section called “Sociales”. In that section, the newspaper shows different social events that have occurred during the week, for example, a wedding, a birthday party, a graduation party, a baptism party, a first communion, etc. The way the newspaper, “El Universal”, shows this section is that they show lots of pictures from the social events. My grandfather calls that section “The Comic Strips”. He sits staring at the pictures, recognizing known friends, or family members attending different parties. He watches the pictures, studying everyone’s faces; meanwhile, an enormous grin appears in his face. Carol thinks how people smile for pictures at those events as amazingly comical.
It would definitely be a curse me to appear on those “Comic Strips” since Carol would mock me until he gets tired of it. He would start asking questions about how was the event like and then, with his creative evil mind, he will make up stories about things I did at the event. He will normally ask about the women that attended the event, and ask about any fights or discussions that might have occurred. Then he’d say that I caused a gigantic fight and picked up a huge brick and throw it at someone, and he would imitate the way the women at the party screamed and yelled in fear. I would laugh at how creative and detailed his stories were. Someone, other than a family member, would easily believe his story.
My maternal grandfather, Carol, is a retired psychiatrist. He worked at a psychiatric hospital in Baltimore where he treated teenage criminals. He loves imitating how one of his patients spoke. He was named Ronald, and was a black American about nineteen years old. “Hey Doc, I wanna (want to) go to my houw (house).” Carol would then answer, “Soon baby, soon” with his eyes closed and an evil grin in his face.
During the days of the week, when his friends are working, he has nothing to do. There are no activities that he considers as fun and, therefore, he gets tremendously bored during afternoons.
Carol wakes up at five in the morning, goes to the TV room, and watches “TVEspañola”, a Spanish TV channel. That is his favorite channel. It is the only channel he watches. I have no idea what is it that makes “TVEspañola” his favorite channel. He always watches the same shows, the same news, over and over again.
At six in the morning, he stands up off his rocking chair, goes down the stairs to eat breakfast. When he is done, he sits at the garage, at a rocking chair, and reads the newspaper. He does not like bad news and normally, he chooses not to read them. What he does like, is reading a section called “Sociales”. In that section, the newspaper shows different social events that have occurred during the week, for example, a wedding, a birthday party, a graduation party, a baptism party, a first communion, etc. The way the newspaper, “El Universal”, shows this section is that they show lots of pictures from the social events. My grandfather calls that section “The Comic Strips”. He sits staring at the pictures, recognizing known friends, or family members attending different parties. He watches the pictures, studying everyone’s faces; meanwhile, an enormous grin appears in his face. Carol thinks how people smile for pictures at those events as amazingly comical.
It would definitely be a curse me to appear on those “Comic Strips” since Carol would mock me until he gets tired of it. He would start asking questions about how was the event like and then, with his creative evil mind, he will make up stories about things I did at the event. He will normally ask about the women that attended the event, and ask about any fights or discussions that might have occurred. Then he’d say that I caused a gigantic fight and picked up a huge brick and throw it at someone, and he would imitate the way the women at the party screamed and yelled in fear. I would laugh at how creative and detailed his stories were. Someone, other than a family member, would easily believe his story.
Entry # 2 Carol
My maternal grandfather is one of the funniest guys I have ever met, but he has a very strange sense of humor. My mother, Ruby, calls it “Black Humor”. My grandfather, Carol, has the most the most evil and perverted minds, and it is totally humorous to see the odd and unique way he reacts to certain events. Sometimes, he has a strange resemblance with the Grinch, both physically and mentally.
Carol is about 1.90 meters in high and is a bit skinny. He has enormous, ugly, and delicate feet, which makes finding shoes a tough job. Day after day he complains about how shoes are not comfortable for him, how he has tried tons of different soles and none of them work. His face. We could make a whole book about my grandfather’s face. Carol is famous for being the most handsome man ever when he was young. His friends tell his grandsons stories about how his beauty caused “traffic jams” as he crossed the street since cars had to stop to look at him. How Carol made any woman fall in love with him.
This causes Carol to believe he is a type of God, he believes there is no one as beautiful as him. He always judges people according to whether they are pretty or if they aren’t. Carol is now old, has white hair, and his face looks old and wrinkled. He hates looking old. He can’t stand looking at himself in a mirror or when he sees a recent picture of himself. “Damn it! Take that camera out of here! If you take a picture of me, can’t you see people will say: ‘Oh, look at that ugly old man.’?” He does not like people taking pictures of him.He curses being old. He hates it. He hates ugly people and ugly people, what he is now, old and ugly. He is obsessed with beauty. One day, we were at a huge family reunion dinner. We were celebrating my cousin’s graduation from school. My cousin’s name is Gerardo Rumié. People were dancing, drinking, talking, and singing. Most of the guests that greeted Carol, congratulated him for how pretty my mother is. “Oh Carol! Ruby is so pretty.” That made my grandfather enormously proud. Some of them said Ruby; my mother looked like her own mother. Carol would say: “No no no, she doesn’t look like Lourdes, it is impossible. Lourdes had nothing to do with Ruby, Ruby’s genes were all inherited from me. Ruby is my daughter, not her mother’s. I was the one who got pregnant, gave birth to her, everything! I remember going to the doctor because I was feeling nauseas. When the doctor checked me, he was impressed with what he found. I was pregnant by myself. ‘Yes, Dr. Rumié, you got yourself pregnant. You will have a little baby around September.’ I couldn’t believe Dr. Escobar’s words, but indeed, they were true. That is why Ruby is so pretty, she’s all me! If she had one of Lourdes’ genes, she would be uglier.”
Carol is about 1.90 meters in high and is a bit skinny. He has enormous, ugly, and delicate feet, which makes finding shoes a tough job. Day after day he complains about how shoes are not comfortable for him, how he has tried tons of different soles and none of them work. His face. We could make a whole book about my grandfather’s face. Carol is famous for being the most handsome man ever when he was young. His friends tell his grandsons stories about how his beauty caused “traffic jams” as he crossed the street since cars had to stop to look at him. How Carol made any woman fall in love with him.
This causes Carol to believe he is a type of God, he believes there is no one as beautiful as him. He always judges people according to whether they are pretty or if they aren’t. Carol is now old, has white hair, and his face looks old and wrinkled. He hates looking old. He can’t stand looking at himself in a mirror or when he sees a recent picture of himself. “Damn it! Take that camera out of here! If you take a picture of me, can’t you see people will say: ‘Oh, look at that ugly old man.’?” He does not like people taking pictures of him.He curses being old. He hates it. He hates ugly people and ugly people, what he is now, old and ugly. He is obsessed with beauty. One day, we were at a huge family reunion dinner. We were celebrating my cousin’s graduation from school. My cousin’s name is Gerardo Rumié. People were dancing, drinking, talking, and singing. Most of the guests that greeted Carol, congratulated him for how pretty my mother is. “Oh Carol! Ruby is so pretty.” That made my grandfather enormously proud. Some of them said Ruby; my mother looked like her own mother. Carol would say: “No no no, she doesn’t look like Lourdes, it is impossible. Lourdes had nothing to do with Ruby, Ruby’s genes were all inherited from me. Ruby is my daughter, not her mother’s. I was the one who got pregnant, gave birth to her, everything! I remember going to the doctor because I was feeling nauseas. When the doctor checked me, he was impressed with what he found. I was pregnant by myself. ‘Yes, Dr. Rumié, you got yourself pregnant. You will have a little baby around September.’ I couldn’t believe Dr. Escobar’s words, but indeed, they were true. That is why Ruby is so pretty, she’s all me! If she had one of Lourdes’ genes, she would be uglier.”
Entry # 1 March Againt Violence
I had a terrific experience this afternoon. The entire day was oriented towards this experience. The experience occurred at The National March for Colombian Peace which I attended in company of some family members and millions of Colombians. My family members were: my brother Sergio, my cousin Catalina, my dad Fernando Araújo, his girlfriend Adriana, and several bodyguards and friends.
The whole idea of this march was wonderful for me. The march claimed for Colombian Peace, rejected terrorists, rejected kidnaps, rejected criminals, claimed liberty of our hostages, and rejected the illegal armed group FARC. I feel much attached to these issues and movements since my dad was kidnapped for six years. I have felt the pain of the families who have kidnapped family members. I have felt the fear, the sadness, the anger, the desperation, the frustration, the weakness, the shame, and the despair.
I have seen the nightmare come to an end and felt all the feelings that these families dream, day after day, of feeling. These feelings I felt are the most profound and deep feelings there are. They are glory, happiness, shock, pride, tranquility, strength, euphoria, ecstasy, joy, excitement, and peace. The moment my dad stepped out of the helicopter, all of my family members and me were filled with these terrific feelings.
The experience I went through at the march was filled with emotion. What happened was that as we marched beside my dad, claiming for liberty, I remembered about a march claiming for my dad’s freedom, when I was only nine years old. I realized how inside me, the situation had completely changed. The confusion I felt in the march in 2001 contrasted with the clarity I felt today.
People in the march yelled my dad’s name. They said: “¡Que viva el Canciller!” They showed their appreciation for my dad’s work, for my dad’s commitment to the rest of the Colombians. They hugged my dad, kissed him, took pictures with him, took pictures of him, asked for autographs, and showed their love for him even though they do not know him. These people were completely committed to the march’s purpose and made me realize how my dad’s victory was considered as a victory for many Colombians, not only for me and my family. I feel the same as these people at the march. The freedom of another Colombian, like Clara Rojas or Pinchao, has also produced similar feelings inside me.
I am the proudest son, yes, but this is not the strongest feeling I felt today. That feeling was the strongest when my dad came back, or when my dad was named Minister, but not today. Today, what shocked me the most and what the experience is all about, is feeling how the Colombians at the march are tired, worn-out, exhausted, fatigued, and will no longer stand the FARC’s lies, terrorist attacks, kidnapping, and crimes. Today, I sensed the disgust produced by these terrorists in all Colombians. Today, I felt that these types of manifestations are the best way to get the rest of the word to see the reality. This is the best way to get this nightmare to end for the rest of the Colombians. Today I felt how we have made a great progress since several years ago. Today I felt something not easy to explain. I felt as if had a multiplied times millions strength. I felt that unity makes the force.
The whole idea of this march was wonderful for me. The march claimed for Colombian Peace, rejected terrorists, rejected kidnaps, rejected criminals, claimed liberty of our hostages, and rejected the illegal armed group FARC. I feel much attached to these issues and movements since my dad was kidnapped for six years. I have felt the pain of the families who have kidnapped family members. I have felt the fear, the sadness, the anger, the desperation, the frustration, the weakness, the shame, and the despair.
I have seen the nightmare come to an end and felt all the feelings that these families dream, day after day, of feeling. These feelings I felt are the most profound and deep feelings there are. They are glory, happiness, shock, pride, tranquility, strength, euphoria, ecstasy, joy, excitement, and peace. The moment my dad stepped out of the helicopter, all of my family members and me were filled with these terrific feelings.
The experience I went through at the march was filled with emotion. What happened was that as we marched beside my dad, claiming for liberty, I remembered about a march claiming for my dad’s freedom, when I was only nine years old. I realized how inside me, the situation had completely changed. The confusion I felt in the march in 2001 contrasted with the clarity I felt today.
People in the march yelled my dad’s name. They said: “¡Que viva el Canciller!” They showed their appreciation for my dad’s work, for my dad’s commitment to the rest of the Colombians. They hugged my dad, kissed him, took pictures with him, took pictures of him, asked for autographs, and showed their love for him even though they do not know him. These people were completely committed to the march’s purpose and made me realize how my dad’s victory was considered as a victory for many Colombians, not only for me and my family. I feel the same as these people at the march. The freedom of another Colombian, like Clara Rojas or Pinchao, has also produced similar feelings inside me.
I am the proudest son, yes, but this is not the strongest feeling I felt today. That feeling was the strongest when my dad came back, or when my dad was named Minister, but not today. Today, what shocked me the most and what the experience is all about, is feeling how the Colombians at the march are tired, worn-out, exhausted, fatigued, and will no longer stand the FARC’s lies, terrorist attacks, kidnapping, and crimes. Today, I sensed the disgust produced by these terrorists in all Colombians. Today, I felt that these types of manifestations are the best way to get the rest of the word to see the reality. This is the best way to get this nightmare to end for the rest of the Colombians. Today I felt how we have made a great progress since several years ago. Today I felt something not easy to explain. I felt as if had a multiplied times millions strength. I felt that unity makes the force.
viernes, 8 de febrero de 2008
What is a Blog? - Friday, February 8th, 2008.
A. What is the difference between a blog and a book?
B. How have blogs changes recently?
C. Why might you read a blog?
D. Is there reason to doubt the objectivity of a blog? Why? Why not?
E. If you kept your own blog, what would you title it?
A. Blogs and books are somehow opposites. According to the article, books are slow, tight, invite you to stay, and fret over copyright and libel, while blogs are fast, reckless, invite you to stray, and grab to whatever the want with impunity. They way they are read are different as well. When you read a blog, you can sometimes jump around with links. Links The way they are published are different. Books can be either published on internet, or printed, while blogs are exclusively for internet. Blogs and books also differ in the way that in blogs, people are able to interact and you may see the observations and opinions of different types. Books are made by one author and you are not able to interact with him.
B. recently, blogs are being used by lots of people, while before, they were used by a smaller amount of the population. Blogs are now used to comment on a posted subject. They are also used for readers of newspapers to comment on a specific news. The most shocking change that blogs have gone through is the popularity they have gained.
C. I might read a blog to have an idea of different opinions on a specific subject and have the chance to publish my own opinion.
D. Most of the time, authors of blogs express their opinion of something through it. People publish comments with their own opionions and points of views on that subject, causing the blog to be completely subjective.
E. The title of my blog will depend on what subject I will comment about. I would consider very interesting, since I am a lover of soccer, to create a blog called: "What makes you the planet's best soccer player?". People will express what they think are the attributes the best soccer player in the world needs to have.
B. How have blogs changes recently?
C. Why might you read a blog?
D. Is there reason to doubt the objectivity of a blog? Why? Why not?
E. If you kept your own blog, what would you title it?
A. Blogs and books are somehow opposites. According to the article, books are slow, tight, invite you to stay, and fret over copyright and libel, while blogs are fast, reckless, invite you to stray, and grab to whatever the want with impunity. They way they are read are different as well. When you read a blog, you can sometimes jump around with links. Links The way they are published are different. Books can be either published on internet, or printed, while blogs are exclusively for internet. Blogs and books also differ in the way that in blogs, people are able to interact and you may see the observations and opinions of different types. Books are made by one author and you are not able to interact with him.
B. recently, blogs are being used by lots of people, while before, they were used by a smaller amount of the population. Blogs are now used to comment on a posted subject. They are also used for readers of newspapers to comment on a specific news. The most shocking change that blogs have gone through is the popularity they have gained.
C. I might read a blog to have an idea of different opinions on a specific subject and have the chance to publish my own opinion.
D. Most of the time, authors of blogs express their opinion of something through it. People publish comments with their own opionions and points of views on that subject, causing the blog to be completely subjective.
E. The title of my blog will depend on what subject I will comment about. I would consider very interesting, since I am a lover of soccer, to create a blog called: "What makes you the planet's best soccer player?". People will express what they think are the attributes the best soccer player in the world needs to have.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)