Showing posts with label Rogue Therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rogue Therapy. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
2008 extended tagline
Philosopher emerging from accounting pulls a quick one on demons who were counting on a free lunch - washing them away, clawing and thrashing, in a river of booze. Our intrepid adventurer takes to the road following the strands of friends he has spun over the web of years. Each friend has created a different life towards their dreams. Experiencing slices of others' passions and doldrums serves to melt and chip away whatever parts of his post-divorce heart are left in his chest. He's dying to the past and growing a heart towards the future. This ripples into his days slowly because liquor is thicker than the blood of a fresh heart. But, as he allows it, understandings expand self and the relationships thereof. Upon settling back onto the world he finds that the techniques of structureless days rounded by inebriation's thick bubble have been used to their maximum advantage but must be let go of now so that he can move back into the society of humans. Journeying gets lonesome tiring.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
In response to a friend's quiestion of what not drinking was like...
As far as not drinking it came upon me suddenly. I had been down in Naples FL visiting an old friend a few blocks from the Gulf coast. The sun doesn't set in Naples until a hundred people are drinking on the beach. So I, being my mother's son, bought a box of wine; though not her preferred brand. A box of Pinot Noir is 4 bottles worth of wine and only costs about $12. Drinking from the space bag for a few days led me to the discovery that it was horrid wine. I even had to buy beer a few times to alleviate the destruction of my stomach lining; but I persevered and even kept it in the vestibule of the tent I was sleeping in in the backyard so that I would have to face my nemesis first thing in the morning.
The flight back I spent in my journal. In my deepest sense of self there dwells a story maker and teller. As I wrote I sipped whiskys which brightened the noonday sun, but dimmed my head. The sentences weren't coming out smooth like a sunbeam's moment through a moving cloudhole, they were coughing out like a coal train's smokestack. The bender had crested the 14 month wave and was beginning the curl that will lead to a collapsing in on itself. The spree was no longer a story to tell but a rut chunnelling me through each day.
This, box of wine and all, has recently revealed itself to be a genius plot in the disguise of an alky's soulrot. I didn't crystallize any of this into wordable emotional categories until I woke up back in the hills the next day. I was in a low state of revulsion towards the effects of the beach alcohol (beach alcohol, in the winter, is much saltier and even more dehydrating than even altitude alcohol) inside my body. The sluggish character it was festering into as I continued to feed the monster; 4, 5, 8, 12 drinks a day, more, more, was seeping out of the heels of my feet and I walked through the day with a squish and wet squeaks.
So as I squished over to the fridge of bestowing that first evening of February, I found this giant sentry carved from the stone of my deep will. My desirous, sluggish, cravenly thirst - so diffuse in its methods, so scattered in its doings - has no chance of direct confrontation with such a condensed form of my's elves.
"It seems," I said "that there has been a vote within me and most of the energies of feeling have sided with this formidable intent to uncrave the numb of alcohol."
It mostly turned off, like a switch. I am treating myself to things like candlelit piano music warming the air around a mustard bath (its a bath salts mix of mustard and other herbs that open up the pores of the skin so that nastiness like alcohol residues can be released) and then a dark room and complete relaxation in the Mindfold.
The flight back I spent in my journal. In my deepest sense of self there dwells a story maker and teller. As I wrote I sipped whiskys which brightened the noonday sun, but dimmed my head. The sentences weren't coming out smooth like a sunbeam's moment through a moving cloudhole, they were coughing out like a coal train's smokestack. The bender had crested the 14 month wave and was beginning the curl that will lead to a collapsing in on itself. The spree was no longer a story to tell but a rut chunnelling me through each day.
This, box of wine and all, has recently revealed itself to be a genius plot in the disguise of an alky's soulrot. I didn't crystallize any of this into wordable emotional categories until I woke up back in the hills the next day. I was in a low state of revulsion towards the effects of the beach alcohol (beach alcohol, in the winter, is much saltier and even more dehydrating than even altitude alcohol) inside my body. The sluggish character it was festering into as I continued to feed the monster; 4, 5, 8, 12 drinks a day, more, more, was seeping out of the heels of my feet and I walked through the day with a squish and wet squeaks.
So as I squished over to the fridge of bestowing that first evening of February, I found this giant sentry carved from the stone of my deep will. My desirous, sluggish, cravenly thirst - so diffuse in its methods, so scattered in its doings - has no chance of direct confrontation with such a condensed form of my's elves.
"It seems," I said "that there has been a vote within me and most of the energies of feeling have sided with this formidable intent to uncrave the numb of alcohol."
It mostly turned off, like a switch. I am treating myself to things like candlelit piano music warming the air around a mustard bath (its a bath salts mix of mustard and other herbs that open up the pores of the skin so that nastiness like alcohol residues can be released) and then a dark room and complete relaxation in the Mindfold.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Toned down for mortal consumption
I just can't do it. The thoughts come so fast that I have been guzzling beer in an attempt to slow things down, but the practiced tolerance of drinking for 2008 (for honest, I have averaged, AVERAGED, 7 alcoholic drinks per day - I can drink two bottles of wine and then wake up and do it again the next day, hangovers are non-existant and somehow I can still eat one full meal throughout the day, keeping my weight at the sultry 125lbs.) has left my attempts flat on the brain lag and too expensive to continue without more income.
So the last couple of days, playing The Financier have left me face to face with the fear that i have wasted the last 8 years of my life trying to learn the game that rules the world; and now that I have no upward option but to get back into finance and accounting and making money from numbers; I can see the future: it involves me drooling in a straight jacket. Have you seen the movie Quill? All I want is ink and a pen. All I have is a calculator and a new haircut.
The desire of my soul is to dive into psychology. The bent of my mind is to think of philosophy. But the skill of my training is the opposite of these.
I thought I could reconcile all opposites in myself by playing along with them but have found I am only human, though I don't seem to have a human mind, for it dreams of things that are not in this world. How can I have ideas that are not compatible with the present situation of the world? Do the dreams that drive me mad tumble into the psychic compost for more determined minds to grow from? Is my role that of the pioneer and then to be forgotten? What do I care if it is? I won't be making it out of here alive, be it in a coffin or legends, its death all the way down.
I don't want to reproduce because I could never give possibility to these sorts of pains in the heart and head. I have seen that most people admire my ability to think, but can I tell you what a curse it is? This seeing the extremes of all these worlds that make up our variance; this obsession to explain the feelings that posess this damned body of mine. And the knowledge that there are things worth this pain and rewards worth the troubles, but from this troubled mindstate, I can easily discard them to make room for more of the sharpest feelings that I know, those of the extremest of extremes. Sometimes a loving hug draws me, but in truth its no more interesting to me (although to my biology is another story entirely) than a funny tv show...so says the downside.
How i've tried to speak with professional mind-explainers and verify that I am human, but to my chagrin i know more about the mind than those who have received papers saying they know more about the mind. Its not like I am a genius because I don't know how to apply all these marvelous thoughts I live for, but there is undoubtedly some intelligence that is beyond the normal, or at least, habitual, human comprehension - leaving me to rot under the glory of my imaginings.
(I will likely regret posting this later, but its not stopping me...)
So the last couple of days, playing The Financier have left me face to face with the fear that i have wasted the last 8 years of my life trying to learn the game that rules the world; and now that I have no upward option but to get back into finance and accounting and making money from numbers; I can see the future: it involves me drooling in a straight jacket. Have you seen the movie Quill? All I want is ink and a pen. All I have is a calculator and a new haircut.
The desire of my soul is to dive into psychology. The bent of my mind is to think of philosophy. But the skill of my training is the opposite of these.
I thought I could reconcile all opposites in myself by playing along with them but have found I am only human, though I don't seem to have a human mind, for it dreams of things that are not in this world. How can I have ideas that are not compatible with the present situation of the world? Do the dreams that drive me mad tumble into the psychic compost for more determined minds to grow from? Is my role that of the pioneer and then to be forgotten? What do I care if it is? I won't be making it out of here alive, be it in a coffin or legends, its death all the way down.
I don't want to reproduce because I could never give possibility to these sorts of pains in the heart and head. I have seen that most people admire my ability to think, but can I tell you what a curse it is? This seeing the extremes of all these worlds that make up our variance; this obsession to explain the feelings that posess this damned body of mine. And the knowledge that there are things worth this pain and rewards worth the troubles, but from this troubled mindstate, I can easily discard them to make room for more of the sharpest feelings that I know, those of the extremest of extremes. Sometimes a loving hug draws me, but in truth its no more interesting to me (although to my biology is another story entirely) than a funny tv show...so says the downside.
How i've tried to speak with professional mind-explainers and verify that I am human, but to my chagrin i know more about the mind than those who have received papers saying they know more about the mind. Its not like I am a genius because I don't know how to apply all these marvelous thoughts I live for, but there is undoubtedly some intelligence that is beyond the normal, or at least, habitual, human comprehension - leaving me to rot under the glory of my imaginings.
(I will likely regret posting this later, but its not stopping me...)
Monday, October 13, 2008
Let us pay homage to Rene Magritte
Rene Magritte is my favorite painter. He is the analogist of the canvas.
(if you open the first link in a new tab or page it may be easier to just use the sideways arrows above the paintings than these links, I can't decide so here's both)
Clairvoyance--egg is to bird as i am to self portrait
Not To Be Reproduced--mirror is to face as perspective is to vision
The Listening Room--size is to memory as apple is to room
Mysteries of the Horizon--moon is to individual as soul is to man
My personal favorite, Homesickness where views are to nature as black is to wings
and of course, The Treachery of Images where painting is to understanding as word is to mind.
(if you open the first link in a new tab or page it may be easier to just use the sideways arrows above the paintings than these links, I can't decide so here's both)
Clairvoyance--egg is to bird as i am to self portrait
Not To Be Reproduced--mirror is to face as perspective is to vision
The Listening Room--size is to memory as apple is to room
Mysteries of the Horizon--moon is to individual as soul is to man
My personal favorite, Homesickness where views are to nature as black is to wings
and of course, The Treachery of Images where painting is to understanding as word is to mind.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Las Cascadas
(Yáll will have to forgive me, this computer is not fast enough to upload the mentioned videos here...i´ll get to it soon, but here are some photos to hold you over)
Rogue Cascadas Therapy
Mostly I want to let these videos speak for themselves. But the backstory is that we came upon the waterfalls when a few other sets of folks were already there. These videos were taken in the lower, smaller falls where the forces in the water were still extreme enough to pull you around. And what you can't see is that the riverbed went from golf ball sized stones that supported your weight to a fine sand that your foot would sink to the ankle making movement into the swirl that much harder. [video me] Now what you have just witnessed was more than just the first ever Mindfolding of Mindo's Las Cascadas, but you actually took part in a bit of Rogue Therapy, whether intending to or not, because I was facing a subset of my biggest fear ever: Sharks, and the subset being, things-that-touch-your-feet-when-they-are-underwater-and-i-can't-see-them-anymore. But in its own way, the Mindfold made facing my fear easier, because trying to walk through a whirlpool to touch a waterfall when you can't see anything makes the whole experience enormous and easily fearable so i didn't focus on the minor more irrational fear, I had to wade through the big fear.
El Capitan makes it look easy...[video]
We played in the bottom pool for a bit, waiting for the groups up there to disperse. Then we cimbed this rope up a rock about 20 ft at an enormous incline. I used mostly my arms as I couldn't trust my feet with the slipperiness of the thin layer of moss that grew in the waterfall's spray area. Once we got up to the pool of the major falls, pictures became useless because the falls had actually carved out a chamber over the aeons, and to get to them took two freeswinging cable bridges to get across the whitewater between the two falls. Then we had to strip down to our swimsuits and leave the backpack (and camera) to traverse the narrow channel where the river had let itself out of the enormous cylinder its waterfall is pouring through. The waterlevel went from ankle deep to swimming in moments. We had to work for every stroke forward, and the sound got so that we had to yell next to each other. The air was filled with water, the most pregnant cloud, almost unbreathable as the foam churned feet over the water. We sidestepped the frontal foamage and worked around to a nook that took climbing up slimy rocks, not even thick moss could withstand the constant barrage in here, to sit in the crevice; egg-shaped and 15 feet tall it must have been caused by a waterfall of floodwaters 50 times the fall's current size. It was exactly the type of nook Golum[sp?] would talk to himself in. I tried to swim from the side into the waterfall, but got to shivering uncontrolably from all this time in the cold waters and I didn't trust my strength once I got into the outer waves of foamy waters. But El Capitan went back to my bag with me and took my Mindfold and went until he was swimming and put it on and then swam into the churning of the waterfall. "I imagined myself in a galactic vortex where time was sped up to the point that stars were going thru their life cycles in moments. I was wading thru the fabric of time and space and the closer I got to the central black hole, the more violent the churning of space all around me." Spoken like a true mindfolder.
Las Cascadas were mesmerizing and we wished we didn't have to go, but the last run of the Tarabita was at 4 and we didn't want to miss it and get stranded. We did the hike back up and it started raining. I bundled into my rain jacket which became immeasurably useful going out into the open sky in the middle of the Cloud Forest and speeding thru the open sky at 15 mph and the rain is coming in sheets. A miracle of physics allowed me hunching over in a ball with my back to the direction we were going effectively shielded my legs from any rain at all and me, my backpack and pants stayed 95% dry. This proved more important since we were going to wait with the Tarabita drivers to give us a ride down the mountain. But it ended up that the drivers believed not everyone had come back by 4. We waited for 45 minutes until the drivers gave up on waiting and shut the thing down. We headed down just hoping the fellows had made it back across and the drivers had just not recalled.
Shark Surfing
As we were in the back of the truck, heading down the potholefull road, in the Cloud Forest's not-really-rain it quickly became hard to hold onto the roll bar in the back of the truck; and doubly so when the Mindfold came out. The Seer had to call out branches of overhanging trees to duck from as well as just having to hold on at every bump you can't see to predict. We decided to move past the Mindfold quickly and into a branch of Shark Riding that we came to call Surfing the Shark. In a full standing position we let our hands hover an inch from the roll bar so that we could grab it at any moment but other than our feet, didn't touch the truck. Rolling at about 15 mph we could do this for a good thirty seconds at a time until we hit a turn that was too tight, or a hole too big, so that we would grab the roll bar and steady. After a bit of this we started working with our central Chi energy in ball form spinning it like a gyroscope to keep in constant, flux of balance with the rolling truck. Speed, rain, washed clean in a waterfall and Minfoldsplorations of the day got us in the high-sped giddiness where we were yelling about the spinning ball of Chi invisible but tangible in our hands and hollering like on a rollercoaster, until we heard laughing behind us and we turned to see another truck full of folks watching our antics of balancing and losing it and laughing uncontrolably. The Cloud Forest had descended upon us all.
La Tarabita
The next day, Tuesday, I woke early enough to have breakfast for the first time in Ecuador. I wasn't impressed. I still am not able to eat before noon, which had been easily solved by sleeping past that, but at 10 I was not ready for runny pancakes or eggs, even as fresh as they were. So I had whisky in my coffee to get some calories...as we were going to hike to the Las Cascadas. For lunch to take with us, El Capitan was set on finding sandwhiches of cheese and tomato.
"I love cheese so much that I don't want to let Ecuadorian cheese ruin my love for cheese." The first night in Quito I tried a pizza and the result was a broader conception of Cheese.
"Why can't you just consider the cheese here as another kind that you don't like as well? And just eat it because it will nourish you?"
Fine argument El Capitan, but i'd rather eat fruit and nuts. Nuts I already had on me, and fruit I purchased from the back of a truck and was informed I got ripped off paying 25 centavos for 2 oranges (I just finished the second one now and it was worth a great deal more than 12.5 cents). But El Capitan has been pointing out my weakness in the area of negotiation. And I am the first to admit I hate the banter and price changing. To me if the price you are asking is not what I want to pay, then I walk away. I have always had a distaste in my mouth for haggling and don't intend on playing that game. It feels too much like confrontation for me.
So we started down the road that would lead us out of town and encountered a contingent of United Statesian girls about college age who asked us where the waterfalls were.
El Capitan: "Well its about an hour and a half hike more or less straight up this mountain, then you have to pay $5 to take the Tarabita across the valley and hike another half an hour down into the jungle. Basically as you are going, you need to always turn onto, or take the road that looks like it could hold a car. And the flip flops you are wearing are not going to hold up to these hills." The girls turned around.
As we progressed up the mountain we went from 2500 meters to over 4400 meters in about an hour and a half. Of course the Mindfold came out and we realized the person who is giving directions of how not to step in puddles or horse-droppings, is in the position, relative to the Mindfolder, of 'Seer.' El Capitan had a daunting task when I was folding the upward hike, because it was during a section of great mud and puddles. We wove through the gauntlet without me so much as getting a foot wet based on following his footsteps' sound. Each time a truck would come by carrying a load of people each paying a dollar for the ride, we would step aside and wave at them.
"Okay here comes a truck going back down."
"Yeah I can hear it."
"Strafe a la derecaha, to the side of the road."
"Here good?"
"Yeah now wave."
And I step forward to keep my balance as I toss my arm up to wave in the direction I hope is the truck, and I hear a splash around the area of my foot. So I pull it back quickly.
"Well, now they know you can't see in that thing."
It is always a bit of the fun to see how long you can keep those around you outside the Fold, before inviting them in.
We sauntered up to the Tarabita with our Mindfolds up on our foreheads. And El Capitan asks after his friend Angelita, but Ramiro tells him she no longer works here, but is still in town. El Capitan explains how he saw Angelit and Ramiro on television in the States. Some travel show that went across the Tarabita and filmed these folks running the machine. The Tarabita is a double wide ski lift car that you face each other in and is suspended by a cable the thickness of my scrawny forearm, powered by something akin to a lawn mower engine and operated by the pilot who stands on the outside and holds on. El Capitan got to ride for free as Ramiro told him he was a Guide of Mindo, having brought a few folks through here, and often was given the honor of piloting the Tarabita.
There was something about crossing that chasm that put us right in the line of fire of inanity, because as soon as we got off on the other side, El capitan went under the lean-to for waiting passengers and asked for my knife and started sawing off the legs of his pants. "Even though these are my good khakis that I wear when flying, I just need some shorts right now."
"That's why I am carrying a pair of shorts in my bag." Even fools know some things!
From this came an impromptu photo shoot in the Andes...
This one I call "Rogue Therapist"
"I love cheese so much that I don't want to let Ecuadorian cheese ruin my love for cheese." The first night in Quito I tried a pizza and the result was a broader conception of Cheese.
"Why can't you just consider the cheese here as another kind that you don't like as well? And just eat it because it will nourish you?"
Fine argument El Capitan, but i'd rather eat fruit and nuts. Nuts I already had on me, and fruit I purchased from the back of a truck and was informed I got ripped off paying 25 centavos for 2 oranges (I just finished the second one now and it was worth a great deal more than 12.5 cents). But El Capitan has been pointing out my weakness in the area of negotiation. And I am the first to admit I hate the banter and price changing. To me if the price you are asking is not what I want to pay, then I walk away. I have always had a distaste in my mouth for haggling and don't intend on playing that game. It feels too much like confrontation for me.
So we started down the road that would lead us out of town and encountered a contingent of United Statesian girls about college age who asked us where the waterfalls were.
El Capitan: "Well its about an hour and a half hike more or less straight up this mountain, then you have to pay $5 to take the Tarabita across the valley and hike another half an hour down into the jungle. Basically as you are going, you need to always turn onto, or take the road that looks like it could hold a car. And the flip flops you are wearing are not going to hold up to these hills." The girls turned around.
As we progressed up the mountain we went from 2500 meters to over 4400 meters in about an hour and a half. Of course the Mindfold came out and we realized the person who is giving directions of how not to step in puddles or horse-droppings, is in the position, relative to the Mindfolder, of 'Seer.' El Capitan had a daunting task when I was folding the upward hike, because it was during a section of great mud and puddles. We wove through the gauntlet without me so much as getting a foot wet based on following his footsteps' sound. Each time a truck would come by carrying a load of people each paying a dollar for the ride, we would step aside and wave at them.
"Okay here comes a truck going back down."
"Yeah I can hear it."
"Strafe a la derecaha, to the side of the road."
"Here good?"
"Yeah now wave."
And I step forward to keep my balance as I toss my arm up to wave in the direction I hope is the truck, and I hear a splash around the area of my foot. So I pull it back quickly.
"Well, now they know you can't see in that thing."
It is always a bit of the fun to see how long you can keep those around you outside the Fold, before inviting them in.
We sauntered up to the Tarabita with our Mindfolds up on our foreheads. And El Capitan asks after his friend Angelita, but Ramiro tells him she no longer works here, but is still in town. El Capitan explains how he saw Angelit and Ramiro on television in the States. Some travel show that went across the Tarabita and filmed these folks running the machine. The Tarabita is a double wide ski lift car that you face each other in and is suspended by a cable the thickness of my scrawny forearm, powered by something akin to a lawn mower engine and operated by the pilot who stands on the outside and holds on. El Capitan got to ride for free as Ramiro told him he was a Guide of Mindo, having brought a few folks through here, and often was given the honor of piloting the Tarabita.
There was something about crossing that chasm that put us right in the line of fire of inanity, because as soon as we got off on the other side, El capitan went under the lean-to for waiting passengers and asked for my knife and started sawing off the legs of his pants. "Even though these are my good khakis that I wear when flying, I just need some shorts right now."
"That's why I am carrying a pair of shorts in my bag." Even fools know some things!
From this came an impromptu photo shoot in the Andes...
This one I call "Rogue Therapist"
Monday, July 21, 2008
Ecuador
So, El Capitan y mi have made the leap. We Mindfolded (I am suggesting the Spanish term for this to be "Plegarmente" but anyone with more knowledge than me should help me refine this; my best translation for that made up word is: To Convolute the Mind) the first class flight where El Capitan actually ate a 5 course meal with a folded mind!!! Super Rock. The stewardesses asked after our escapades in the psychologiscape and we definitely made at least one convert. ROGUE THERAPY.
Then El Capitan performed a bit of Rogue Therapy on me when he had to talk his way into the country as a previous deportation showed up on the Immagration computers. It was a graceful performance combining straight face, fake lack of knowledge of Espanol and me posing as the helpless amigo. To round it off, once we got in, he thanked the lady by saying "Arrigato." Priceless.
So I was not able to take advantage of the privileged drinking in the Business Class cabin as I feared the altitude of Quito (its pretty near Breckenridge where I required a tank of oxygen delivered after altitude sickness demanded an excruciating toll on my lowlands southern body). But the second day here we found a Shark in a casino and Rode it all the way to this morning's retribution. For those of you who don't know (and Sleg, will you please forward this to our Rockford Connection?) Shark Riding is the extreme of urban adventuring; because, as everyone knows, when you encounter a shark, the only option is to grab a hold and not get eaten.
We had a routine set up at the blackjack table where we each went in with US$20 and took the US$2 minimum table by storm. We would rotate hands sitting out so that we could maximize our time and 'free' food and drinks. We lasted more than 3 hours (with El Capitan giving me a late boost of cash-winnings-inflow so we could keep playing until our last round of drinks came around the table). The pit bosses made weird clicking noises every once in a while and I could not discern the meanings, if anyone knows what they are all about please let me know. We intend on returning and playing a hand mindfolded. I know, I know.
Alright so moving on from that, the spanish language is slowly falling back into the front of my thinking, but its very humbling to not have a clue what people are talking about. We are in a hostel in Quito that is named after Harley-Davidson motorcycles and are hanging out at Shooters somewhere in the New town section of Ecuador. I have yet to get a decent map in my mind of the city.
The altitude has interesting effects on the climate (at least I am hypothesizing it is the altitude and its thin air that leaves the temperature at the mercy of the sun in the sky or lacking such....) where the days are hot and the nights cold. We are stocking up on supplies and settling into the culture before moving from Quito into the rest of Ecuador. I stil have to find a cord for the camera that Robbiedog lent me before I can start downloading pics, but swing by again in a bit and you can see what I am talking about.
Then El Capitan performed a bit of Rogue Therapy on me when he had to talk his way into the country as a previous deportation showed up on the Immagration computers. It was a graceful performance combining straight face, fake lack of knowledge of Espanol and me posing as the helpless amigo. To round it off, once we got in, he thanked the lady by saying "Arrigato." Priceless.
So I was not able to take advantage of the privileged drinking in the Business Class cabin as I feared the altitude of Quito (its pretty near Breckenridge where I required a tank of oxygen delivered after altitude sickness demanded an excruciating toll on my lowlands southern body). But the second day here we found a Shark in a casino and Rode it all the way to this morning's retribution. For those of you who don't know (and Sleg, will you please forward this to our Rockford Connection?) Shark Riding is the extreme of urban adventuring; because, as everyone knows, when you encounter a shark, the only option is to grab a hold and not get eaten.
We had a routine set up at the blackjack table where we each went in with US$20 and took the US$2 minimum table by storm. We would rotate hands sitting out so that we could maximize our time and 'free' food and drinks. We lasted more than 3 hours (with El Capitan giving me a late boost of cash-winnings-inflow so we could keep playing until our last round of drinks came around the table). The pit bosses made weird clicking noises every once in a while and I could not discern the meanings, if anyone knows what they are all about please let me know. We intend on returning and playing a hand mindfolded. I know, I know.
Alright so moving on from that, the spanish language is slowly falling back into the front of my thinking, but its very humbling to not have a clue what people are talking about. We are in a hostel in Quito that is named after Harley-Davidson motorcycles and are hanging out at Shooters somewhere in the New town section of Ecuador. I have yet to get a decent map in my mind of the city.
The altitude has interesting effects on the climate (at least I am hypothesizing it is the altitude and its thin air that leaves the temperature at the mercy of the sun in the sky or lacking such....) where the days are hot and the nights cold. We are stocking up on supplies and settling into the culture before moving from Quito into the rest of Ecuador. I stil have to find a cord for the camera that Robbiedog lent me before I can start downloading pics, but swing by again in a bit and you can see what I am talking about.
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