Solitaire, Anyone?

I haven't played video games in a while, as it was something I kind of grew out of in college. In my freshman year I was still playing Playstation, but with less fervor and interest than I used to have when I was younger. It seemed as though with all of the work piling up and real life things to deal with, I just didn't have the time or patience to sit through playing a level for an hour, only to be killed right before reaching the end and having to start over. "Nuts to this, I'm outta here."

College went on, and though I'd still play team games like "Madden," it was just to entertain my friends. The lowest point came when my friend Travis murdered me in a game, something like 107-35. I mean he was just toying with me. I was never very good at the games, but this was a bloodbath. It was embarrassing, and something I never really lived down. The last two years of college were made interesting with the acquisition of a Sega Genesis, a classic game system that with 16 bits of graphic technology, was easily eclipsed by anything else on the market. Yet there was that classic value to it, and as my friends and I would sit around drinking beer, we'd play in tournaments such classic games as "Mortal Kombat," "Sonic the Hedgehog," and "NBA Jam." These are gems that will never get old.

It's been months and months now since I've played a video game, and lately I find myself craving one badly. Just something to kill the boredom. Though parents often complain that there's something better you could be doing, you can't deny that they have a certain power to keep you busy and off the streets. I suppose it's better to be pretending to be a gang member shooting people in the safety of your own living room or basement, rather than actually doing it. And let's not forget the improved hand-eye coordination. That's just magical.

But I have no access to that kind of life here in Ecuador. Probably for the better, but with all of my free time, especially this week on a half-vacation, it would be a nice change of pace. Just one game of football, or one car chase through a busy city. Something to kill the typical, extravagant-less day. I have no computer games to speak of, save for those standard ones that come with every computer since 1995. You know, Hearts, Pinball, and my personal favorite, Solitaire.

Solitaire is the only game I play anymore, and I think I'm up to averaging around 50 games a day. Take that in for just a second. 50. Do you have any idea how monotonous the game of Solitaire is? It is without surprise, without deviation, and without cheat codes. I play so much Solitaire that I've actually started to see patterns evolving. I can predict within the first 10 seconds of the game whether or not I'll win, and usually I'm right. Clicking rapidly and dragging the cards around the small green box, I'm barely paying attention now as I complete games absentmindedly. This is what it's come to. I'll play 10 games, get sick of it and close the box, and 10 minutes later I've opened it back up.

What I wouldn't do for some 16 bit entertainment. Forget about Xbox or Playstation 3, just give me something that has a controller and some sort of screen movement. If I could just locate one of those old clunky arcade games with a name like "Death Star" or "Alien Blast" it would bring so much joy. The ironic thing about playing a game like Solitaire is that even if you win, you're still a loser. I can't imagine anyone going up to their friend eager and excited, out of breath and panting, "Dude, guess what?! I won Solitaire 10 out of 12 times!" If that did ever happen, hopefully the friend would punch them in the nose, the object being the loser could make a game out of how many better games they could think of while stopping the bleeding. It's probably more interesting and makes better use of the remaining brain cells.

When you play 50 games of Solitaire a day, you don't even stop to watch the cards roll over the screen after you win. That's sooo beginner. At the end of the day, the name of the game says it all. You are alone in your room, in solitary confinement, playing a game that can be shared with no one else. It's the ultimate time killer. Just something to keep you busy for a moment or two. But I suppose things could be worse. I could be playing Minesweeper.

So when the rain clears up long enough for me to stretch my legs and get outside, I can take a deep breath of black smoke coming from the bus down the street, look at the man peeing in the corner, and see another puff of grey coming in from the west. Options are looking limited, and I didn't bring an umbrella. Ah, to hell with it, one more game.

When is Too Much "The Simpsons" Too Much? A Stupid Question, I Know...Answer: Never

In my last semester of college I took a course on music in film. It was what we students referred to as a "joke course." This meant that you could sit in a large lecture hall as an anonymous shadow under a baseball hat and for two days a week zone out for 50 minutes. Then before the test you could study for 30 minutes and still pull off an A. The course was actually designed so you couldn't get less than an A-. That's no joke. The professor was teaching in his last year before retirement and he had already checked out.

Towards the end of the semester we started analyzing the scores from classic cartoons such as "Bugs Bunny" and "Road Runner." I remember thinking of a "Simpsons" episode when Lisa sneaked into the local university and was studying the symbolism of their own cartoon, "Itchy and Scratchy." The humor was supposed to be showing what a joke college courses have become. As I sat in my own class, I couldn't help but think the same thing. But still, as I took notes about the 1930s goons getting toyed with by Bugs Bunny, I had to enjoy the fact that I was there, rather than in a math class, potentially learning something. God forbid. And now the ironic thing is that I'm going to be giving my own lecture on a cartoon.

So as I've written before, I get a ton of down time. As a result I've acquired a large stack of DVDs, including most of the first ten seasons of one of my favorite shows, "The Simpsons." The other seasons went along smoothly, but this week I've been busy working on season 2. I don't know why it is, but I've been noticing patterns that I felt the need to share with the general public. After all, it's been a long time since this season came out in its entirety, and it's worth refreshing common knowledge.

Here are just some of the things that I have noticed thus far:

1. Smithers is a jerk...That's right. Though he loosened up in later years, in the second season Wayland Smithers was just a big jerk. And for some reason he always had it out for Homer. Something would happen at the Nuclear Power Plant, Mr. Burns would ask Smithers who "that man was," and he would reply with something like, "Homer Simpson, one of your drones from Sector 7G." Then Mr. Burns would comment about remembering his name (which he obviously never did) and Smithers would groan angrily. But he would also take pleasure in Homer's failures. I have noticed, however, that as the season progresses, he eases up on the hatred of our bald hero.

2. Mr. Burns is a star character...Keeping with the theme of the power plant, let's discuss Mr. Burns' role. Though he was later eased out into more of a supporting role, in the second season we find that Mr. Burns was a pivotal character, involved in plots like hitting Bart with his car, needing a blood transfusion from Bart, and running for governor of the state that Springfield is in (forever unknown.) His evil ways are built up, yet we usually see a softer side that shows humility and regret, something less seen in later seasons.

3. Homer is mean to Flanders...Maybe this is an obvious statement, but Homer's attitude towards his neighbor, Ned Flanders, is just unforgivable. Homer goes out of his way to actually hurt poor old Flanders, and he takes pleasure in serious problems that his neighbor faces. In later years his hatred was toned down to just be non-committal, "Get lost, Flanders" comments. I guess the neighborly disdain was just too much for primetime TV.

4. Lisa takes a stand...Lisa has always been the Simpson who sticks out as intellectually superior and morally conscious. But in the second season she really hits her stride and starts on a path separating her from the rest of her family. A classic example comes from the episode when Homer gets pirated cable, and feeling uncomfortable about breaking the 8th Commandment, Lisa guilts the family into missing out on the big fight on cable. In terms of what Lisa has now evolved into, this is pretty tame.

5. Homer was still a regular dude...Well, not quite regular. But let's just say he was more in touch with the common man in this season. Back before he was beating up former President Bush (the first) and flying in Outer Space, back before he could withstand vicious beatings and get into impossible situations yet come out squeaky clean, Homer was just a regular dude who liked beer and food. Always eating pork chops, he represented an average, middle class American. He had his spot on the couch and TV. By no means was he a model citizen, but he was kept at bay by human limitations. Though he had faults and was a bad person from time to time, he still showed love for his family and tried to do right in the end. Of course, that's not to say that he doesn't continue to do that in current seasons, but it's clear that his intelligence has gone down as the seasons have added up.

These are just some of the more noticeable points from the second season. Like I said, there's so much time that I would have to get into something like this, otherwise I'd go crazy or potentially do something creative and write something more interesting than this. But the next time you're watching "The Simpsons," think about the themes and how they all relate to a common trend.

Museum Monday

Since I'm only teaching a night class at 7 o'clock this week and I had friends in town, I decided to finally visit some museums in the city. It's odd, but I've never actually been to any in Cuenca, and when asked for advice on the matter, I really have nothing to offer. In the morning I went with Amelia, Brittney, and Ryan, another volunteer from Quito, to the Museum of Modern Art.

The museum was small, but free, which made it all the more alluring. We walked around the grounds and saw the exhibits for maybe 45 minutes before finishing up. We agreed that it was alright, but nothing special. I then led the rest of the group in the direction of La Casa de la Mujer, a market that is run by women with all of the proceeds going to women. I walked through it when I first got to Cuenca but never went back until this weekend. Again, there are things there that are nice, but nothing special, in my opinion. You can find the same things in many other markets.

I left the group to go home for lunch, and as it turns out we had cuy. It was only my second time having cuy, but it confirmed to me that it's not my favorite dish. It's gamy and takes a lot of work for not a lot of meat. I wound up burping it up for most of the afternoon and decided that I really didn't need to be eating this delicacy again. After lunch and doing a minimal amount of work, I met up with my friends again, this time a little outside the center at Banco Central. Here we find the Museo Pumapungo, which houses artifacts and various other artwork from around Ecuador.

To get in we paid $3, and we quickly made it through the two floors. The admission ticket also gave us access to some Inca ruins in the backyard, which were nothing compared to Ingapirca, which were nothing compared to Machu Picchu. But it was still interesting to finally see it from inside the gate, rather than outside. Walking around to the perimeter we also noticed that the grounds included a garden with a pond and a bird sanctuary with parrots and parakeets. We walked down and looked at the birds for a few minutes, but it was getting later and colder. I had to be back at home for dinner by 5:30 and we really wanted to get some chocolate cake, so we high tailed it to Cacao y Canela, a restaurant back in the center.

Cacao y Canela has, in my opinion and many others, the best chocolate cake around. It's rich and soft with thick and delicious chocolate syrup, and at a buck fifty, it's well worth the splurge. I've only been there a few times, saving it for special occasions. To add to the delight, I also got a glass of milk, which I've been craving lately. I realized that in addition to yesterdays milk, it's only the second glass of milk I've had in 9 months. The first glass was last month in Zaruma. I don't know how I've gone this long, but I never get milk at home here.

The cake and milk went together hand in hand, but soon we had to rush out as I got ready for dinner and class and Brittney and Ryan headed off for Guayaquil, as they were still on vacation. As it turns out, only 2 students showed up to my class, so it was more like a personal tutor session, just clearing up confusion from the previous units. After the class I met up with a few other friends at a bar to watch "Amelie" with Spanish subtitles. Walking in late and having subtitles in a foreign language made it so that I couldn't understand everything, but it still seemed like an interesting movie.

Once back home I watched another movie with Amelia, who left early this morning for Quito. So now that the busy weekend is over, I need to find ways to keep busy this week. So far it's going along smoothly. It's always good to be a tourist in your own city once in a while, even if only for a day or two. Hopefully it can keep going well.

The Difference of 5 Minutes: A Trip to Ingapirca

We woke up early on Sunday morning knowing that we would have only one chance to catch the bus to Ingapirca, the biggest and most important Inca ruins in Ecuador. Though they're only about 2-2.5 hours away from Cuenca, I've never really had any desire to go, mostly because I heard they were nothing special. Also, if you've already been to Peru and seen Machu Picchu, the ruins were supposed to be just spit wads. But with friends visiting and bugging me to go, I figured I might as well take the opportunity and do something. Especially since I wasn't going to be able to go anywhere this week.

The only bus leaving from Cuenca to Ingapirca on Sundays leaves the bus station at 9 am. Conversely, the only bus leaving Ingapirca back to Cuenca on Sundays leaves the small town at 1 pm. So though it gives a short window of time to see the ruins, there really isn't much time needed, and unfortunately you spend much more time in transit than you spend at the site.

We arrived at the bus station at 9 o'clock and found the ticket office, but the woman behind the counter shook her head and said that it had already left. Somehow, for the first time ever in Ecuador, a bus took off on time, or in this case, early. We had missed it by only 5 minutes, but she told us to take a taxi to a bridge and wait while she called the bus driver and told him to pick us up. Nothing really shocks us anymore, so we got into a taxi, gave the address she wrote down for us, and headed to the outskirts of the city.

After being dropped off under a sketchy overpass, we waited for about 1o minutes before realizing the bus was not coming. We got another taxi back to the bus station to yell at the woman for lying to us and costing us $4 extra dollars. Our new plan now was to wing it. We could take a regular bus to Canar, in the Canar province. This city is a stop about a half hour from Ingapirca, and from there we would be able to take another local bus to the town.

So by the time the 10 o'clock bus left at 9:55, we realized that their clock was 5 minutes fast, and as such, had essentially thrown off our entire day. The bus ride, which took over 2 hours with 3 long stops, got us into Canar, where we walked around, grabbed some ice cream, and waited for the packed local bus. As we finally headed towards the town 45 minutes later, we could see the 1 pm bus heading back to Cuenca. What a difference 5 minutes makes.

The town of Ingapirca is small but colorful, and without any mestizos, the ruins are essentially run by the descendants of the original inhabitants. We walked the kilometer from the center to the ruins and paid the Ecuadorian price of $2 to get in. But even from afar we could see this was nothing special. With a couple of "intact" ruins, the rest of the grounds were merely the stumps of what used to be the rocks of the houses. As I'd thought, it was sort of a waste of time, but my friends were glad to say they'd seen some ruins.

We walked around for about 45 minutes before seeing it all, with the highlight being a tiny little puppy that kept sniffing our feet. After a lunch outside the park we jumped on a bus back to Canar and then back to Cuenca. We didn't get back into town until about 6 pm, three hours after we should have been back. The difference of 5 minutes in Ecuador.

Above: Scenes from Ingapirca

A Full Weekend of Visitors

I haven't written in a few days because I've been pretty busy entertaining some friends from my program. 5 different volunteers came down from Quito this weekend to see Cuenca, as well as a couple others from Machala and Guayaquil. It meant having to be a bit of a tour guide for the city, but it was fine because it allowed me to do some things that I haven't yet accomplished in Cuenca.

I was looking forward to a long vacation from the university this week, but unfortunately my plans were changed. Since February I had heard that in May there is a week off for "Student Week," and though no one knew exactly when it was, they knew it was in May. Every week I would go to the university and ask, but still no one was sure. And finally we found out, only through word of mouth, that the vacation would be the last week of May.

Excited for a much needed break, I planned on either going up to Quilotoa to see the crater lake or heading to Canoa on the beach to meet up with some friends. On Thursday night my friend Chelsea and her friend Mary arrived in Cuenca right before I went to my night class, and I was happy as I headed to the university. When I got there I commented to another teacher about the upcoming vacation, and then my night was ruined.

"Oh, but you teach the professionals course, right?" the professor said.

"Right, why?"

"You don't get a vacation."

You have got to be kidding me, I thought. Even though the entire university gets the week off so that students could play sports, listen to concerts, and drink on campus, I would have to teach my Monday-Thursday night class. Students bussed in from all over the country, it would be nearly impossible to teach with the noise anyway. At first I was furious, and then just destroyed and upset. I really needed the break, and even my friends visiting couldn't make me feel better, though I tried. The worst part about it was that no one from the university had even bothered to tell me, as usual. So if I hadn't talked to the other teacher and just assumed I had a break like everyone else, I would have been in trouble. There's always a double standard.

Friday went by casually enough, walking around town and showing my friends the sights while plotting of ways to get out of teaching the next week. Later at night two more friends from Quito arrived. Amelia and Brittney showed up a bit later after the 10 hour bus ride got them in around 9:30, so we just grabbed a late dinner and called it a night. On Saturday morning we dodged parades in the center and then headed up to Turi, a church on a hill with a view of the whole city. I'd only been up there once before, a week or so after I got to Cuenca, and at night. I'd always wanted to go back during the day. There are steps you can take up to the top, and from the center it's about a 40-50 minute walk, depending how slowly you go.

For me the hike was easy because I've been walking around a lot and training for the race in Quito, but for others it was clearly a bit more difficult. Even though the Quitenos live at higher altitude, they walk much less because of the set up of their city. We spent some time at the top, just taking in the view, eating some salchipapas, and talking while getting sunburned.

After Turi, we went back home to rest up before going out that night. It seemed like everyone from Quito was suffering from the plague, and keeping health up was a concern. The hostel was also filled this weekend with Peace Corps volunteers, and just to be jerks, Chelsea and Mary talked about the "trip they'd just taken" to Mexico in between deep coughs to a volunteer in their room.

Once rested, we all went out to dinner at La Vina, a great Italian restaurant not too far from my house, and then went out dancing for a little bit before most of us called it quits around midnight. The plan was to wake up early and head to Ingapirca, the biggest Inca ruins in Ecuador.

Above: Views from Turi

Galapagos Article Published on Gonomad

I'm happy to announce that my article "Finding Sea Legs in the Galapagos" has just been published on Gonomad.com. I've waited a while for this article to get published, so I'm glad that it's now up on the Web site. This article is about my experience snorkeling in the Galapagos Islands back in February. So take a look at it. There are also some pictures of the scenery and links to other articles I've written for Gonomad.

Enjoy.

My Room

Not that I want to spoil the image you might have had of what my room looks like, but I feel like it's time to write about the place that I spend 80% of my time in: my bedroom. Apologies in advance if this is dripping with description, much like the burger that I had for 2nd dinner just before coming home was dripping over the sides with mayo and ketchup onto the wax paper. You get the idea of where this is going..

You walk up the wooden steps, creaking as always, and then make your way down the narrow hall, under the glass roof and over the glass floor. Looking up, its always either sunny and hot or rainy and cold, yet the glass roof always has a film of dirt on it. When it rains really hard water actually falls through, forcing me to retreat into my room where I can wait for the eventual leak to form by the door. Walking over the glass floor for the first time freaks you out a bit, especially noticing the cracks, but I haven't fallen through yet and the leaning tower of Pisa is still kicking it.

Down the hall, just before the dining room on the right you find your way into my room. The heavy wooden door that you push open slowly falls back, and unless you grab it and gently ease it into the dresser it will make a loud thud, sending shock waves across the apartment. And there she is in all her glory. My dimly lit, windowless room. A quick glance on the right shows the desk with the green felt cover, secured tightly by push pins on the edges which always dig marks into my arms as I sit there typing or lesson planning. The felt makes it nearly impossible to write without putting holes in the paper, lest I have something sturdy underneath.

The table, which sits against a door that would connect to the next room, bears a big weight. Loaded on the right side with my camera bag and wood basket that I got as a gift, it balances out with the left side which hosts my books, binders, and ever growing stack of DVDs. Everything from season 2 of the "Simpsons" to "The Bourne Ultimatum" is loaded up in the top left corner. And moving in on the back of the table are sunglasses, a flash drive, some change, an empty indigenous-designed tequila flask and shot glass, also gifts hug the wall. A small note pad for notes or bookmarks, cash and my ID cards sit to the right, moving around the most of all. On their flank you'd find headphones for Skype and a couple of zip lock bags of small change for my class photocopies, and that's all she wrote.

In the middle of the room you now find the queen size bed, the blankets and sheets falling off. The wooden boards under the bed buckle and bend, giving a crater effect which can't be good for my back. The pillows are probably propped up against the headboard since I was last reading or watching movies in bed. The left and right of the bed are flanked by two small tables which house glasses, books, DVDs in the queue, a watch, keys, water bottle, a Swiss Army knife, a table lamp which is never used, a travel alarm clock, "The First 49 Short Stories", by Ernest Hemingway, and Tums.

But back in the lower left corner of the room where the heavy wooden door now rests is the dresser, where two pairs of pants rest on the doors. Loaded up with clothes and small plastic bags, an assortment of emergency supplies and other toiletries, it gets the job done. On the other side of the room is a pink rack which hosts more books and two hats. Underneath is the dirty laundry sack, and next to that are the shoes. In the upper right corner rests my backpack, the other suitcase forgotten under the bed.

Along the white walls are pictures of Spain that I cut out of a National Geographic calendar. There are also smaller pictures of Quito from a tourist map. After two days with the white walls, I couldn't take it and had to put something up. At least it's something to look at when my eyes start hurting. At first I couldn't read in the room, but in January the light bulb was changed, and now I can get by. Yet without windows, I can't see life going by or get fresh air, which cuts me off in many ways. Creatively and healthily.

Upper left corner leads into the bathroom, and since a toilet against the wall, a sink and a shower are nothing uncommon, it's not really worth the extra words. I will say, however, that the door to the bathroom, which doesn't actually close and has a window in the middle of it, makes it so that there's no separation of the two rooms. You can imagine what this means for the wonderful scents from time to time.

The ceiling in this room, far too high for its own good, is checkered in an odd pattern with water stains and cracks. The floor, wooden and always creaking, with its nails jutting out, can easily ruin a sock or two.

That's all there is to it really, but this is my home, and unfortunately I spend too much time in this room. As depressing as it gets sometimes and as suffocating as it can feel on certain lonely nights, it's always nice to come back after a few days away. It is, after all, my room. I'm sure someday I'll look on it with at least a speck of romanticism, and be proud of myself that I could make it through here for so long. But seriously, I can't wait to get the hell out of this room. I mean, come on, no windows?