Llik

This painting started out as a therapy project, suggested by...you guessed it, my therapist. I'd been having some trouble reconciling a few issues regarding a certain person who will forever remain nameless, and this was the result.

I became intrigued by Jackson Pollock and his method of painting in my World Civilizations course. He would secure his canvas to the floor and then walk around it dripping, dropping, splashing, and sploshing the paint where he deemed necessary. Pollock also incorporated dirt, dust, nails, glass, cigarette butts into his paintings. Native American Sand Paintings were his inspiration for doing so. It was their belief that through the process of painting and the texture, this could cure whatever was ailing a person and/or their spirit.

What you can't see from this photo is that there are particles of dirt and ground pine cone in my painting. They weren't added for the sake of adding them. January of 2006 my best friend was murdered in the Ocala National Forest. When the family was allowed to hike back to the site, after it had been wiped of all traces of violence, I found a pine cone on the ground where my friend's body had been discovered. I've kept it all these years...why...I'll never know, but through the process of the painting I felt compelled to toss those small granules on to the canvas. They were representative of the one I had loved and lost - violently and tragically.

Violence. Passion. Depravity. Love. Captivity. Sorrow.

As they existed within me, so they were purged onto the canvas.

I am the bread and the knife, the goblet and the wine, but I am not a Pirate....circa 2006

There is no way I will ever be a pirate. The first bit of the subject line is from the former Poet Laurette of the US, Sweet Billy Collins...the pirate part was all me.

HOLA Mis Amigos!!!! Let me bring you up to speed, it has been a long couple of days....

From Caye Caulker, almost paradise, we arrived in Placencia which is undoubtibly PARADISE....it looks just like the Corona commercials, I was miles away from ordinary and I have a nice magenta burn to prove it. Well, the magenta part has receeded to a deep shade of brown...to quote Lisa, I am soooooo hot right now, its not even funny. hahahahaha I haven't been this tan since I was a kid living up at Higgins Lake, but I digress, I was talking about Placencia...okay, Lisa and I spoiled ourselves rotten, and yes Kevin we are dropping a shit load of money...but its still cheaper than anywhere else in the world, so fuck it, we only live once. Placencia was a great couple of days of nothing but sand and surf, until I looked at our car and noticed our front right tire was totally and completely flat. To the rim it be, arrrgh....so that turned life in to a stress level of high altitudes....Garifuna John, a dark man with Bob Marley dreads and a FUCK attitude helped us out. Watching and listening to him try to change our tire, when all we asked for was a jack, was quite possibly the most nerve wracking 45 minutes I have ever spent, again a kid on a bike saved the day...so it was all good. But my ulcer was on fire and so were my legs, standing in the hot sun with a long black skirt is no way to treat your skin when it is the color purple. I fell asleep on my stomach at the hottest part of the day and fried. This always happens to me, always....

Fast foward to the border of Honduras.....Lisa and I paid for a charter to what we thought was a city in Honduras, but hahaha God loves to fck with me, I must crack him up. Picture the look on my face as our guide gestures at our bags and tells us in spanish to get out and wait on the side of the road for some bus that will pick us up. It is pouring down rain, Lisa and I don't have covers for our packs, and we've just paid to enter Honduras to be abandoned and tossed aside like a couple of rags, and what's more is that we paid this man to treat us this way!!!!!!! Plus, we had spoiled ourselves, every where we'd been for the last week every body spoke English, and now we were slammed back to reality with a sounding slap against the proverbial brick wall. We had entered Hell as far as I was concerned...the Chicken bus showed up about 20 mins later, we got on, after a few minutes of trying to figure out where it would take us, Puerto Cortes and then from there we would have to catch a shuttle to San Pedro Sula, dock for the night and then take a bus to La Ceiba, and then finally take the ferry from La Ceiba to Utila....but the bus ride to Puerto Cortes was oh like 3 hours, and then in the rain and the dark we get on the bus to San Pedro, this was after Lisa finally realized we weren't in San Pedro. Because I have the luck of the Irish, we would of course be dropped in the worst section of San Pedro in the dark of night, which is 8 pm down here, and stupidly Lisa and I would take the first room we came to without looking at it first. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE DO THIS MORONIC THING!!!!!!!!!!!!! NEVER I SAY, NEVER!!!!!!!! We slept with the light on to keep the cockroaches away, our toilet had no seat, the shower was a pipe coming out of the wall, the walls were cement blocks painted school bus yellow, and we got to listen to people hocking lougies in their shower all night. Doesn't that sound like it was worth the four bucks we paid to sleep here for the night...but hey the perks of the place were my thighs of steel from squating over the no seat toilet. what a pretty picture I just painted...

We had to wait four hours for the bus to La Ceiba, Lisa and I were up and out that joint at a quarter to six. So I've been nervous about Scuba Diving...I have this totally irrational claustorphobic fear going on about the mask and the air sucking that is involved in this aquatic sport when trying to avoid the flippers and fins of the deep, so of course the movie that played in the waiting room was Jaws 2 where the opening scene is two people scuba diving who happen to get ripped to pieces by a great big shark (sigh) I love life. But moving on, we arrived in La Ceiba with no worries, we got our tickets to the Utila Princess, no problem. But the princess turned into warty flipping frog the minute I stepped aboard....this boat, if you could call it that, was a glorified raft. The thing was chalked full of people, and after thirty seconds on the sea, terror and nausea took total control of our defenses and proceeded to keep a tight grip for the next hour and some minutes.

The Caribbean was laughing at our little pissant boat, it tossed our sorry souls about its belly with deep roaring rumbles. In the grand scheme of things we were but a tiny pea in an infinite bowl of aquamarine broth. I sat in my seat back braced to the mesh wall, so of course I was soaked from the crashing waves. My stomach was in knots as I clutched my scarf to my nose to keep the vomit fumes from making me its next victim. The other hand had a death grip to the back of my seat, the white knuckle hold did not relinquish until we were docked. By the end of this jaunt, I had tears streaming from my eyes, and my lip was bleeding as I had been biting it to keep from screaming for my mommy and daddy. The boat never stopped trying to buck its riders off its back, the motion was constant and reminiscent of a jalopy plane flying through a sky of turbulence. Again I was in Hell...had the dock not been piled with horse and dog shit, I would have kissed it.

Nell Vs The Volcan Pacaya circa 2006

To date this has been my greatest adventure. Our tour bus was a rickety old jallopy of a machine. The kid started it, and before it was even in gear the damn thing stalled, which had me convinced we´d never make it to the volcano. There were no shocks to speak of, and it was dragging pieces as we made our ascent to La Pacaya National Park. The roads were intolerable in this death machine. It crunched, creaked, and jostled its passengers from their seats many a time, but Lisa true to form slept throught the entire ride. The organ grinding drive did nothing to stall her need for beauty rest.

We began our two hour climb with all the arrogance of youth. Our group was compiled of Lisa, myself, Traci, and an Italian couple in their late 50's named Alejandro and Christina. Five minutes into this deal, Lisa and I were ready to call it quits. Lisa kept exclaiming,¨"It's strait up! I didn´t think we´d have to climb strait up the whole time!" If I hadn´t of been gasping for breath and trying to decipher if I was having a heart attack or not, I would have calmly asked what the fuck she thought climbing was if it WASN´T strait up.

Our Italian friends were minutes ahead of Lisa and I, and Traci and our guide Auturo were minutes behind us. My hamstrings were screaming, "Stop, for the love of God make this Stop!!!" But I kept trucking on baby-step after baby-step, and we really weren´t doing so bad because we kept catching up to the group that left about ten or fifteen minutes ahead of ours. And they were all young and abled bodies as well. Still it was rather defeating to have our Italian friends stop and wait for Lisa and I at the resting points, only to leave before we did, and the cycle went on and on like that for two hours. Also another constant aggrivation were the constant horse taxis tempting us with a smooth ride to the top. They polluted the path with pile after pile of horse shit, and mocked our flushed faces with naying flashes of horse lips and teeth. But Lisa and I did not give in, and neither did Traci.

Lisa and I reached the first summit of Lava flow elated and exuberant. We were almost there. Did I mention that this was an active volcano, whose last eruption was seven days ago? Ooops....anyways....Blackened lava spread out for miles before us. The magma was still flowing beneath the crusty surface in firey red orange streams, and the outer shell was hot enough to engulf a log in less than 15 seconds flat. The hills and mountains were the most vibrant shade of green I´ve ever seen. Cattle and horses were grazing in sporatic clumps, and life to the emerald and onyx landscape. My million dollar shot, and the photograph that gave me a much needed second wind was that of two horses making whoopie in a valley not that far below us. Yes, folks that´s right I risked my neck to get a picture of one horse humping another horse for all it was worth. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...as you all know, this made my day. After the guffaws and giggles subsided, I started to feel uneasy and a little freaked out. Lisa and I were alone. There was no one but the two us around. Our Italian friends and the other group we had caught up with were no where in sight. Through the billowing mirage of steam I could see people so far away they were almost ants. But somehow they had manuvered around or over the Lava.

Lisa and I were almost ready to take our chances with a fuck all attitude across the coals. About this time another group of gringos came up behind us. Their guide and some men in the hills were hollering "Halt, don´t do it," as some of the manly men were going to head on over with Lisa and I. Traci and Auturo showed up right at this particular moment, so we followed our guide for the first time. He lead us down a path that was only fit for hobbits, I was hunched over for at least five minutes. We came through the clearing to see we had about a 100 meter climb up a steep slope of volcanic ash. I flat footed my way up the ashy inferno three steps, and then stop to gain footing. Lisa took two steps only to slide three steps back. She was yelling at anyone who cared to respond, "somebody throw me rope!"

Finally we had arrived at the base of our volcano. We were at eye level with the clouds and as close to the portal of Hell as we humans are allowed. Again Lisa and I were moved beyond the need to fill the silence with insignifigant, trifle words. The awe struck eyes, and wide grins were back in business. Victory was ours and the view was spectacular from no matter where we stood. Surrounded by the greenest of green mountain peaks, I couldn´t get enough. We were so close to the sun as the clouds roamed across the sky we could almost reach out and touch them.

A guy made it up with his friends, looked around, and said, "Welcome to Mordor." I never wanted to leave, I wanted to wait and see if the golden eagles that carried Sam and Frodo away were going to make a camio appearance.

But our Italian friends were in a hurry, so Auturo, Lisa and I made our way down. This was by far the best part of the climb. One had to glide down the slope with only our balance and the soles of our shoes. We swoosed without skis, surfed without boards. Lisa and I skidded down on black clouds of ash. Lisa had just made it to the bottom and was emptying her shoes of stones when Auturo slid by me with a comb borrowed by the Fonz. When he slicked back his hair with a lime green comb riding the same black cloud of dustand ash, I swear I heard a "Haaaay," coming from somewhere.

Tune in next time for my tales of waterfalls and caves just outside of Coban, Guatemala.

Don't Attempt to be led by some one who doesn't read maps circa 2006

All I wanted to do yesterday was climb a hill so that I could get a picture of a Cross that over looks all of Antigua. That's it, that's all. When Lisa and i dropped off our laundry, I found a map that I thought would be a great idea, instead of winging it like I usually do. I felt very sure of myself. leading my troup, I knew right where it was and it was going to be a cake walk. WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This Cross became the ever elusive pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a grand romping snipe hunt that did nothing but start the fuse to my very short and violent temper. I could see the hill, I could see people looking down on me from the hill, I could see very clearly from my vantage point the said Cross, and I swear in the name of all that is sacred and holy, it was laughing at and mocking my plight. The What Would Jesus Do moment had long since passed, and I hated that two people were following me blindly, like they were just along for the ride. I now began to understand why Kevin was such a jerk face in Paris, there is nothing worse than having a lost puppy sniffing at your heals and begging for direction......NOTHING. But this wasn't just one it was two, and they'd been at my side for two weeks now, the ony moments I've had to myself are when I am taking a crap, but even then Lisa still chooses this time to talk to me from outside the door. So forgive my crewdness, but I am just trying to set my mood for you. I was suffocating....and here's the best part of my story, right as I was getting to a slow boil, I dropped my camera, and the piece that keeps the battery snug in its cave busted off. Every one should be proud of me...I didn't smash the camera into a million pieces. I closed my eyes, put it in my purse, and then threw my hands up in the air, "That's it, I f-king give up, don't follow me, seriously just get the flip off my back, I'm done." But they didn't leave....they just kept on, I would turn around and say, "I'm not going anywhere, leave me be." And behind me they just stayed....Oy Vey!!!!!!!!

I found a really cool Ruin/plaza in my fit, and when I sat on a bench, Lisa sat next to me and said, "Do you know where we are?" I bit my lip, closed my eyes and very politely stated, "I f-ing told you I wasn't leading anymore, we're in Antigua, and all I need in this world is to have five f-ing minutes to myself, you may go now."

She got mad, but oh well, I'm over it, and by the way so is she.....I got out the map I picked up from the laundry, and looked over it, it was a piece of flaming shite, I don't know what I saw in the damn thing, but it was a miracle that we didn{t end up in Zimbobwae. I got out my lonely planet map of Antigua I ripped from the book, and low and behold I found out where I was, where I was going, and where I had been. God Bless Lonely Planet!!!!

We have to take a Tourist Police guided tour to the cross, so thank the heavens I did't get us there, we very well could have been raped and pillaged.

We are loving the hostel life. And we're making friends from all over the world. Its great. They are currently filming a movie right on our street, its called Looking for Palladin...so that's awesome. But I must say that I am an old, stick in the mud Maid. I followed along with our group of three from France, one from Isreal, Lisa and Traci. We went to Frida's which was supposed to have dancing, and what not, but we walked into a cluster f-k and I was immediatly turned off. It was the same old seen from the states, too many chicks, too many jocks, and no dancing, no out of the ordinary scene which I need to feel complete. Five minutes into the deal I said, "I'm bored and I'm out." I'm sorry but I totally understand that there are people from all walks of life and all over the world, and each has a their story...I just can't have fun in a place that reminds me of the Silver Dollar, so screw it, I left. I'd rather read a good book than be bored out of my skull waiting in a room of strangers for something to happen. That kind of thing makes me edgy, and ready to start a riot for the sheer need for something grander than winks and flirts.

Mundo Perido circa 2006

Picture this, Tikal national park, Guatemala 03/08/06

The heat is unbearable as the sun beats down on all below it. From somewhere in the vast jungle, a bellow sounds off with the might of Steven Speilberg´s T-rex, you can´t see the creature but Dios Mio, you know its there, and its pissed off. The heat and the fear disappear as you make the final step to the top of Mundo Perido (the Lost World). Your legs have the consistency of jello, your heart is beating out of your chest, but all is forgiven for the view is beyond your powers of comprehension.

The very tip of Temple IV is peaking through the canopy of emerald green trees. Its grey carved face is preening for the sun, and the audience from around the world who came to pay homage. No words are spoken, you are awed and humbled, and quite frankly, you just feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to see this sight....

04/08/06 Canopy Tour, Tikal National Park, Guatemala

Cables are strung from tree to tree, platforms are built for you to climb to the very tops of these same trees. You are given two guides, Alberto and Felix. You are equipped with a harness that encases your shoulders and legs, and two gloves, one of which is doubled so that you can grip the cable to break when necessary.

The pulley is placed and you are now dangling like a worm on a hook, before you can chicken out, there is a push at your back, and you hear "Vamanos!" In that instance you are soaring through the trees like Tarzan, to the next platform which is across the road. Your body zips along the cable scaring the people who happen to catch a glimpse of your speeding form many meters above their heads.

To say that I´ve just had the time of my life in Tikal, is a gross understatement....

A Paper I Wrote that I'm Rather Fond Of

Not so Anonymous Alcoholics

“Get your papers here! Get your papers here! The Top Story today: 6 teachers from Haslett, Michigan have a rowdy summer night. Everybody was drinking and feeling alright – Get your papers here! Read all about the disorderly antics of adults gone wild!”

The photos in the paper reveal a sordid night. There’s an intoxicated woman on the floor, and her skin is all a mess. Two men hover above her with markers in hand, and who is that masked marauder catching it all on film? It’s a scene the reader would expect from an online journal at a frat house. But whoa – wait a tick – that inebriated chic is getting marked up by alleged pillars of the community! Those “dudes” are teachers, and they’re totally wasted! Sure, the images of men drawing on a passed out woman could have a surly and sinister feel to them, but this behavior isn’t anything new. It’s been in the spot light for centuries. If having a good time is wrong, then what can be done to make it right?

Were the Ancient Greeks wrong for worshipping a god of wine, I think not. Dionysus is the god who loved to party with the fruit of the vine. He also awarded the world the philosophical question – What is living, if one doesn’t love a good ol’ fashioned night of drunken debauchery? Twirling and spinning followers in togas, all of them dancing, and doing their best to not spill their cup of wine. That was well over a thousand years ago, and we’re still having toga parties today. There’s nothing like it. Everyone is the hero of the moment when participating in keg stands. Who cares if they are dropped on their face amidst laughter and spouting beer; it’s so much fun! Parties are also a great place to meet new people! Two strangers meet in the hallway while standing in line to pee. Their bladders, all but forgotten, they commence to finalizing a one night stand. It’s such a wonderful feeling to wake up the morning after to gaze into the eyes of a man/woman, and search for any sign of familiarity through the fog of a killer hangover. Sheepish grins meet bashful gazes as they search for their missing pants. For a few moments the two commoners hold court as king and queen in a living room of snickering subjects. Isn’t this the life? If only it could be this way forever!

For the privileged few it can be. All we have to do is watch TV to learn how it’s done. According to The Journal of Studies on Alcohol, between the hours of 7 and 11pm approximately 43% of situation comedies and dramatic series show characters consuming alcohol (Mathios 1). Here we can see show after show promenading alcohol as the ultimate pheromone to attract a potential mate. Anyone can be the man that gets the girl, or the girl that gets the guy! All we have to do is find the right ratio of alcohol to self-esteem. Not sure as to how much is too much? Try Nick at Nite, there are plenty of reruns to choose from than can help us get on our way. There we will rediscover Cheers, Roseanne, All in the Family, and The Simpsons. Those quirky characters make it look so easy. The more they drink, the more they cut loose and lose their inhibitions. The pot-of-gold is not waiting at the end of a rainbow, but at the bottom of an empty bottle! What are we waiting for?! Let’s run to the liquor store or bar of choice now; there are plenty of clerks standing by to serve all our alcohol consumption needs.

Bar tenders, bar maids, and beer wenches, oh MY! Pull up a stool, and sit a spell. Mad at the boss? Is the old ball and chain rattling and nagging? Take a peep from the perch – this is our flock. We’re not alone! Jack, Johnny, Jim, and Jameson – heck, even the Captain is here – and they’re all waiting for us! Mix them, blend them, shake them, stir them, or pour them over ice. If the top shelf isn’t our cup o’ tea, by all means, we’ll have a stein of whatever’s on tap. Why stop at one – have two, or even three!

Don’t fret over this overwhelming desire to consume copious amounts of alcohol; it isn’t our fault. The enticements are sublimated in commercials, magazines, and they’re even waving from Billboards as we drive on by! In David Jernigan’s article, Intoxicating Brands: Alcohol Advertising and Youth, he states that alcohol companies spent over 8 billion dollars between 2001 and 2007 for product advertisements on prime-time TV, major magazines, and heavily populated locations (1). How can we resist posters, which stand over 20ft in the air, with scantily clad women serving up ice cold libations on a silver platter? And then there are the commercials on TV. Everyone seems to have a gee-gosh-golly-great time surrounded by friends and a table full of alcohol. Look at them! They’re all so popular! Wouldn’t it been fun to dance they way they do in the commercials? Let’s revel in the mix with a Mojito in hand, and we won’t stop ‘til we get enough! Or we could be daring and adventurous. All it takes is a leg up with Captain Morgan posing the question, “got a little Captain in you” (Garfield 1)? Stop hesitating and hop off the wagon! Time is of the essence.

This is our time to shine! So what if we’re over thirty, and our job is setting an example for impressionable, young minds? Don’t worry about the newspapers demanding our job, or the newscasters depicting us as villains! The urge to party is only natural in a society that spotlights the glamour permeating about the amber ale. Adults aren’t the only ones watching TV, reading magazines, and riding in cars – so are the kids. If we’re caught with our pants down, or we’re wearing nothing but a wasted smile, don’t sweat it. Remember Otis Campbell on the Andy Griffith Show, Norm from Cheers, and Barney Grumble from the Simpson’s? They’re proof that the town drunk has been lovably accepted for years. If they’re not wrong, neither are we!

Works Cited

Garfield, Bob. “Captain Morgan Spot Gets ‘Responsibility’ Message Just Right.” Advertising Age. 14 July 2008. Web. 3 Nov. 2009.

Jernigan, David. “Intoxicating Brands: Alcohol Advertising and Youth.” Multinational Monitor. July-Aug. 2008. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Mathios, Alan, Rosemary Avery, Carol Bisogni, and James Shannon. “Alcohol Portrayl on Prime-Time Television: Manifest and Latent Messages.” Journal of Studies on Alcohol. 59.n3 (May 1998): 305(6). Web. 20 Oct. 2009.