Mozambique - Forward

I will be leaving for holiday tomorrow. I'm going to Mozambique. Should be beautiful. This will be a solo act for the first part. Exciting. I have yet to make a solo-vacation-journey. Sure, I've traveled across the states alone, but the goal was different. This goal is to relax, have fun, and discover some adventure. I'm crashing head-first, hopefully. The less one plans the more adventure comes. That's the mantra anyways. A week solo and then I will meet up with Bryan and Marcus for a little fun in the sun in packed Tofo. Ah, just like Rocky Point. Yippee*.

*sarcasm

Reese, Pete, and Sea Monster

My workmate, Matt, just gave me a Reese's Pieces. And some Pete's Wicked Ale. this is a cool day. Plus check out this cool map.

Wish List

Dosh Wallet
iBook
Full Suspension Mountain Bike
Messenger Bag
Ultralight Weekend Backpack
2 Person Tent

Thats it for now.

I Suck Thorax - or IST

I just finished a week long IST or In Service Training. This pesky bugger of a workshop occurs once a year for most Peace Corps Volunteers. Were most PCVs have two during their service, I will have three. This third one was made bearable by the fact that I was a facilitator. Whew. Having some responsiblities made it a lot easier to pay attention (plus, I kind of like my job, especially facilitating).
The social aspect was pretty fun. I went to bed once, before midnight. The rest of the nights went until 2 or 3. Crazy. I felt weirdly in the way most of the week. My intake is gone. All my good friends have disappeared. 06 is tight with themselves. 07 is tight with themselves. I felt like Aubrey; the Captain of the ship can be friendly, inviting the officers to his quarters for food and wine, but he will always be different. Never a part of the crew always above. I feel that I will always be in good graces with fellow volunteers but I have no crew anymore. I am (in a non-egotistical way) above the crew. The third-year volunteer in Lusaka. Just disconnected.
I didn't jump in the pool at the bar. That probably would have endeared me to the PCVs, just not the expats I had asked to meet me there...

Ah, the times.

I feel stalker-ish when reading other people's blogs. It's very voyeur like. Slightly creepy. I visit this one girls blog a lot. I don't know why. I saw her artwork on the Moleskin project and I liked it. I've looked at a lot of random people's art blogs and I enjoy her's the most. So I visit it. Almost everyday. I think this qualifies as finding the end of the internet. It's done. There is no more.
Last night all the RAP 05 kids COSed. To all non-PCVs this will be just a bunch of acronyms and even to PCVs not from here but it does mean something and something quite profound. These cats came in 3 months after me. Some of them were my nearest neighbors, my best drinking buddies, and I even went on vacations with a few of them. Now, they are going back home. Sure a lot of them are taking the long way home; through Ethiopia, through Egypt, through Uganda, through Spain. But they are out of here and going back there. It is truly an end to an era. I enjoyed their company and will really miss them. They were such heavy drinkers and who couldn't forget Fecalgate, or PooDunnit? or Iwasthereforpooponachair. Ah, the times.
IST is next week. That will be good. I'll see my other friends. I will not be sad for long (who am I kinding, I'm not sad at all). Toodles, blog.

Sea-faring Analogies

Yeah, I feel a little lost at sea. I need to find some land. I think next week will be good. I'm co-facilitating the next Peace Corps In-Service Training. It should help me realize what I'm good at and help me to find my sea-legs. Yep, I'm treading water but soon I hope to be swimming forward. Towards land.

sea-faring analogies

Want to be friends?

I got the just-friends-speech. Ugh. That sucks. It could have sucked a whole lot more. Things definitely would not have worked out in the end. But being on the receiving end of one of those speeches when you still like the girl . . . ouch. It was an interesting walk home. I kind of wanted to get jumped. It's slightly sketchy, the road. I sometimes wish I had physical manifestations of the wounds on the inside - not just a glum attitude but contusions and broken bones. Then I wouldn't have to show an effort to get people to see how I feel. Because wearing your emotions on the outside is unattractive - but bleeding? That's effortless and therefore cool. Right? I don't know.

I'll do better next time. At least this girl showed me a life after the L.

Schools of Thought

The Matthew McConaughey School of Thought . You should break a sweat at least once a day. Just break into a sweat. Exercise. You should also be proud of what you smell like.

The Sergent Zoe School of Thought. Do not let the enemy know where you are.

The Theodore Roosevelt School of Thought. Walk softly but carry a big stick. Not exactly doing that yet, but I'd love to.

Letters

I loved receiving letters in the bush. They were my only means of information. I would spend hours reading a writing. I did not receive letters from a lot of my friends. That was truly sad. But some of my friends went beyond the call of duty and wrote many letters. And to them: I thank you. Here is a cool picture that went with a cool advertisement. I love letters. I wish I had the time to write more of them. . .

Guests like fish

Ben Franklin said it best, "guests like fish go bad after three days." How true, Ben. Of course I would not know yet. I live by myself which sometimes sucks. I miss the comradarie of the village. I really do not talk to my neighbors. Possibly because there is a wall with glass shards to keep me from conversing.
I want Peace Corps Volunteers coming from the village to stay at my house. Well see if it's a success. So far I've just had the occasional Coff or Fors stay at my house. They really don't count. Now I'm getting some real guests this month. Yesterday, Sarah. Today, Marsha. Next week, a few kids from Southern. It should be interesting. We'll see if I'm a good host. I think things should be fun. As long as they don't eat my gummie bears (like my housekeeper) or drink my beer (like Katie).

Grassroots VS. Non-Grassoots

I returned from one of the mining capitals yesterday. Whew. What a day of traveling. I met up with various HIV positive clients and interviewed them for our annual report. It was great to see people living positively with HIV. All smiles and whatnot. As for the report it's coming along nicely though we are having a duece of a time getting our health providers to fill out there forms. Ah, this non-grass roots level stuff is so different. Funding sucks.
Grassroots HIV work is a blast. I like roaming around and meeting people. Chatting with the locals about their health concerns.
"You know your baby won't die from diarrhea if you do this . . ."
"You know, condoms don't have HIV in them."
"You know, Peace Corps Volunteers don't get paid."
"I am not a spy."
"No, that will not transmit HIV."
"Ah, that's called Chancroid."

Oh, to be a grass roots guy on the ground. So this is what a "Career in Development" means. I still enjoy myself.

Locks

I chopped the locks. I had a blonde shag and now I have a clean cut look. One of quasi-professionalism. I try sometimes.
It is somewhat difficult to get a decent haircut in this country. The locals are unfamiliar to straight, thick, blonde hair. The chap that trimmed my hair was good. Slight perfectionist but that became an asset. It looks really good. I have not received a professional haircut in a very long time . . . it is refreshing. Sure it cost me a couple day's salary but I think ultimately it will be worth it. Plus, this hot season is killing me, not like up north where my village was, this place is hot.
The capital city is scorching. I sweat so much now. Walking to work makes me icky. Hopefully this semi-short hair cut will do it's job well.

Minor Surgery

Yesterday. I had the chance to watch a minor surgery; the cutting of an adult man's foreskin. It really was not that bad. Actually it was pretty fascinating. I'd never seen a surgery before. Sure, I've had wisdom teeth removed and a mole as well. This was slightly different. Seeing a man's anatomy removed with a scapel and scissors was odd.
I did not feel squeemish one bit. I was oddly curious. I did realize that I do not have what it takes to be a doctor . . . I cannot stand that long. Bad heals/arches or something. I think I learned a lot and it will definitely help out in my job. I think tomorrow I'll be observing some more. Yep. Male circumcision, what a hoot.

Mel Gibson's Movies

I watched Apocalypto. Hmmm. Okay, so Mayans are barbaric people. Oh, so conquistadors were a good thing. Well, it all makes sense now.
It was an interesting film. It takes itself seriously as an art-house film: subtitles in local dialect, all non-big-name actors. Long drawn out exposition. You want an art film that depicts Mayans? Watch the Fountain. That was crazy. This movie, Apocalypto was a joke. Mel Gibson is unable to make more than 2 dimensional characters. Braveheart - the English are so vile and evil. Tossing men out of towers. Raping brides on their wedding night. No depth. Just evil. His good guys are just really good men. No flaws. Wow, William Wallace isn't a brute. He knows French. Wow, Jaguar Paw is a good day. Playing with his kids. His only flaw is that he feels fear at the beginning of the film. If Gibson wants to be taken seriously he needs to make a movie with characters that have multiple dimensions. For instance.
Battlestar Galactica is pretty cool. The Cylons are mysterious. We find out that cylons are hidden on board the Galactica. But we feel for the characters. They don't know there potentially evil. And look at the main heroes. They all have real big flaws. Adama is too military. The president has her own problems, cancer. Apollo acts like a little adolescent that needs to be spanked. Starbuck is a cocky pilot that needs to be put in her place. Such is the characters of Season One.
Mel Gibson. You have potential, please make a movie that flows like a blockbuster but has characters that grip you.

Dress Shoes

Certain dress shoes should not be worn by men. This coming from a guy that routinely wears black dress shoes with brown tweed trousers, is sad. My excuse is that they are so covered in dirt they appear brown before the scrutiny. I wish to talk about shoes that make a sound. I wish to talk about soles. Some dress shoes make a dull thud. This is an onomatopœia that is desired. One can pretend he is manly and wearing boots. My shoes make a “thud.” I pretend they are the Sam Elliot of dress shoes.
Some people wear shoes that go, “click.” These sound like women’s shoes. If I hear these I expect to turn around and see a pair of pumps. Or stilettos depending on my mood. I turn around and instead see a full grown man. Does not matter how dapper you look, the click adds a touch of confusion. At the beginning of the conversion I am still lost thinking about your soles. Why did they click? Why not a thud? This momentary train wreck of thought is all I need, I am derailed.
And so, please wear soles befitting Sam Elliot.

Work Work Work.

I am enjoying work. It’s a different pace from usual. I lived in the bush. That was unpredictable. Sometimes fast – usually slow. I worked for the Peace Corps. I taught the technical aspect of our work, the HIV/AIDS. That was smooth with a few fast bits. But this is weird. It’s not that the pace is ungodly fast; I am in a completely new environment and have no confidence in what I’m doing. I haven’t played my strengths yet. Not that I should complain . . . I haven’t even finished an entire week yet. I’m still new. The paint hasn’t even dried. Once I get this funding thing under my belt I’ll feel more confident. At least the staff here is incredibly patient. They are the nicest people in Lusaka. I think I will do well here. And I want to do good here. I just feel that these co-workers of mine need to see me in my element. That means facilitating. I can teach with the greatest of ease. Unfortunately, I don’t know the ropes of this place yet.

Amsterdam, a layover.

On the way home, to Africa, I had a nice 12 hour layover in Amsterdam. What a gorgeous city. Giant brick buildings. Large canals surrounded by trees. Narrow buildings. Horse drawn carts delievering Heinekein to pubs. Tram cars. Bicycles galore. It was a wonderful city. But it had one noticable drawback. The incredible amount of young tourists wanting to get stoned. The city is filled with college aged people (typically males) looking for a coffee shop that has weed, mushrooms, and pictures of naked women. It was a weird vibe. I loved the architecture. The canals were gorgeous. The museums were amazing, but the droves of fratboys made a lasting impression. I could live there but the tourists would get to me. I wonder what other old European cities look like? Are they similar but without the boys looking for sin? I might have to check out these places at some point. The Balkans have always inspired me. I bet Sophia is nice or anywhere in Croatia. I might check those out at some time. At the end of my time in Amsterdam I got back on the train and headed back to Schiphol Airport. I bought a few magazines and readied myself for the long flight back to Africa it was a nice time in Amsterdam but I am ready to create new adventures in a new place.

Stories from the Past; Peace Corps Lessons Learned

1) I GOT ATTACKED BY A MONKEY. I was at the Waterfall Bar with fellow volunteers. At this place they had a little monkey. We would save a little of the end of our beers and give it to the said monkey. The monkey enjoyed the cervezas. It would spill the dregs of the beer on the ground and then lap it up. Me being the lover of animals and a capacity-builder by trade, I decided to have a one-on-one workshop with the monkey. How to drink from a bottle with optimum efficiency. But when I tried to grab the bottle to show it how it attacked me. Monkeys are cute little creatures but tend to look like a whirlwind of teeth and claws when provoked. I know now, not to ever take a beer from a monkey.

2) MY PIT LATRINE COLLAPSED. I was in my pit latrine near my hut. I needed to go. After dropping my trousers my floor decided to disintegrate into a much larger whole. The whole got much wider and I struggled to not land in a whole filled with my excrement. What saved me from a fate worse than death was the hours of quality time I had spent watching kung fu films with my roomate, Greg. Using my extensive knowledge of archaic martial art technique I shot my hands out at a lightning speed and grabbed the walls. It was fast. The floor continued to dissolved but I managed to grab the necessary anchors to prevent me from falling. I made it. I now know that something as simple as watching TV can save your life.

Running Scared.

I love certain types of punctuation. Maybe not spelling but definitely, I love semicolons and periods. Maybe the occasional comma. And this might eventually lead me to my next subject: Life. I'm supposed to know what I'm doing. I feel like I'm faking it. I think I'm doing a good job because I'm starting to believe it. I want to go to Graduate School. I want to work in International Development. I want to teach History in a university setting. I want to learn Spanish. The only thing I really want is to fall in love and stay in the Peace Corps until I'm sick and tired of helping people overseas. That's not too much to ask is it? Well, yeah, actually. Because half of it relies on other people. Darn it. I am some what of a fatalist, but I also believe in making one's on choices. I just wish you could choose which choices you could give to other people (or powers) to make for you. This is getting metaphysically difficult now. What a concept. I want to choose to have people to choose for me but only at the time I choose. Is that too much to ask for? I want my future to be planned for me. Maybe not planned but at least have a general outline. You will marry this girl, you will work this job at this place. Leave the "how you got there" to me. I could work better that way. I don't like all these choices sometimes. Also this love thing. Could someone else choose for me? I guess in a way my heart does all that but then couldn't I just bypass the whole dating process and go straight to, I don't know, having a girlfriend that I want to spend all my time with. That would be effortless and great. But I guess nothing comes for free. I guess if I want to respect love I have to work for it. Like working before breakfast. It makes the meal taste better. That's the ticket. I guess. Well, that was my stream of conscious rant. Enjoy Internet, enjoy.

Where I am at.

I have been back in the States for a short bit of time now. It's exciting. All these tasty beverages. I had an IBC cream soda in the detroit airport. I had a few good micro brews in Tennessee. I plan to have a root beer float pretty soon. I look foward to it. I also had a bagel with cream cheese. The bagel was slightly burnt but darn tasty.
My father's wedding was nice. It was short and quite entertaining. There were a bunch of old friends I had not seen in a long time. Dad bought a suit for me so my brother and I looked really sharp. There will be pictures. They will be priceless. More later.

Tshirts too much

I seem to collect random stuff. I have tshirts from middle school. Not cool ones with unicorns but ones that say I was an honor student. Is that lame? I have all my old Zoobooks. I still have the Fear Streets that I read. I have buttons from when I worked at a movie theatre in college. I have bathing suits from when I was a lifeguard. . . I was 15! I have every ticket stub from every movie I watched in the cinema from the year 1996 till 2005. That's a lot of tickets. I have a plastic braclet that was given to me at a hot spring in Washington State so that I could get a towel from the staff. I have so much stuff. After living in poverty in a third world country (that global south again) I now feel embarrassed to have so much stuff. Sometimes a kid only has a tuna can and a condom for toys. I am affluent. I gave him the used tuna can. Sometimes I wonder about myself.
I am cleaning everything out now. Everything must go. I should nothing that cannot fit into a compact car and be driven away. Time to clean my house, my stuff, and my conscience.

Adjustment

I have arrived in beautiful Tennessee. Whoa. This place is humid. The water just kind of pools on the hairs of my chest. I don't have many chest hairs but I still get the little darker spot on my shirts from the sweat. I am just not used to the constant swimming I have to perform in the air. Just walking seems like I'm working out in a sauna.
Yesterday I drove. This is a big fear for me. I wasn't sure if I could handle it. Anyone who has driven on my road (maples branch) not what I mean. It is very thin and very curvy. Plus Americans drive like maniacs. I was a little intimidated. Yikes. But I grew some testicles and got in my little gold saturn and drove around. Of course I was making a big deal out of nothing. My body knew what to do. I drove on the correct side, I didn't freak out when a car came by and I didn't get lost on the new crazy amount of roads that are in the area. So today I will drive to Glades Road to meet Ben Myers for a beer at the Fox and Parrot Tavern. I will listen to new music and love the drive.
I bought some CDs yesterday. I bought Feist's the Reminder. I love it. It's great. I more poppier Broken Social Scene. Just fantastic. I really like it a lot. I also bought Easy Tiger by Ryan Adams. Sky Blue Sky by Wilco. Wincing the Night Away by the Shins. They all sound great. Today I will listen mostly to Ryan Adams. I need some roots/americana/rock/alt-country today.
My first meal in the states was interesting. I arrive in Detroit, which is a nice looking airport, no Amsterdam but still pleasant. Their take on the United Terminal at Ohare was interesting. This was a panic inducing version with bright flashing lights. I then found a Fuddrucker's. So I bought an IBC Cream Soda. I haven't had one of those in years! So I just sat there giggling. I must have looked crazy just drinking a creamsoda with a shit eating grin plastered on my face. I then could not help but stare at the this enormous fat guy just stuffing his face in. Yeah, I don't chew when I eat but I hope I don't look like the fat guy from Monty Python's Meaning of Life when I eat. It was disgusting. Just a really fat guy shoveling food into his trap. I need to make sure I don't look like that. It was a sure fire welcome to the states. The land of affluence and fat fucks. Scary.

CDs I want to buy in Americaland

These are the CDs I want to milk my family for. I really want some new music. I hope I acquire these:

TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain
The Shins
Broken Social Scene - Self Titled
Feist - the Reminder
Feist - Let It Die
Subtle - For Hero: For Fool
Nelly Furtado - Loose
Blitzen Trapper - Wild Mountain Nation
Spoon - Gimmie Fiction
Bloc Party - Silent Alarm
SleaterKinney - The Woods
Stars - Set Yourself On Fire
Blackalicious - The Craft
Low - Drums and Guns
Scissor Sisters

If you know any others please tell me.

I Killed a Pig and Skinned a Goat

Had a fun time yesterday. We ate lots of food and I played some football. The locals are really good, and suprisingly the trainees are really good as well. Gretchen was great, she almost played the whole game. Aleta was really good too. She stole the ball from me and I got tripped up and fell. She wins, dammit. It was a fun time. After which, the trainers headed out to Chongwe to have a beer or two. As it turned out the trainees were out there too. We took them on a spontaneous visit to the club. It was lots of fun and actually a good idea. The bars here are very different than America. Men are a lot more aggressive. A lot more. We kind of made sure the trainees were able to see what problems they could potentially get in but with us as the voice of reason. It was a learning experience and a lot of fun. Yay Mosi! It is very unfortunate that a lot of the trainees are beautiful women. I've spent the past two years in a very lonely state and now I am surrounded by hottness. It kinda sucks. I can't really make a move (though I do flirt) but I'm completely out of practice anyway. How weird. I think I will suffer from loneliness in America as well. sigh.

Famous People

So here we go again. The blog must be updated. First off, I was chosen to meet the First Lady of the United States, Laura Bush. She said some really nice things about the Peace Corps. Out of all the time she spent talking about Americans abroad, she spent the most talking about Peace Corps. It was refreshing. As I told others, "she's not bad for marrying the Anti-Christ."
After meeting the politician I met a gameshow host. The very next day I met Alex Trebek. He seemed really nice. For spending almost his whole life in front of a camera he was really down to earth and really nice. We enjoyed.
The training is going really well. Unfortunately I have a crush on most of the girls I'm teaching. Sigh. Such is life.

Sausages!

Remember that wonderful skit from Kids In The Hall? "SAUSAGES!" What a fun time. I enjoy it. Things are going well. I think I will be returning to Americaland soon. That should be a rip-roaring good time. Yessiree! Shucks. I will keep more people abreast to what is going on when more happens. As of right now. I am about to watch Fantastic Four the Rise of the Silver Surfer and see a famous person on Thursday. I have to be covert as is government policy. Let's just say I will be missing the meeting of Alex Trebek. Sigh. Oh, well. More later.

Training

The group is good. The new volunteers have arrived. And to greet them we (the tech team) are wearing matching sweater vests. It's pretty amusing to see. We enjoy. The trainees seem pretty cool. I enjoy hearing their questions. They ask a lot of questions that I asked myself when I entered this programme. It's refreshing to see. They will be packing for first site visit today and tomorrow off to the sites in Northwest, Central, and Southern.
As for me, today I will be meeting with Mrs. Barnhart at IOM. I'm hoping to squeeze myself into their budget for the next year. If not I guess I can try SHARE again. They seemed really responsive. The meeting is at 1500, so I will try to make it there eventually. I write more later.

this is me. On Chief Chibwika's vehicle. I was sick on this trip. It was about a 45 minute trip to my house from Mwinilunga. This is average.

The Name

Yeah. This mystery thing is stupid. It's Fraser. I don't know why I'm being an idiot and pretending to be a man of mystery. It probably comes from the fact that I read Pride and Prejudice and wanted to make myself more like Mr. Darcy. Not that he doesn't say his name. It's Fitz-something. But he does have this kinda mysterious charm to him. Not that I could ever be like Darcy. I have no pride. I have no money. I do have nice relatives, though. That's better. Yep. No Darcy-like ambitions here. Just a name. Fraser.
Went to Alpha Bar and the Brown Frog with some other volunteers. Nice place that Brown Frog. Like a proper club in the states. The band was good. They played some nice covers (from Bryan Adams to Tracy Chapman). My trousers ripped. It was a large hole. From the pocket of my jeans to the mid thigh. Luckily I don't get embarrassed by much. Oh, I'm wearing briefs today? What ever. Enjoy the show. On the subject of Tracy Chapman - do you think she actually waited for her loved one? I don't know. I think the song is full of crap. She just put some idealized romantic fictionalized idea into her song. Not realistic. She didn't wait. She thought she would wait and then she met someone else. Oh jesus. I'm getting bitter and applying my thoughts to what is actually a great song. Today is not a good day. But I am wearing my Eston-shirt. And I did get cleared for my extension. And I did get my homeleave taken care of. I'll be coming back to the States in August. That's cool.
My Dad is getting re-married. He sounds happy, so am I then. I think he works a little to much so I was a little suprised he actually met someone. Of course I even felt a twinge of jealousy. What is up with that? I live in a country were people would love to marry me (if only for a free ticket to the States) and I get a little jealous because he found someone before me. Man oh man. But now I'm happy for him. I'm not jealous anymore, it only lasted for a minute or so. Even so, it was a weird feeling to have - hence the mention on my digital journal.
Chongwe is nice. It is the new training centre for the Peace Corps out here. It has a lot of kinks but the actual place is better than Mwekera. But I think I'm the only person who feels this. I think there are more opportunities for Trainees to observe working HIV groups than in Mwekera. The people are nice - even if they speak Soli, a language that no one in the Peace Corps knows. Mitende! That's the greeting in general. I just shout Bemba or Nyanja or if I'm really feeling risque I shout Lunda: Mudi Ngh'i? Chiwahi? Kamana? Okay! Yeah, it's a nice place. I play football with the trainers at 1700 and I run or do yoga every morning. I guess I want to get into shape before I come home in August. I want my family to be proud of me. I guess they already are but I always want their approve - I hold them all in such high esteem. I will be great to see my brother again. What a guy. He's an officer now. Not only can he jump out of airplanes at night and what not but he's an f'in officer. That's so cool. He's a good kid (always the little brother) and I cannot wait to get back and have a proper beer with him and catch up. Okay, enough of the ramble. Goodbye gurnal.

Apologies 2

1. Sorry about showing up to that meeting really hungover. I hardly drink anymore. But seeing all my friends again I just ended up drinking to the point where I was making bad decisions (i.e. drinking even more). Throwing up was never by plan. Especially when I knew the consequences. I'm guilty for that. I should have been thinking ahead and remained professional. I am sorry.

2. Sorry I made that "I'm no Christian" comment to the hawker in Zanzibar. Random strangers don't know my humour and I must realize this. He was looking for a reason for a fight and by jove if I didn't walk right into that one. I put myself and others at risk. I felt like an idiot. Sorry, if I truly offended the hawker. But I'm truly sorry to the people I was traveling with.

Dancing

Often in African dancing the women do the dances and the men play the drums. What would happen if the roles reversed? I know men do dance. But not all sexy like. Not like the "powerful" men. But I've returned from a cultural festival and I cannot help but wonder why I only saw one woman playing an instrument (Tanzanian) they whole day. And it was odd enough of a sight that it stuck out. Gender roles in Africa are a little fucked up right now. It may take some time (okay a lot actually) before they can access the same social norms and rights as males. I for one would love to see a day when men and women switch their roles. Just a simple holiday. Men would get water, take care of babies, cook food, and dance all sexy like. The women would farm for a few hours and then spend the rest of the day greeting people, drinking, and playing the drums. Yeah. That would be a good holiday.

Rolling Stone bothers me

Sleater-Kinney is a very good band. A long time ago the band broke up. This is sad, but a fact of life. When they split ways there was a small blurb (actually 2) about the band in Rolling Stone. In one they talked about a live track and their love of the band. The other mentioned they were waiting for them to get back together already. WHAT?! This from a magazine that hardly writes about good bands anymore. Why put such crap as people who don't even write their own music on the cover? Rolling Stone needs to quit their bitching because when the band was togther they did little to promote the band. Sure, there were blurbs. But compare that to the amount of exposure they put on Britany or some other bimbo of the moment. I declare that Rolling Stone is subpar. That's right I said it. No one wants to say it. I just did. I rule.

simplicity, a title

Simply - I wanted to start my thoughts. Maybe people will know who I am but that really doesn't matter. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. I serve in the country of Africa. I wanted to write without authorship. I don't feel like censoring any of my thoughts so here is this. This isn't an original idea to anyone but me. You have all read similar things. This is the street cred without the name of the rapper. The epitaph of a man lost at sea. I'm so poetic. Enjoy.