Hey, Rocky, Guach Me Pull a Rabbit Outa My Hat!

Ah, Carnival season.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the... . scratch that. It wasn't the age of wisdom at all, foolishness reigned, as always.

The combined forces of NEWSCORP. CIA, went out into the world last night to witness the BQ Carnaval (Carnival, for you english speakers) in all its splendor last night. The Guacherna rolled through the streets on greasy, sausage-lubricated wheels, only to disrail the hopes and dreams of a people.



What basically happened was this. Fpp & La Flaca went out to 44th street to find a nice place with relatively good visibility to watch the last of the pre-carnival, carival parades. We found a spot that seemed adequate. I was more than wary, though, about the middle aged folks directly in front of us, with the shiny shirts and little plastic shot glasses hanging from their necks. I was wise to be wary, as, basically as soon as we sat down, they began shooting 'spuma' at everyone around them. 'Spuma' being some sorta relatively new, personal assault device flown in from china. it's basically foamy soap of some sort in an aerosol can that you spray on people around you, like silly-string but soap, which can build up quite thickly (see pic from three years ago, below)



Anyway, as soon as we sat down, this shit started flying all around us, and we suffered through about three and a half hours of this foolishness before calling it a night. Once again the folks of BQ proved they know how to rock. Carnaval here, at times, seems to me to be only barely holding on to a semblance of whatever Carnaval originally was supposed to be. Now, instead, it is merely an excuse to fuck with everyone around you, for absolutely no reason. An opportunity for the little boy in all of to come out and establish his presence. The problem is this little boy likes to light cats on fire.

News Haikus 3 & 4, Russian Satellites and MIke Phelps

According to that oh so trusted and respected name in News, Yahoo! News...

2 big satellites collide 500 miles over Siberia

The collision involved an Iridium commercial satellite, which was launched in 1997, and a Russian satellite launched in 1993 and believed to be nonfunctioning. The Russian satellite was out of control, Matney said.

Russian Satellites,
like Russian drunk drivers, are
smashing up space shit.



and today's added bonus...

14-times Olympic gold medal winner Michael Phelps caught with cannabis pipe

By Georgina Dickinson, 01/02/2009

THIS is the astonishing picture which could destroy the career of the greatest competitor in Olympic history.In our exclusive photo Michael Phelps, who won a record EIGHT gold medals for swimming at the Beijing games last summer, draws from a bong.

In the Seventies,
Who cared if Spitz smoked weed?
Get a 'stache, Phelps, soon.

I have also seen pics of Phelps at a tittie bar and I must admit, I like him better now than when he seemed like any other sparkly-clean-white-bread-boring-Disney-sponsored douche-bag. I don't know why people have to make a deal out of this. He isn't taking steroids, or doping his blood. Hell, I guarantee he isn't FASTER cause he's smoking weed. If anything, someone should give him another medal.

Weekly News Haiku 2, GM layoffs

According to the New York Times...


DETROIT — General Motors, which must submit a satisfactory restructuring plan to the government next week to keep billions of dollars in loans, said Tuesday that it would lay off 10,000 salaried workers worldwide this year and reduce pay for those who remain by as much as 10 percent.


Luckily for us,
Cars can be built in Chad, where
Execs will pay zip.
As a side note, sales of the new Camaro (see photo, below) are lagging...

Weekly News Haiku 1. Feb. 2009

From the NY Times.

MOSCOW — In Moscow to seek financial support, the president of Kyrgyzstan, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, on Tuesday announced that a decision to close a U.S. air base in his country — a decision that will seriously hamper U.S. efforts in Afghanistan.

article by

By ELLEN BARRY and MICHAEL SCHWIRTZ

Published: February 3, 2009

has inspired this Haiku:

Hey Times editors,
This thirty-eight word sentence
Is just a fragment.



Looks like Putin has reared his head again, this time luring the faithful Kyrgyzstanis away from their rightful US masters. If only someone, some faithful American, someone close by--say, in a state from where Russia can be seen--had been watching Putin, and recording his moves, we could have avoided this tragic strategic loss. pity.

Cartagena and Adios, Amigos

After a couple days of rest after the nuptials, we took the visiting Gringoes to Cartagena to find my credit card and see some really old buildings.



The trip started off with a detour to the Totumo mud volcano. I have heard of this thing for years and never gone. Luckily, the day we went must have been "take your ____ to the mud volcano"-day, cause it was really crowded. Lots of people in the old mud volcano. Imagine a small swimming-pool/large hot-tub sized pool of gray-thick tepid mud, stuffed with thirty or forty people you do not know or trust, including children, who, worldwide, pee in swimming pools.

We had sweet sweet showers as soon as we got to Cartagena, but the grit got into places a toothbrush and some lava (soap) could not reach.



After that, cartagena time, and playa blanca, before everyone boarded planes and escaped, unscathed, to the land of milk, honey and a freezing winter. Thanks for coming down, folks, see you soon. safe trips.

Fpp

Short, Long

Well, I guess the long and short of it is that I recently got hitched, which has nothing to do with a skiboat. On saturday, in a relatively friendly takeover, La Flaca Global CIA., SA. and FPPInternation Media Enterprises merged to form the new Pan-American Media Giant FPPFlacaInterMediaConsultaMegaVibe, which will from here on be refered to on this news site as News Corp..



Things were good. Things were great. Things were Gringo. Things were Colombian. And I got thrown in the pool at my own shindig. Such is life.
More news to follow, As FppInternational operations managers are all busy right now getting used to the constant irritation of finger jewelry.



Kisses,
FPP

Holiday Fever

We just spent another Xmas at the beach.



It seems like every year we are in BQ, we spend our Xmases at the Pradomar, with the surf and sunbathing holidayers.

Luckily this year we were treated to a lovely drunken couple who managed to get-it-on in their beach chairs. The show never ends in BQ.



Anyway, BQ is the place to be for the Holidays once again, after a Panamanian detour twelve months ago.

It's sunny, bright, hot, and windy, and the sea is relatively clean.
It's nothing like Tamba-cho though, where the holidays mean dressing up in musty old garments with musty old men.



Happy Holidays, see you soon,

FPP

Tangaga weekend and the Rocking Chuckwagons

Puente means bridge in Spanish. It also means three-day weekend, at least here on the coast in Colombia. There are plenty of Puentes in October and November. It's a regal time of year to be a high-school teacher in BQ.



Anyway, to celebrate, my pal Roger called up and asked if the band I have been known to play with would appear at his new Bar, to be opened on Calle 84. Of course, I said, I will call everyone and get some stuff worked out. The fact that I haven't picked up a guitar in two months never came up nor the fact that the drummer now lives in Bogota. Oh well. So, with a little finagling and a three-beer-blind-taste-test (CERVEZA POKER won, to everyone's surprise), the band was created and another historic show was logged. We rocked the B612 bar and I believe it shall be a night remembered forever by all, especially the two couples who made immediate, and I mean IMMEDIATE departures as soon as we started to play. We are only here to keep the people happy.



After all of that chaos, we decided to meet another four gringoes/Colombians in Taganga for a couple days of rest and relaxation in the little fishing village of our hearts. It's the first time I have been in Taganga in nearly three years, I believe. Sand, Surf, Sea, Rain. Although the weather did not fully agree, and a couple hours were wasted going to the Uber-shitty Playa Grande, a nice relaxing weekend was had by all, replete with morning-wakeup-squawking roosters, dominoes, sweet pizza and lots a time in a hammock. Thanks to the folks at the Divanga Hostel for the rooms and beers and pool and cats.
Peaceful Indepence of Cartagena day to one and all.

FPPInternational

ahhhh. good finally, OBAMA

Finally, the election is over and the old assholes are on their way out.
But the most important thing that i have noticed, is that sam donaldson is a crazy old man. Here in BQ, my news options on the internet are a little limited and i have spent the last two hours listening to the wisened Sir Sam. His constant chattering is odd, disjointed and downright frightening.

Why didn't the repub's run him, he's more-or-less the same as mccain, only less old looking and not so closely tied to palin.

sam donaldson in 2012.

ciao ciao
congrats
breathe easily, finally.

So, What have you been up to

Wow, July to October without a post, a new record I think, for me.
Anyway, I came back to Colombia, moved, started work, got engaged, uhhhh, went to the gym a couple times, ate at a new Sushi place, bought a couple houseplants.

The trills never end.



Although the exchange rate is going to hell (how can that be, when the US economy is in the toilet?), I am still plugging away down here in Colombia, where my time is filled with avoiding responsibility, napping and avoiding over-indulgence.

I haven't even purchased a new shirt or anything in a while. Life is sometimes like that, I guess. But I am still alive.



Oh, Yeah, I did sing some Sinatra with a little jazz/salsa group at a fancy-schmancy restaurant recently. I am sure my performance was about as thrilling as this here little update. More soon. I hope. Really. Sorry. Please do not live vicariously through me.

Annual Backpacking Trip. This year: Coldness

The Weatherman, Chili, Strando, and I have successfully completed another annual backpacking trip, only to learn that some elevations should never be visited, even in mid-July. It was cold. I whined, cried, bitched, complained and hid in my sleeping bag alot. One nice thing though, the 'fridge, which kept our never-adequate supply of alcohol deliciously chilled.

Although I have no digital evidence of the 'fridge. I stole these pics from Strando, who is here helping himself to an available potable.



However, when the alcohol is flowing and available there will always be the danger of a Yeti-attack. Here is a rare photo of the mythological beast early in the morning, before he has donned his furry pantaloons.

Take care, stay warm, and never go into the woods alone.

BC wedding, dogs, Kampai!

I have officially made it back to the USA, and to celebrate, I went north to Canada, home of our mortal enemies, the Cannucks. Luckily, I had a disguise in my rental car and drank beer so no one could tell me apart from those evil, queen-loving villains.

I attended a wedding and spoke some Japanese with a gaggle of girls from the land of the rising sun who were also in attendence when Ben and Nico tied the proverbial knot.



And there are dogs, too.

End of school year 2, la flaca at 25

hey hey my my, la flaca old now, so get her a piece of pie

la flaca had a birthday this weekend, so, for the second time in as many days, we made a trip to a place that should not have let us in.



we had a night out at Canta Gallo, the singing rooster (PG version) Karaoke club. I was one of the four in our little group who Karaoked. I didn't know that it would be a competition. I represented our group, and I got second place, I am sure undeservedly. The options for tunes in English was sparse and I sang "Like a Virgin." but enough about me



we had a great time. and la flaca became too old for me to date in style.

Happy birthday flacita. besos.

End of the school year 1

ok, wow, so the year is drawing to an end, so it is time to get a groovin.
cdveston is getting the hell out of town and we couldn't let him leave without a little rumba.



the best way to do this is to get some t-shirts made, drink some rum, take over a club like the rico melao, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, get everyone naked



the night went off without a hitch and the funk will last until all the nasty little gringoes return from their places of origin.

News from back home

I shit you not, this is the headline from today's internet version of the SEATTLE TIMES:

Police move closer to finding groper

Seattle police have identified a man in connection with the groping of a woman in South Seattle and say he could be tied to 22 similar attacks in the area.

super groper, evading the Seattle Police by heading south. Daibolical

Chiva Believa

Another weekend, another chiva.

As the school-year winds down the gringoes of BQ (accompanied by denizens of Cartagena and Santa Marta) pushed themselves into a rumba-powered bus with the world's youngest mijo band and set sail for a cruise of stupidity.



the night was positively weird, but at the end very little was lost, outside of Joel and Darling's purse, and nothing was gained.
(After reading this post it seems to me I have to make a note here. Joel and darling do not share a purse. Darlene's purse got lost, stolen actually, and Joel got lost too, although he was recovered by some cops in a park at seven in the morning, and brought back to gringo-land, hungover and walletless. )

Semana Santa - Part One, The Way Down and The Wedding

ok.
welcome to spring break -- or Semana Santa -- as they say down here.

Here goes. One of La Flaca's friends from high school decided to get married the first Saturday of Semana Santa, so we went to Bucaramanga [that isn't a typo, there really is a city down here called Bucaramanga (pronounced boo-ka-ra-MAN-ga, really.)] Anyway, we went to Bucaramanga for the wedding, in a van, with a couple of La Flaca's friends and a bunch of people neither of us knew, and a drugged up cat in a diaper. Yes.



So, here's the best explanation I can give for this girl bringing this cat on an overnight trip of six hundred miles or so that just happened to take fourteen hours, give or take: her sister is pregnant. That's the explanation I got.
"So," I asked. "Why are you bringing a cat on a six-hundred mile overnight trip in a van with fourteen other people?"
"My sister is pregnant."
"Okay then."
I know not to ask too much more than this, as Colombia is a place people believe some weird shit. Example 1: La flaca will not take a shower after eating. Why, you ask? She doesn't want to have a heart attack. Hmmmmm. She's 24 and weighs like 90 pounds.
Example 2: My maid will not iron clothes after taking a shower. Why, you ask? Doing so will destroy her bones. Hmmmmm. I don't know how to respond to that. usually I say "Ok."
So, the cat couldn't be left at home because the girl has a pregnant sister.
The trip was long, painfully uncomfortable and cold (the van had serious-ass A/C) and I never want to make this trip again.
But we got there safely, even though cat-diaper girl had no idea where we were going in Bucaramanga and got us repeatedly lost. Eventually the driver got pretty pissed at her and yelled at her a bit. By the way, did I mention cat-diaper girl is FROM Bucaramanga and she was trying to get her uncle's house, where she had been a million and a half times. Personally, I think she was sampling el gato's medicine on the trip.

Joselitos Last Stand

The last day of the carnival celebration here in BQ is dedicated to Joselito. It is his wake. Joselito has died from some sorta over-indulgence and his body is interred until next year. I think. I really don't know, but lots of people, men and women alike, dress as grieving widows and the last of the rum, beer and aquardiente are consumed before the long forty days of lent that these Catholics impose upon themselves. By the way, from the aguardiente link, this particular beverage can be ordered in the states; do so at your own risk. I do not recommend drinking this stuff.

Anyway, to make the long story short, the carnivals are behind us and the world once again is spinning as it should, and we can all return to some goofy-BQ-interpretation of "normalcy".

ciao ciao
fpp

A Carnaval Apart

Carnivals in Barranquilla came early this year, and the staff at FPPInternational left town super-early, but not before mugging for some TV time at The Lounge. Gio, bear-like proprietor of The Lounge, invited us to hang at the BQ nightlife hotspot Friday night, while a TV crew from Fox Sports filmed it for an episode on Colombian bars to air in Latin America in about a month.


I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

As soon as that was over, the Staff got a little shut-eye (very little) and caught the 4:30 express collectivo for Tayrona. Of course, this is the Gilligan's Island-like national park a couple hours up the road from here, as mentioned in previous, thong-filled posts. Anyway, we organized a trip to the park with another local gringo and gal, slept in tents and got sunburned, thoroughly missing the Carnaval events of the only weekend of the year when people from the interior (Bogota, Medellin, Cali) and the exterior (USA, Europe, Argentina) actually come to Barranquilla.



Life can be sweet on the beach, but maybe too sweet, as the flies and ants would not leave us alone while our glucose levels rose and rose, and now, in order to augment our bitterness quotient, we have decided to return to normal lives with work, showers and all the daily battles that drive us on to the grave.
Happy Feburary. Kisses,
FPPInternational

Van Halen 1984, Track 3, for Xmas

Uh!
Oh yeah!
Ah-huh!

Jump back, what's that sound?
Here she comes, full blast and top down
Hot shoe, burnin' down the avenue
Model citizen, zero discipline

Don't ya know she's coming home with me
You'll lose her in that turn
I'll get her!




Just returned from a short holiday break in Panama. For Easter I am already planning a trip to Hot For Teacher, Uruguay or maybe Everybody Wants Some, Chile. No matter how you slice it, the Holidays came up Panama which means a mind-numbing number of hours spent at shopping malls and plenty of time in American restaurants (Wendy's, Popeye's, Hard Rock Cafe, Bennigans, Hooters and TGI Fridays, just to name a few).



Anywho, after five days and five Chicken Caesar Salads, La Flaca and I flew back into the wilds of Barranquilla yesterday and must now face the remaining Holidays without access to cheap shopping malls and greasy Gringo chow, which is why people get so depressed around this time, I think

ho ho ho
fpp

The Immaculate Slipstream Trailer

The Immaculate conception, which was actually the impregnation of St. Anne (the baby is the Virgin Mary) occured on Dec. 8, so on Dec. 7 Colombians stay out all night and get drunk and dance. When in Rome, go to the baths, gorge yourself and watch Spartacus.




So we went out last night, and succeeded in establishing our little group as THE bunch of assholes to avoid. Living in Barranquilla is like living anywhere else, only hotter, louder and without a creamy filling.



I Have one week of work left and then will be vacationing in Panama where I am planning on digging a big trench and convincing a couple oil tankers to pay me millions to use it, then escaping into the jungle with my ill-gotten gains as the tankers crash in the ridiculously shallow trench, spilling precious oil all over the wildlife. sweet sweet pollution.

monitoring problems and an all-around lack of good sounds

photo courtesy of cdveston

In order to remind ourselves and others in our vicinity that we are not talented, a group of gringoes got together and created the most recent incarnation of a country-disco band, this time called "Leslie, All Up In Your Grill." Although imortalized by the name of the band, Leslie declined to play bass in her clingy, wet, white wife-beater, opting instead to go to Medellin. I consider this a smart move. Anyway, we played some tunes poorly, and drank some cocktails heroicly, and another wednesday passed into history, much like the wednesday when John Wilkes Boothe got himself ejected from the Local 431 Barber's Union, and was subsequently forced to try his hand at acting and anarchy and shooting tall presidents in the noggin.

playa blanca on a three day weekend

There are lotsa three day weekends in october and november in colombia. these are all fine and dandy opportunities to do something less orderly. So la flaca and I made a trip to Rodadero last weekend and spent a couple days at the beach, which was hot and sweaty and not raining, which means a lot given how wet it has been lately.



In Rodadero, I got myself some new groovy sunglasses, some sunscreen and a blue towel. My life is advancing just as it is supposed to I think. Next step, 2.1 children, 1.8 cars, a dog, and a mortgage.

kisses
fpp

Taking Care of Business

THE KING RETURNS, SORT OF



Dateline, October, 27th, Cartagena, Colombia.

A bald, bad-tempered, well-dressed Elvis impersonator and entorage of fellow Barranquilleros arrived at at a post-ish grino event five days before Halloween and made complete asses of themselves.


A couple facts about this night. It was election weekend, which is Ley Seca, which means drinking is illegal across the country. The party wasn't a costume party (I didn't know this when we were leaving). Too much tequilla can make gringoes do stupid shit.



Halfway from Barranquilla and Cartagena, we stopped in pigtown and played guitar and drums for the locals, ate their empanadas and left after being filmed on a gaggle of cell phones.

Pigtown does not have a single working toilet with clean seat, but every fourteen year old girl with two arms has a better cell phone than me.

Anyway, that was the first adventure for the little Elvis get-up that I had made this summer-- thanks, mom-- which was quickly destroyed. The sleeves are still in Cartagena, along with a pair of underwear and an enormous amount of self-respect, somewhere in the old city, I think.



Elvis photo courtesy of Cdveston at flickr