tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-127572742024-03-06T21:00:58.149-08:00Aubrey's BlogOf Little literary Merit and Even less EnlightenmentAubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-68619416041255251932008-11-02T22:53:00.000-08:002008-11-05T00:49:19.794-08:00Santiago Sacatepequez<div>Since I've hardly touched this blog in a while anyways, I've decided to rewind time to one year and one day ago. I was in Santiago Sacatepequez, Guatemala for a Day of the Dead festival. Here are some pictures from that day. </div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmn16TH1f8abUZ1yohrN9YSri26ULq4GgQRINs-04nf2yaaO8OiqF-aaUbRZJdY6cfFfRT259-qtBvSVdG7SnPo3t4HxpbpJycAXbPG3PWQ7zFCzysRT_qYIWgQptBiJLP6mhE/s1600-h/DSC03078_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmn16TH1f8abUZ1yohrN9YSri26ULq4GgQRINs-04nf2yaaO8OiqF-aaUbRZJdY6cfFfRT259-qtBvSVdG7SnPo3t4HxpbpJycAXbPG3PWQ7zFCzysRT_qYIWgQptBiJLP6mhE/s400/DSC03078_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265075123057735842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-0KIbdBDaiadLhHqEq2YXqJ8xqEikwmY7LyyHJpIC7nzBrDqH9RnmXKHcZ5UAE4oihl2nA0aZa7w7EYUbPvASNE5QpE4BPRwnkgIVUD3HUEk-hO_n45C-p4WENDgkUwniTD0/s1600-h/DSC03144_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-0KIbdBDaiadLhHqEq2YXqJ8xqEikwmY7LyyHJpIC7nzBrDqH9RnmXKHcZ5UAE4oihl2nA0aZa7w7EYUbPvASNE5QpE4BPRwnkgIVUD3HUEk-hO_n45C-p4WENDgkUwniTD0/s400/DSC03144_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265088608151472290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVf4Nm77pFkmC9OzBBqK0sjVIPshyphenhyphen8RtVFJ8k7wVEsruo0IPHSNTyLwXaCio5qZbc3jSQkoprIAp6wUPlpaP5fNENmXi2_LVM26-MTyuIP15T6xPYAb3idy-Mg4FjOEip22H-/s1600-h/DSC03214.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVf4Nm77pFkmC9OzBBqK0sjVIPshyphenhyphen8RtVFJ8k7wVEsruo0IPHSNTyLwXaCio5qZbc3jSQkoprIAp6wUPlpaP5fNENmXi2_LVM26-MTyuIP15T6xPYAb3idy-Mg4FjOEip22H-/s400/DSC03214.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265086393569059298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4pp0heRFz8xYn96Lf8N2jqiO_QmM5NMvyUWbizZSEVswb5mzlPuqxW17oQwLthgkmUgbWgDQ_eeWpaNpsMCNkr2Jgw7upjS2cr1v3A3LZoMkZexrQR0RiVIB_uMPotL5s2tM/s1600-h/DSC03202.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4pp0heRFz8xYn96Lf8N2jqiO_QmM5NMvyUWbizZSEVswb5mzlPuqxW17oQwLthgkmUgbWgDQ_eeWpaNpsMCNkr2Jgw7upjS2cr1v3A3LZoMkZexrQR0RiVIB_uMPotL5s2tM/s400/DSC03202.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265086292076748354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ZqrYblqoYGlKPGk_8a17IyztW2rZNYRduHXM3TaKn5U1-yfV6WBXIHvKzzEdurIKV-yH9CmioQS8qPxAmPaYbGY2p6OmemyH4vmZZYbZiafCoI78R-u72l07_RkOrjeEkI_f/s1600-h/DSC03189_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ZqrYblqoYGlKPGk_8a17IyztW2rZNYRduHXM3TaKn5U1-yfV6WBXIHvKzzEdurIKV-yH9CmioQS8qPxAmPaYbGY2p6OmemyH4vmZZYbZiafCoI78R-u72l07_RkOrjeEkI_f/s400/DSC03189_3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265085782728986914" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDF3VkPzH4yhQWFfpt0NZAchIvH6d3RUYhnSDmjAFN7mK8C23Ro4_5OT6zM6ov4YYKVGWJymWG6Nd4Izq2wEA8glryuyBvkPlSjVQPQo1isndnNsVeWXvA5hCoCG2zIMPP-Vpn/s1600-h/DSC03126_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 307px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDF3VkPzH4yhQWFfpt0NZAchIvH6d3RUYhnSDmjAFN7mK8C23Ro4_5OT6zM6ov4YYKVGWJymWG6Nd4Izq2wEA8glryuyBvkPlSjVQPQo1isndnNsVeWXvA5hCoCG2zIMPP-Vpn/s400/DSC03126_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265085312066191794" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGF2vVLMiasjkJp7FqhAAD1JyNUKhZIe8W0dJCoD9YOCWxHge9rbgx8nT1n5mD7qmT6CDTmdK7xsdpkztz1uB__YXrrkaXTOBtFelbEI0BBbUkg1BKlX0l0iJHtdc69w-rUkOE/s1600-h/DSC03084.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGF2vVLMiasjkJp7FqhAAD1JyNUKhZIe8W0dJCoD9YOCWxHge9rbgx8nT1n5mD7qmT6CDTmdK7xsdpkztz1uB__YXrrkaXTOBtFelbEI0BBbUkg1BKlX0l0iJHtdc69w-rUkOE/s400/DSC03084.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265084233027097330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHWEAAPbXh6uvEvOBuzeOyfPjFUvDrm4B5NPVsk_ElodAdGpiixCcocGlXVhasP9fzQSsK4lpNr2h-FjXIaxlm-j4sqr0T7eIOSdEhF85czfs0LydMezJLJkNB-Ynl3mP9g_w/s1600-h/DSC03036_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHWEAAPbXh6uvEvOBuzeOyfPjFUvDrm4B5NPVsk_ElodAdGpiixCcocGlXVhasP9fzQSsK4lpNr2h-FjXIaxlm-j4sqr0T7eIOSdEhF85czfs0LydMezJLJkNB-Ynl3mP9g_w/s400/DSC03036_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265083669570031746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsiAqEcKBObjngyhZnXi24gjYNtTs2pq6mfc_5HaZIPj-cg6nUjKVUH_mHH4gkADIWpuqDI7A8lQ0_E5AQcrLOxg0sv28FBYA6GF5r5TEyChhGMwcDHDgx1_glWy_CkjcNxHyv/s1600-h/DSC03241.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsiAqEcKBObjngyhZnXi24gjYNtTs2pq6mfc_5HaZIPj-cg6nUjKVUH_mHH4gkADIWpuqDI7A8lQ0_E5AQcrLOxg0sv28FBYA6GF5r5TEyChhGMwcDHDgx1_glWy_CkjcNxHyv/s400/DSC03241.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264335745558958578" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AbU_el13XMDJ-v8x4MefYkf-gRqxjSEw9FRc_2TvGh_mSiMdmpTUwtPj4zEY8jXyjB3wv56Y6aG7ZDd28xvVNa8XpOHiKVd6b9oW2FrjeNaJQqwRTNxDmxkwdEV2bspBkgfz/s1600-h/DSC03257.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AbU_el13XMDJ-v8x4MefYkf-gRqxjSEw9FRc_2TvGh_mSiMdmpTUwtPj4zEY8jXyjB3wv56Y6aG7ZDd28xvVNa8XpOHiKVd6b9oW2FrjeNaJQqwRTNxDmxkwdEV2bspBkgfz/s400/DSC03257.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334899234664626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyWVN6As5leSq4xWRAvmCvbl4w6isRKl_kWukp3vQkLGluXI-YsrU8rpKCYpPkwEKumsldjXX1eAQcABUSrfzMciHtSNBtzTM02-pm4qRZtyQjWqJNak8rincDRJayww_Qjm_/s1600-h/DSC03228.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyWVN6As5leSq4xWRAvmCvbl4w6isRKl_kWukp3vQkLGluXI-YsrU8rpKCYpPkwEKumsldjXX1eAQcABUSrfzMciHtSNBtzTM02-pm4qRZtyQjWqJNak8rincDRJayww_Qjm_/s400/DSC03228.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265079886058294882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUY_ppTy6VIYapNfVgMCsp4JCdrS_9yft-7i_lSvh8cbYhqQTSKK98XgtoNd73BvQzjo3P9ngCGNybPl25QnE5weXBzOZdh9EBRB1hGcm6R2udpdC2bU5fLLhVK75QVAb1XFwu/s1600-h/DSC03273.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUY_ppTy6VIYapNfVgMCsp4JCdrS_9yft-7i_lSvh8cbYhqQTSKK98XgtoNd73BvQzjo3P9ngCGNybPl25QnE5weXBzOZdh9EBRB1hGcm6R2udpdC2bU5fLLhVK75QVAb1XFwu/s400/DSC03273.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334780867332610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9SoFaPoD14d57L86E6crgmEN92OKOKAivREKrkrm7WsC1mIRGG-KY_7GGsQ-Fplh_gV3HEvTk1hyVFzoWPX8Zuk658uUtV8pR6HtRjnPtV8xZdgUyAofG0T8HN6blJBCPT1w/s1600-h/DSC03277.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9SoFaPoD14d57L86E6crgmEN92OKOKAivREKrkrm7WsC1mIRGG-KY_7GGsQ-Fplh_gV3HEvTk1hyVFzoWPX8Zuk658uUtV8pR6HtRjnPtV8xZdgUyAofG0T8HN6blJBCPT1w/s400/DSC03277.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334635497309394" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qGKNK6wiVFlUDNmocQ8fkgGDWZgIKURsA0Ymp7rQ_SHCfICn2-pzR7n9juXZ_PIqoWqhpgkcquMurrmvYe3adEKnUOamtxTOerMUwhFYUR13OE0mEKSTAVfAeUXT3yKtL8-7/s1600-h/DSC03232.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qGKNK6wiVFlUDNmocQ8fkgGDWZgIKURsA0Ymp7rQ_SHCfICn2-pzR7n9juXZ_PIqoWqhpgkcquMurrmvYe3adEKnUOamtxTOerMUwhFYUR13OE0mEKSTAVfAeUXT3yKtL8-7/s400/DSC03232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264335892288064290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30L7L_GWAvKi0NXfuTYdZLI5Y3jFfo7JNvramQFAZGIIgdymWgK5Orq7xZvp95-qULnxnVPSBw8iSkVzWqMIRWQW84rif5umNRUxqL6Nzjj-h6aDeYSO5aUDccqLGJvhH00gH/s1600-h/DSC03298_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30L7L_GWAvKi0NXfuTYdZLI5Y3jFfo7JNvramQFAZGIIgdymWgK5Orq7xZvp95-qULnxnVPSBw8iSkVzWqMIRWQW84rif5umNRUxqL6Nzjj-h6aDeYSO5aUDccqLGJvhH00gH/s400/DSC03298_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334501157591746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHcKxV4Z4DjXLyjwKp0hIGMc_iXp4BwCEcp0Pf-yfisC0k3_PvrVTt5FiEZz3RHVMnAas4rIGBs0aY2xQmrgHtRt9KYTTiGjvWrAE9wercV8uHSZU-7ZlqlKDlxbXeAtOOwlx/s1600-h/DSC03319.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHcKxV4Z4DjXLyjwKp0hIGMc_iXp4BwCEcp0Pf-yfisC0k3_PvrVTt5FiEZz3RHVMnAas4rIGBs0aY2xQmrgHtRt9KYTTiGjvWrAE9wercV8uHSZU-7ZlqlKDlxbXeAtOOwlx/s400/DSC03319.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334389603263618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbMGScp2RlmrKfhySB0g1gF3CNUEufUpsocL3BQuM-LOwHXBmnRIwSSal0NEZBHevHN0UMb5mFpPXVkBIyZV8WSiyGNd2BSDPPXibVf9IiFkk_f9-zUbivawL3ZlEek6x8_1e/s1600-h/DSC03307.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbMGScp2RlmrKfhySB0g1gF3CNUEufUpsocL3BQuM-LOwHXBmnRIwSSal0NEZBHevHN0UMb5mFpPXVkBIyZV8WSiyGNd2BSDPPXibVf9IiFkk_f9-zUbivawL3ZlEek6x8_1e/s400/DSC03307.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334273579920626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ox9zbsDQ3eiFImiAebJlZQelakS8E-mFkrn2dH_CMxzxeLbhKbxeyS7tXMFKS4o6nkMH97eJ5kcCh5_RyfpSaP01qP8_x6GmwtWpQ7JSh75X_K3CI2YFboenSc9IkxN2hsSn/s1600-h/DSC03245.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ox9zbsDQ3eiFImiAebJlZQelakS8E-mFkrn2dH_CMxzxeLbhKbxeyS7tXMFKS4o6nkMH97eJ5kcCh5_RyfpSaP01qP8_x6GmwtWpQ7JSh75X_K3CI2YFboenSc9IkxN2hsSn/s400/DSC03245.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264335152659758946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAgdH8LytJrQtVL-Szd_BIejbjvzQxG89UoJ6JiA7uhIwLirHfbOD8Bjv5oD_O1l_9GsWL6_CNBv0Lt4gwWBXHlXyGdWhMYCl8dwJs0yj5yUqxwx0iyBmyR7_2fLz2tjN7DTD/s1600-h/DSC03322_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAgdH8LytJrQtVL-Szd_BIejbjvzQxG89UoJ6JiA7uhIwLirHfbOD8Bjv5oD_O1l_9GsWL6_CNBv0Lt4gwWBXHlXyGdWhMYCl8dwJs0yj5yUqxwx0iyBmyR7_2fLz2tjN7DTD/s400/DSC03322_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264334110239479154" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbhh98drJhto1-iZSU7RchWhutkoqq5s15VjHio5kiEDgSk3Cw9S5OsZ97ogZ3eZc8O5Opah_4JgTiq3DL7XvMnfJpBP3nthtCoWNdYAmUR3bji5C-vmlW8tV_avh9bHbc2I_/s1600-h/DSC03074.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbhh98drJhto1-iZSU7RchWhutkoqq5s15VjHio5kiEDgSk3Cw9S5OsZ97ogZ3eZc8O5Opah_4JgTiq3DL7XvMnfJpBP3nthtCoWNdYAmUR3bji5C-vmlW8tV_avh9bHbc2I_/s400/DSC03074.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264333815785291250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7udr7TS8Hov7koqLfbmc1lS7Y7cI0U8In4QwtTn9NiTqkfxhYGS4_HLDI3LQZR9-mYxwoAlVK0Y6dXgy7oRo6oDkshRXxBaB53GqtzlQ_nZd4HYbdxfCL7-GJQzY0ttdNjq9U/s1600-h/DSC03055_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7udr7TS8Hov7koqLfbmc1lS7Y7cI0U8In4QwtTn9NiTqkfxhYGS4_HLDI3LQZR9-mYxwoAlVK0Y6dXgy7oRo6oDkshRXxBaB53GqtzlQ_nZd4HYbdxfCL7-GJQzY0ttdNjq9U/s400/DSC03055_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264333002642035042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPyuuZWKdBBBM1j2xXH-oJBZJUS5eGs0YNrjadgXczD9TYob9L9BOg9CFwEV1A5AeVafVf8s0RmsZ76QYYz84GGbUqAdxHoGdX_Dk-5swPuLk1ldZgdgaJpwx0_3GSAs9zI4-/s1600-h/DSC03255.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPyuuZWKdBBBM1j2xXH-oJBZJUS5eGs0YNrjadgXczD9TYob9L9BOg9CFwEV1A5AeVafVf8s0RmsZ76QYYz84GGbUqAdxHoGdX_Dk-5swPuLk1ldZgdgaJpwx0_3GSAs9zI4-/s400/DSC03255.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264335011828173922" /></a><div><br /></div>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-58592658882635689872008-10-03T12:32:00.000-07:002008-10-03T12:35:23.200-07:00You Betcha!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgX33d2S5bgaSCJH4Imq9K1ZgKVIdVwW8A8xoWdjyx12dQBriqA1b5IcpI2_HeAsrTVijNKHeimTCcMzzt6Qx6R7bb9PeSvi8dSF99O43ZhNMguR7DMvsfdinLf5cdqNfP-0H/s1600-h/2909496470_d751e8a3dc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgX33d2S5bgaSCJH4Imq9K1ZgKVIdVwW8A8xoWdjyx12dQBriqA1b5IcpI2_HeAsrTVijNKHeimTCcMzzt6Qx6R7bb9PeSvi8dSF99O43ZhNMguR7DMvsfdinLf5cdqNfP-0H/s400/2909496470_d751e8a3dc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253012861128877538" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thanks M. for passing this along. </span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-5283037008620972782007-11-03T12:34:00.000-07:002008-11-05T00:52:57.303-08:00Guatemala Trip: Part 1I'm posting some emails I've sent about the trip so far so I when I come back, I don't have to recall everything I've done since I have short-term memory! Just come to this blog and read about it for yourself! <br /> <br /><br />Oct. 25 <br /><br />Safe and sound in Antigua, a pretty colonial city 45 minutes from Guatemala City. Lots of students here to study Spanish for cheap. I have a cold! Snotty nose and everything, but other than that, everything´s good so far. Buenos Noches! <br /><br />aubrey <br />====<br /><br />Oct. 27<br /><br />Flight was good. Hiked up and over to an active volcano (Pacaya) yesterday, saw the lava flowing and everything...it was RIGHT THERE! Perfect weather for hiking, overcast and cool, yet nice. Someone on our tour brought along a pack of marshmallows and toasted them in the volcano fires, I got to eat one. No stitches this time, even though the volcanic rock was a lot sharper. Went dancing in a little club last night called La Casbah, danced to Reggaeton and House music. <br /><br />Today, beautiful weather, clear skies and very warm. Taking a shuttle bus over to a town called Chichicastenango to get there a day early before their huge market on Sunday. Snotty nose is getting better. <br /><br />- a <br />=====<br /><br />Oct. 29<br /><br />Made it to Chichi. Small town, but with a huge market. Got there the night before to see it all set up and woke up early to see the place being transformed. Followed loud music in the street in the evening and we ended up at this little place where the locals give alcohol and money to a god called San Simon, or Maximo, a cigar-smoking, alcohol swigging deity. They invited us inside. 4 guys playing a large xylophone, two drunk guys dancing and several people in the small room eating and drinking. We gave them 10 quetzals, well, to Maximo, $1.25 total and they brought out dishes of rice, beans and beef , homemade tamales, a white drink and a shot of alcohol. It was really cool to see. We were the only non-locals there. <br /><br />Market was great, the main church, a beautiful white building, is where they have shamans burning incense, piles of flowers and a ton of people resting on the stairs leading up to it. Hills like San Francisco. Mayan women all in their traditional, colorful skirts and shirts. They carry loads of things on their heads and there´s an area where they sell live chickens and roosters. <br /><br />Then we took chicken buses (local buses) crammed full of people over to Fuentes Georginas, a natural hot spring place set in a jungle-like setting. The ride up there was gorgeous, right at sunset with valleys and mountains all around. It was great because we got there just in time for dinner and then had all of the hot spring pools to ourselves for the night since only people who are staying there can use them in the evening. Not sulphorous smelling at all, and we stayed in a rustic cabin there with a wood fireplace. Stopped in a town called Zunil briefly, a very authentic Guatemalan town set in the valley, and then on to Panajachel, just got here tonight. <br /><br />It´s a touristy, yet cute town right on the shore of Lake Atitlan, considered by many to be the most beautiful lake in the world! <br /><br />- aubrey<br /><br />=====<br /><br />Nov. 2<br /><br />So my $400 digital pocket camera was stolen (we think) at the hot springs place... I'm so bummed about that! <br /><br />When we arrived to Panajachel on Lake Atitlan, we took a boat over to the lakeside village of San Marcos La Laguna. A very small village with a very hippie vibe. There are holistic centers, massages, tarot readings and so on. We stayed the night there in a cool hotel, like a big cozy cabin. Went kayaking on the lake in the morning and then back to Antigua. We are planning on returning to the lake at the end of the trip.<br /> <br />Woke up early the next morning for this big kite festival in a nearby town's cemetery. It was Day of the Dead. The town's called Santiago Sacapatequez. The kites are handmade of bamboo and colorful tissue paper and there were some as tall as 3 stories high. A lot of the kites were crashing to the ground too, and then everyone would run or get hit by a kite. It was a spectacle! The streets were filled with vendors, games and taco stands. Rode on the rickety ferris wheel there too, pretty scary, but very fun since it was going fast. <br /><br />Woke up this morning to catch a 4am shuttle bus to Copan, Honduras, a 5 hour ride away. We went and saw the Copan Ruins today, the remains of a big Mayan city. There were colorful macaws and weird creatures that looked like giant, tail-less rats, but cuter, at the entrance to the ruins. <br /><br />Tomorrow we are taking a bus over to the beaches of Honduras on the Carribbean side. <br /><br />- aubreyAubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-8557292665768315362007-10-23T02:27:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:47.745-08:00Going to Guatemala!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdeE2AgSQOKPSY2GE2ABPFGGzJuEqB6xc3eT7ycodM7dSWQnDxkM5ERwdhA7W4aAe0Of7XYdt_hJ0CE9JyRIm6HW_KWhewmJ-vEdXYavlNfLlB4Cs-j0HJug6RRrJKVnqbYK0/s1600-h/Villasumaya-sunset.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdeE2AgSQOKPSY2GE2ABPFGGzJuEqB6xc3eT7ycodM7dSWQnDxkM5ERwdhA7W4aAe0Of7XYdt_hJ0CE9JyRIm6HW_KWhewmJ-vEdXYavlNfLlB4Cs-j0HJug6RRrJKVnqbYK0/s200/Villasumaya-sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124461995412343042" /></a> I had a trip all planned out…for Mexico. I was going to go on my first solo trip, stay in the lovely town of Oaxaca, take day trips from there to visit the ruins of Monte Alban and the surrounding villages, take cooking classes in the “land of the seven moles,” try grilled grasshoppers, drink mezcal, stay in hostels that I had pre-booked and catch a bus down to the beach. <br /><br />I was planning the trip around the Dia de los Muertos festivities. I wanted to see the elaborate altars and cemeteries covered in candles and offerings. I wanted to capture on camera the haunting visions that I had imagined would appear to me. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHXGfrWy-qY-dX7O8SWyrGqy5i3_iJT47mKw_J-Eih9wj1kOnNRKvbZaAUdI-oT3VY0_UNk8OV4WE5kzCcT6VAphmp1_HJkj1MhdMJu-OQVyfPpHcNNceaUiwMtmR6P8lJ6Om/s1600-h/GU-ChichiMarket.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHXGfrWy-qY-dX7O8SWyrGqy5i3_iJT47mKw_J-Eih9wj1kOnNRKvbZaAUdI-oT3VY0_UNk8OV4WE5kzCcT6VAphmp1_HJkj1MhdMJu-OQVyfPpHcNNceaUiwMtmR6P8lJ6Om/s200/GU-ChichiMarket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124462549463124242" /></a>There were signs everywhere telling me to go to Oaxaca, a city that I had never even heard of before (but apparently it’s been in the news within the past year or so because of teachers’ union strikes…shows how often I read the news…and it’s pronounced “wa-HAH-kah,” by the way): <br /><br />I was at Safeway to pick up a sub sandwich and a small display of smoky Oaxacan sauce was on sale for a dollar in the corner of the counter. I bought two. I opened up my University of Miami School of Communications newsletter and a photo of my teacher from the one photography class I ever took (yes, I got an A) had a caption next to her saying that she had just come back from being an editor at a National Geographic photo workshop in Oaxaca. Okay, well there were only two signs…but I couldn’t get the thought of the place out of my mind. <br /><br />I spent weeks reading through guidebooks and researching online. I had racked up enough miles for a free plane ticket through Continental and I was ready to book it. But THEN I figured out that my miles would also take me to Central America. So I decided that I HAD to go to Guatemala instead. After hearing of my roommate’s wonderful time there and reading up on it a little, I knew I would get there soon, but I didn’t think it would be THIS soon. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYXz4trG93JUmRoSYi-ssNzUmX_IfA9UH1uCC5rEuF9LhWdx_j-8zXYhUxriD73FtLSDThfTHoib2T8likXM3ei6qRTcBaUt5xwVig7CjAYFC3tCD6XMUK-_xltS5oqz2Bmqs/s1600-h/semuc-champey.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYXz4trG93JUmRoSYi-ssNzUmX_IfA9UH1uCC5rEuF9LhWdx_j-8zXYhUxriD73FtLSDThfTHoib2T8likXM3ei6qRTcBaUt5xwVig7CjAYFC3tCD6XMUK-_xltS5oqz2Bmqs/s200/semuc-champey.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124463417046518050" /></a>So my friend who was considering going to Mexico with me suddenly received an e-mail from me saying: <br /><br />“Forget Mexico, come to Guatemala!!! I just realized that my plane ticket will take me to Central America too (and the Carribbean or Hawaii/Alaska). I already have some awesome places picked out along the shores of Lake Atitlan, considered to be one of the most beautiful lakes in the world (a trio of volcanoes make for a great backdrop) - but you probably already know that. Villages surround the whole lake and you can take boats or hike along the shores to different ones, and each village has a different vibe. Guatemalans also celebrate Day of the Dead...and on Nov. 1 there's this great kite festival in one of the towns closer to Guatemala City. I REALLY want to go here! Come on!!!” <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij87TiJj5rYGu7rA44nash4o0csjoSHVfHWISsHLmVK3TNZPmQCkh4bU5NMW1Mfz57Vufs2fNbTd66adBFqkAf-NvCaZM_Azl1xF0nsZd48YDPrZaUf8WdHIoM9UV8fVGNEzPk/s1600-h/martinita2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij87TiJj5rYGu7rA44nash4o0csjoSHVfHWISsHLmVK3TNZPmQCkh4bU5NMW1Mfz57Vufs2fNbTd66adBFqkAf-NvCaZM_Azl1xF0nsZd48YDPrZaUf8WdHIoM9UV8fVGNEzPk/s200/martinita2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124463898082855218" /></a>My friend then sent me a link to all-inclusive resort deals in the Caribbean. <br /><br />I thought…hmmm…the Caribbean would be nice, and considered it for about two seconds. Soon after we put plane tickets on hold and we were potentially booked for a 10-day trip to Guatemala. <br /><br />But then I read on Lonely Planet online about flooding throughout the country. <br /><br />And then I went to weather.com and looked up various cities and there was a 60% chance of rain every day during that timeframe throughout Central America, Mexico and the Caribbean. <br /><br />And then I panicked and proposed other options in a frantic e-mail including a week in Bali (I even called up a travel agency to get specific details about their RED HOT deal they advertised online) or a shorter jaunt across the Pacific to Hawaii. <br /><br />I eventually posted to the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree forum to see how the floods were affecting things in Guatemala and got reassuring responses. So we booked the tickets for a 10-day trip. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1izez52m-ZjzaqzeBfqvMw04wXxJGSPyVLenPt2fWlRnZkaG7vZiKDhydO_70uyorvVeZjEdyr31d5R8h2UAAgDjSr2wdgPG1vlUv0FNGwtVbojfp_DRb6gUGPzXaMo-FHX1l/s1600-h/barb4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1izez52m-ZjzaqzeBfqvMw04wXxJGSPyVLenPt2fWlRnZkaG7vZiKDhydO_70uyorvVeZjEdyr31d5R8h2UAAgDjSr2wdgPG1vlUv0FNGwtVbojfp_DRb6gUGPzXaMo-FHX1l/s200/barb4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124464271745009986" /></a>BUT…my friend JUST found out that a project at work is finished. So we JUST turned it into a 3-week trip. <br /><br />Instead of exploring only the Western Highlands, we have time to crisscross our way across the country. The ruins of Tikal, crowded and colorful markets, the turquoise pools of Semuc Champey, bat caves near Lanquin, the mesmerizing region of the Ixil Triangle, breathtaking hikes around Xela, mysterious Lake Atitlan and more await! <br /><br />The tickets are booked - there’s no backing out now. The dates are set: October 25th-November 15th. <br /><br />Now I’ve found someone to come with me on my former “first solo trip.” Now instead of having everything mapped out, I’m going with the flow. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC6dTtE7J08_URlbIxYpRGujRMlO6BBZkG0sJhK7uO_eMyo2QAFEokwA39eB46s0DcQfJsH7qwoneixDdRg3vvUYYx_Wz6DW3ZkiczBgtKFyAcwWxC7m1NvjGJ5WOASxVvyVe/s1600-h/tikal_sunset_inguat_b.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC6dTtE7J08_URlbIxYpRGujRMlO6BBZkG0sJhK7uO_eMyo2QAFEokwA39eB46s0DcQfJsH7qwoneixDdRg3vvUYYx_Wz6DW3ZkiczBgtKFyAcwWxC7m1NvjGJ5WOASxVvyVe/s200/tikal_sunset_inguat_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124464671176968530" /></a><br /><br />So what happens when you suddenly change your plans and ignore the signs, however small they may be? <br /><br />We’ll see…after all…“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.”Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-48266175314267264582007-10-08T01:09:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:48.923-08:00Take My Breath Away - Class of '87<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49O1Jz4oMSln5GCXA4lZ09ysYKvOD8xXHt9riq4FVsEYo96eoAuNCmtO6YAVSGVnX_5GkpZBZjpesEzAK7Jw0ZvD6tqJ9-rADrBt4AVU0Ud1c2Sm5vle_8MMsqLJEYuYaCblx/s1600-h/Boys+and+Girls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49O1Jz4oMSln5GCXA4lZ09ysYKvOD8xXHt9riq4FVsEYo96eoAuNCmtO6YAVSGVnX_5GkpZBZjpesEzAK7Jw0ZvD6tqJ9-rADrBt4AVU0Ud1c2Sm5vle_8MMsqLJEYuYaCblx/s320/Boys+and+Girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119185327441496306" border="0" /></a>Red, Gold and Greeeeeen<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvg-tmJjHMEgsbFmJ4nw86stlE0sWO-DPcGvDgJumJvWl9zMYn1FF2xGVecn0vRzXcQUphutmOGkCMd6sLoz2ClajYRckyHbdjN6lo2dra2AuKofXqD-C2oqKNY_2Exuvq7HpM/s1600-h/The+Girls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvg-tmJjHMEgsbFmJ4nw86stlE0sWO-DPcGvDgJumJvWl9zMYn1FF2xGVecn0vRzXcQUphutmOGkCMd6sLoz2ClajYRckyHbdjN6lo2dra2AuKofXqD-C2oqKNY_2Exuvq7HpM/s320/The+Girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119185245837117666" border="0" /></a>Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoXD17cWPRaDFBsig8GEmmT_tagovoObZEPUVgaF36RSwVovzecSLgRFv-35I6qzBpxKN-iQ_sKyl3GeRQuDwzQw2o5xi6nebrSre0AVSo6UGuoss5lGKAM0LvCEAuFJ01hUP/s1600-h/Asian+Barbie+or+Cruella+de+Vil%3F.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoXD17cWPRaDFBsig8GEmmT_tagovoObZEPUVgaF36RSwVovzecSLgRFv-35I6qzBpxKN-iQ_sKyl3GeRQuDwzQw2o5xi6nebrSre0AVSo6UGuoss5lGKAM0LvCEAuFJ01hUP/s320/Asian+Barbie+or+Cruella+de+Vil%3F.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119185018203850962" border="0" /></a>I Got Asian Barbie...and Cruella de Vil<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiryKU3ErHE4o8us-YWup76HWqex3_q3LwA26hJ29cy9bfK6b6OozvGSKyXoR_cMcyTCthxIC5udl5A5cT8QQkUx-QmVrZz9Cmsm-abSjnLvOWyrP1pUfrQsi_nQnhLFAqvrs/s1600-h/Bling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiryKU3ErHE4o8us-YWup76HWqex3_q3LwA26hJ29cy9bfK6b6OozvGSKyXoR_cMcyTCthxIC5udl5A5cT8QQkUx-QmVrZz9Cmsm-abSjnLvOWyrP1pUfrQsi_nQnhLFAqvrs/s320/Bling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184786275616962" border="0" /></a>Jen's Blinging it Back<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJmpK4nMXCW7kyQ2UlTNadUqA2lGWuqAPpi4lG22D17wD2mRrPN5HGC3sfE9sCJdZVEiQrE_YxCW9uUED4t1llQ9YHo-szPii6Ie7GVN-wqcfmYRKbMxM3uojOtV_L1FSviep/s1600-h/School+Mascot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJmpK4nMXCW7kyQ2UlTNadUqA2lGWuqAPpi4lG22D17wD2mRrPN5HGC3sfE9sCJdZVEiQrE_YxCW9uUED4t1llQ9YHo-szPii6Ie7GVN-wqcfmYRKbMxM3uojOtV_L1FSviep/s320/School+Mascot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184704671238322" border="0" /></a>The School Mascot<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifI0H_OD-4luTAHgN-zHB6KJFsnYcHB-i94FfKIyAxPvECkISG5dwtQTnwUCWS1-smErf0KWGGcQlDNgwIEIqcnnJW1wettSuC9Ncij50HiZFIIgZqwPSk_nZFOJKXAaf1mNI5/s1600-h/With+Corey+Haim.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifI0H_OD-4luTAHgN-zHB6KJFsnYcHB-i94FfKIyAxPvECkISG5dwtQTnwUCWS1-smErf0KWGGcQlDNgwIEIqcnnJW1wettSuC9Ncij50HiZFIIgZqwPSk_nZFOJKXAaf1mNI5/s320/With+Corey+Haim.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184575822219426" border="0" /></a>With Corey Haim, a.k.a Frenchy #1<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zK6rQ13ML8WiANrPAFbJsd7H65HKu4n9N1IkF2rZlAaAfgsZj3KaABHm1u59_j75RVTUezLRA_5E0UIaGFsHvD89gYqLN1Tc-AGtiJRroF-XRsJX6zhbMTcA6qoy97BXQ0y0/s1600-h/The+Boys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zK6rQ13ML8WiANrPAFbJsd7H65HKu4n9N1IkF2rZlAaAfgsZj3KaABHm1u59_j75RVTUezLRA_5E0UIaGFsHvD89gYqLN1Tc-AGtiJRroF-XRsJX6zhbMTcA6qoy97BXQ0y0/s320/The+Boys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184477037971602" border="0" /></a>Belting Out the Best of the 80s<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU2i5RFvO-FdE2yuGvfJc4G8qpx7TfUWEiad_p60Dae4e4hxn6XE8Q8HBW780xBOz63O4hmcGohYhxeNhtlrLyCnb9NJr6bE3J10Q0UM7PzgTCmK7RaxZleVlx6WdoIRA-mOJ/s1600-h/Pretty+in+Pink+.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU2i5RFvO-FdE2yuGvfJc4G8qpx7TfUWEiad_p60Dae4e4hxn6XE8Q8HBW780xBOz63O4hmcGohYhxeNhtlrLyCnb9NJr6bE3J10Q0UM7PzgTCmK7RaxZleVlx6WdoIRA-mOJ/s320/Pretty+in+Pink+.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184373958756482" border="0" /></a>Pretty in Pink and Pearls<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIbU_2DctOGDFS3kxSFCWW297K68YfzMtV3pogOdwbEyAM5WUz91IfvxWMlYy7tfx2ee5b6GRjJUfUN8xdv7XUSxmj8iIjwGw4gz-5mFWDkI_b1uZ7tgKyR7s4wvrIOvQ_kah/s1600-h/Tipsy+in+Tulle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIbU_2DctOGDFS3kxSFCWW297K68YfzMtV3pogOdwbEyAM5WUz91IfvxWMlYy7tfx2ee5b6GRjJUfUN8xdv7XUSxmj8iIjwGw4gz-5mFWDkI_b1uZ7tgKyR7s4wvrIOvQ_kah/s320/Tipsy+in+Tulle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119184099080849522" border="0" /></a>A Little Tipsy and a Whole Lotta Tulle<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">...And it's not even Halloween yet...<br /></div>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-65007590968179084862007-09-19T00:02:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:49.194-08:00Paint: The Next Rogaine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9Wt28Ai9yFJhyphenhyphensuixF3qRoEoVzKyTBAQsFfr740BNnkoCB3B6On19cSW1jFHdtFoUlPT-ZnDG1cg8BxcxGJaC3IjVmq3VvWPwrPxY8FcdQg3OaDpJ83lHsNrgagO1AccgNVg/s1600-h/71498911.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9Wt28Ai9yFJhyphenhyphensuixF3qRoEoVzKyTBAQsFfr740BNnkoCB3B6On19cSW1jFHdtFoUlPT-ZnDG1cg8BxcxGJaC3IjVmq3VvWPwrPxY8FcdQg3OaDpJ83lHsNrgagO1AccgNVg/s320/71498911.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111807498986111842" border="0" /></a>I was reading <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/15/world/asia/15kim.html?ref=world" target="_blank">"A Longtime Shepard of Korean Fashion”</a>, a New York Times article that chronicles the rise and longevity of Andre Kim, South Korea’s most famous designer.<br /><br />He’s known for his evening and wedding gown collections, his white space suit, thick makeup and painted on “hair.”<br /><br />I wanted a closer look at Andre Kim’s painted head, so I Google Image searched the designer, which led me to this Yangpa article: <a href="http://theyangpa.wordpress.com/2006/03/27/114353271671890236/" target="_blank">“Andre Kim’s Revolutionary New Cure for Baldness: Paint”</a>.<br /><br />Browse around <a href="http://theyangpa.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">the Yangpa</a> site. It’s pretty funny. And buy stock in Sherwin-Williams.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Here's the article for those of you not registered with the Times: </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />The Saturday Profile<br />A Longtime Shepherd of Korean Fashion<br /><br />By NORIMITSU ONISHI<br />Published: September 15, 2007 SABUK, South Korea<br /><br />ANDRE KIM’S fashion show on a recent Saturday evening ended, as his shows always do, with wedding gowns and “Ave Maria.” The models then all lined up on the outdoor stage to summon Mr. Kim, who appeared on the runway, triumphantly, in his trademark all-white space suit.<br /><br />It was another successful show for Mr. Kim, 72, still South Korea’s most famous and powerful fashion designer, some four decades after he made Western dress popular among Korean women. An instantly recognizable cultural icon because of the futuristic suit he has chosen to wear for 30 years, and a favorite of consumers and comedians alike, Mr. Kim threatened to overshadow his own collection.<br /><br />The applause continued. After bowing several times, Mr. Kim stepped off the stage and shook hands with the Koreans and foreigners sitting in the front rows. But he was hardly done for the day. He and his entourage had left Seoul in the morning and arrived here in this former coal mining town, now a gambling resort with Las Vegas-style hotels, after a three-hour drive across the peninsula.<br /><br />“Pardon me, pardon me, I must leave immediately,” Mr. Kim, famous for working seven days a week, said in English. “I have work in Seoul early tomorrow morning.”<br /><br />With that, Mr. Kim began making his way through the crowds. His suit’s baggy pants made a rapid swishing sound. People grabbed their camera phones, some not fast enough. Mr. Kim, like some costumed superhero, had already disappeared in the late summer evening’s darkness.<br /><br />SUCH is Mr. Kim’s power that everyone from the most sought-after actresses to the wives of ambassadors posted to South Korea have modeled in his shows. In recent years, he has lent the Andre Kim brand to cosmetics, sunglasses, golf equipment and interior design, as well as washing machines, refrigerators and other home appliances manufactured by Samsung.<br /><br />But it is the clothes — usually baroque, in bright, bold colors, with Byzantine or Renaissance motifs — that have made Mr. Kim. They exude a Western sensibility, sometimes loudly, as with his collection of dresses featuring prints of paintings by Rubens, Ingres, Michelangelo and Raphael.<br /><br />“Fashion should portray grace, intellectual and artistic beauty, youthful energy,” Mr. Kim said. “Not too classic. I don’t like ‘old.’ Even though I was born in 1935, I don’t feel my age. I feel like a teenager who is 10 or 15 or 20 years old — fairy tale, fantasy, young and brilliant.”<br /><br />In the early 1960s, when Mr. Kim began designing, the country was still recovering from the Korean War, information from abroad was scarce and very few Korean women wore Western-style clothing.<br /><br />Yang Sook-hi, a professor of textile and clothing design at Sookmyung Women’s University, said that while female fashion designers also took up Western fashion in the early 1960s, Mr. Kim popularized it through fashion shows and the mass media.<br /><br />“Andre Kim contributed in a way that greatly appealed to the general public, and he was very proactive in this,” Ms. Yang said. “He became known to all South Koreans.”<br /><br />Although Mr. Kim grew up in a farming village outside Seoul, his earliest memories revolve around clothes. During Japan’s colonial rule, he said, he remembers hearing of privileged Korean women, called modern women, coming back from Japan dressed in the Western fashion already popular there. When he was in kindergarten, he remembers, he was deeply impressed by the sight of a bride during a village wedding.<br /><br />“Since an early age I was into art,” he said. “I started by painting landscapes, but then I started to draw Western dresses as if I were dressing women. But the reality at the time was that women were still wearing traditional Korean dresses.”<br /><br />Before anyone else here did, Mr. Kim also grasped the importance of creating an image — in his case, one that dovetailed with a domestic longing for the West’s imagined luxury and sophistication. He started by jettisoning his first name, Bong-nam. At the suggestion of a friend in the French Embassy, he reinvented himself as Andre, which sounded “poetic” to him. He sprinkled English words — “elegance,” “romanticism,” “fantasy,” “intellectual” — into every other sentence.<br /><br />“I love the Oxford accent — it is very dignified,” Mr. Kim said. “I love America very much, the citizens, the government, the politics, the culture. But I love the Oxford accent. I feel it’s more intellectual.”<br /><br />Over time, an Andre Kim dress became part of the closet of many well-dressed women here. Mr. Kim was invited to design the dresses for the Miss Universe pageant. He received cultural awards in Europe.<br /><br />“I grew tremendously,” Mr. Kim said, “in line with the South Korean society and economy.”<br /><br />EVEN as his dresses changed with each new collection, though, Mr. Kim settled on the white space suit for himself.<br /><br />“I used to wear regular tailored suits until 30 years ago,” Mr. Kim said. “But because I don’t exercise, there came a time when I could no longer wear tailored suits in a way that satisfied the style. The suit I designed is not only futuristic, but it covers the figure I lost by not exercising.”<br /><br />He keeps more than 100 copies of the suit, changing two or three times a day. The white space suit has become a fixture of every important social event, where he invariably occupies the best seat or table. Only the ever thicker makeup on Mr. Kim’s face, and the thinning hair he covered by painting his head boldly in black, betrayed the passage of time.<br /><br />Yet, as South Korea opened up in the 1980s, Andre Kim seemed, especially to the young, a vestige of a long-vanished country.<br /><br />On top of that, a few years ago Mr. Kim was forced to reveal his real first name, Bong-nam, in a court appearance. Many howled that the man known as “Andre” actually had a name that sounded old-fashioned and country-like.<br /><br />Mr. Kim was unfazed.<br /><br />“When I watch television and see comedians mimicking me, I feel embarrassed,” he said. “But when I go out and meet the public, I’m popular. People ask for my autograph. They take photos of me or together with them. I see that as the public’s love for me.”<br /><br />Su-hyun Lee contributed reporting from Seoul, South </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Korea.</span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-54343881070263794512007-08-27T11:38:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:49.344-08:00Dreamy Lunar Eclipse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqs2lecJU3vBCpWFEsn0yeSJRjZcLCvphUyOd-Q1_NDel5giiO8hRycq0G8Bo4dgWQusla7HcCscxAnuRYDR2WqbnJZO_OgiUJAEVQg_k__AlTU4tRa9EzB2Ea9on09UQ24jY/s1600-h/Finazzi1_med.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqs2lecJU3vBCpWFEsn0yeSJRjZcLCvphUyOd-Q1_NDel5giiO8hRycq0G8Bo4dgWQusla7HcCscxAnuRYDR2WqbnJZO_OgiUJAEVQg_k__AlTU4tRa9EzB2Ea9on09UQ24jY/s400/Finazzi1_med.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103452639161680498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">Take a nap RIGHT NOW, even if you’re at work. Start drinking espresso around midnight and then scout out a place to watch the total lunar eclipse, which begins at 12:52 am PDT, August 28, 2007. We West Coasters will have the best view in the world so when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, don’t let it pass you by. You probably won’t notice anything spectacular until the visible change in colors occurs at 2:52 am PDT. The metamorphoses will then last for 90 minutes. During this time, the moon will turn from gray to sunset-red. So grab a bottle of wine, and drink to the moon.<br /><br />http://science.nasa.gov/headlines/y2007/03aug_dreamyeclipse.htm<br /></span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-26958762539131867972007-08-15T03:48:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:49.692-08:00It’s “B,” as in Boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcpOXDlrEbFZI_JxCr1xNdnyhwygw2nYr4SQSP2UMAOjTx16oSDySTfXdS9Vu1zI1T_z66U69fSYguSPx9FNCLh3S5pGlDks2em9hGUSyfA_Qdydryp7rVqkjz-loGNhhehn9/s1600-h/LessComplaintsMags.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcpOXDlrEbFZI_JxCr1xNdnyhwygw2nYr4SQSP2UMAOjTx16oSDySTfXdS9Vu1zI1T_z66U69fSYguSPx9FNCLh3S5pGlDks2em9hGUSyfA_Qdydryp7rVqkjz-loGNhhehn9/s400/LessComplaintsMags.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098878024479684290" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The only good reason to go to a hospital is to see cute doctors. I made an appointment almost two months ago for a hospital visit and confirmed my 1:30 time slot yesterday. On the phone, the woman said she didn’t see my name on the roster for the following day, so she left me on hold for a minute, then came back on the phone and said that yes, my appointment was at 1:30.<br /><br />I arrived at the hospital at 1:15 and told the receptionist my name but she didn’t see it on her list. I gave her my social security number, phone number and other relevant information that could possibly help identify my identity. I eventually received a number, number 75, and was asked to take a seat.<br /><br />I could see the dollars racking up for my parking space as the minutes went by. And…I was afraid I would catch Ebola or something as equally dreadful from the other people in the waiting room. If you can imagine, I was starting to get very frustrated.<br /><br />My number was called and I talked to another woman and gave her all of my info again. She couldn’t find my name either, but she did end up handing me a bundle of papers that I had to place in the receptionist’s bin. I started reading the book I brought along, a good thing since there were no magazines at all. After about an hour and a half of waiting, I was eventually led to another office.<br /><br />The third woman told me that since I’ve had my condition for so long and since I was a drop-in, that I couldn’t possibly see a doctor that day since it wasn’t urgent. My voice started to shake and my eyes were welling up with tears as I told her that I booked the appointment a while ago and even confirmed it yesterday. So she quickly looked me up by my name again and figured out the problem. I was entered into their schedule as Audrey Angel. She said, “Those idiots!” referring to her co-workers.<br /><br />So two out three women couldn’t figure out that Audrey Angel, who was scheduled for a 1:30 appointment was, in fact, Aubrey Andel, who happened to have the exact same social security number, phone number and address as Miss Andel.<br /><br />I was sent to the waiting room again, after being promised that I would get to see a doctor soon. I spent that time composing myself, so that by the time I was called back again, my eyes wouldn’t be full of tears. Watching the movie Becoming Jane the previous night seemed to have had the same effect on me!<br /><br />I finally left the place at 4:45, knowing that somebody was really going to try and help me.<br /><br />My doctor was very attractive and attentive, and quite young, looking several years under 30, so at least that was worth the wait.<br /><br />I have to return to the hospital on Thursday and then again on Tuesday to meet back up with the cutie, oh, I mean, the doctor.</span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-89168009506826992602007-07-24T02:15:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:50.840-08:00London Calling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lNx9GIt-zRpyxKOqIb9EDcbJwqpEGIbI3y90I2JKI8MFKOpJhDIyzNffTu34GAm_JSB3y2pngZlLNBkGEL5Tb25FIz5uE3v_Yv6nm7K6dj42n52TbyM_GyVEbzWfvgsIbL6p/s1600-h/bridge29bLondon+Bridge.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lNx9GIt-zRpyxKOqIb9EDcbJwqpEGIbI3y90I2JKI8MFKOpJhDIyzNffTu34GAm_JSB3y2pngZlLNBkGEL5Tb25FIz5uE3v_Yv6nm7K6dj42n52TbyM_GyVEbzWfvgsIbL6p/s400/bridge29bLondon+Bridge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091446313718396546" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Some people say that I’m lazy and that everything comes to me easily. I think I just know how to relax, which is a skill that is not mastered by most people in the Bay Area. Everybody works hard and plays hard here, but if playtime is what everyone is working so hard for, then why not take advantage of the downtime when work is not on the agenda, especially when you’re receiving an unemployment check that’s equal to 60% of the pay you were previously receiving?<br /><br />Since I’ve been laid off, I’ve gone to Costa Rica, to the Pacific Northwest (Portland, Seattle, Olympic National Park) to Victoria, British Columbia, I’m about to go to England for the first time, then stopping in Florida and Orange County, and I’m writing this entry (I was forced to write a blog entry by someone who does not appreciate my ability to relax, I’d much rather be sleeping right now, thank you very much, zzzzzzzzzz) from Santa Monica, in a spacious rental apartment that’s two blocks from the beach.<br /><br />Traveling is perhaps even more tiring and stressful than a full time job! Especially when there’s absolutely no time to plan ahead and just a day or two before the next big adventure. But enough complaining…<br /><br />In the midst of bustling London I’ll be eating my fish and chips and washing it down with a pint of beer, strolling along the Thames, while my fellow Americans are stuck in the office, until it’s time to get stuck in the traffic on the way home, arriving just in time to get stuck in front of the television to watch The Office.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMzjUSZHjd_JnH5aXyjEL3QPeKIPXmXk6eUDXaJIYDEdN0TLJfxpLNThWhevgyBHjLVeGhhIdNdsw90fdPH31yz5LHAlKIszIuvuFtjBbAKibMXZm_JU1bF-dS7MZZPLQR_RN4/s1600-h/Costa+Rica+Frog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMzjUSZHjd_JnH5aXyjEL3QPeKIPXmXk6eUDXaJIYDEdN0TLJfxpLNThWhevgyBHjLVeGhhIdNdsw90fdPH31yz5LHAlKIszIuvuFtjBbAKibMXZm_JU1bF-dS7MZZPLQR_RN4/s320/Costa+Rica+Frog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091446743215126162" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-size:130%;" >-A frog in Costa Rica</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqr73c4d1PWDaiEbUM2CIAvuT3MzR671UUj_kh6Rb5IAzQXz6JD_3iWb6Wl4V8wuUcCp40bIWCq6HH1wKi9wc_lK8sZOg2SUSlNLCobn-emQyU-F7w-J_Ib98P35c0stGCg1z/s1600-h/Pac+NW+.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqr73c4d1PWDaiEbUM2CIAvuT3MzR671UUj_kh6Rb5IAzQXz6JD_3iWb6Wl4V8wuUcCp40bIWCq6HH1wKi9wc_lK8sZOg2SUSlNLCobn-emQyU-F7w-J_Ib98P35c0stGCg1z/s320/Pac+NW+.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091447606503552674" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-size:130%;" >-The view from the Port Angeles, Seattle to Victoria, BC ferry </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHaNGnhhyphenhyphen0ebZDBxFvYt4VzU5GERCLelIfLgzmDvi5kuwDDJ6zIDlmH1wtade3Nf_zrJDQBrdIkqFwKpu1sGkoUzFlIbtXBlX9atwi4X_m6bPpmkBhv-uLLgDgXp71gVBvV0P/s1600-h/Make+My+Day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHaNGnhhyphenhyphen0ebZDBxFvYt4VzU5GERCLelIfLgzmDvi5kuwDDJ6zIDlmH1wtade3Nf_zrJDQBrdIkqFwKpu1sGkoUzFlIbtXBlX9atwi4X_m6bPpmkBhv-uLLgDgXp71gVBvV0P/s320/Make+My+Day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091448224978843314" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);font-size:130%;" >-The Hollywood Walk of Fame</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />Here’s my preliminary itinerary so far (in case you want to live vicariously through me):<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">July 27-29th: </span>I’ll be staying in the town of Bexley Heath, exploring the villages throughout the county of Kent with my uncle and his mother.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">July 30-31st:</span> Well, July 30th is my birthday, and unfortunately, I’ll be turning 26. But what is even more unfortunate is that the Eurostar youth ticket prices are only good for those UNDER 26 on the day of travel. So I may just hop aboard for a ride to Paris or to Brussels just for the hell of it. At least I would get the youth price one way. It will be my first birthday abroad and the first time I’ll be celebrating alone, so I guess I will HAVE to enjoy at least a whole bottle of champagne by myself!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">August 1-4th: </span>I’ll be exploring London in all its glory. I’ll most likely meet up with my friend Jasp, a local who will lead me to the best pubs and clubs in the city!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">August 5-6th: </span>I’ll meet back up with my uncle and his father, this time around, for a relaxing last few days in the seaside town of Brighton.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">After that…</span>it’s back to Florida for 2 days to see my mom and her six cats, two of my sisters and a couple of friends (and during those two days my mom’s making me get a blood test for an updated life insurance plan and she has some kind of photo shoot with some photographer she knows lined up that I have to unwillingly participate in…and I thought I’d just get to bum around on the beach!!!).<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Then…</span>I fly to Orange County for Lynda and Alan’s wedding and then finally drive back up to San Francisco with Minhlan on the 12th of August.<br /><br />After all of that, I’m gonna need a vacation!</span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-49830281853832022942007-06-04T01:02:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:51.036-08:00Costa Rica in Five Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjAQ5rMuBSW1lrfbqYIxuo2U6t0Y-2VHZoX0FT_TpxWB8hVM-DXrkR7o2pAcqgqkEacVsok8GDggBDHj0J9pa691r19O6ZIEY0Yiv74RB5GHi6PjM753LANJFGU2gKCsROeRl/s1600-h/Costa_Rica_VolcanoParrot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjAQ5rMuBSW1lrfbqYIxuo2U6t0Y-2VHZoX0FT_TpxWB8hVM-DXrkR7o2pAcqgqkEacVsok8GDggBDHj0J9pa691r19O6ZIEY0Yiv74RB5GHi6PjM753LANJFGU2gKCsROeRl/s400/Costa_Rica_VolcanoParrot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072140189262229314" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I recently got laid off from my job. So what’s a girl to do? After finding out that my reformed party-girl-turned-missionary sister Ashley was graduating from her mission in San Jose, Costa Rica, I booked a flight to join my sister Autumn to celebrate Ashley’s love for Jesus and all things righteous. When I called my mom and told her I got a ticket, all she had to say was “Just come back from the frickin’ jungle.” </span></span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />So with a Frommer’s guidebook I found in my living room in one hand and my fingers typing away doing internet research with the other, I began investigating Costa Rica. </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">I’ll be leaving San Francisco on June 6th and arriving in San Jose on June 7th, spending the first two days doing whatever the Good Lord has on his agenda for Ashley’s graduation.<br /><br />So that left me with five full days to explore the rest of the country outside of the capital. I quickly found out that having only five days requires a very tight agenda since it takes, on average, four hours to get from one major point of interest to another.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> The sun also sets and rises at 5:30 every day and the national parks close around 4pm, so timing has to be considered. </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />So after much research and believe it or not, THOUGHT put into the planning, the up-in-the-air itinerary below is what I just e-mailed to Autumn. She’ll either be happy I did something semi-productive with my spare time or she’ll dismiss the whole agenda as a silly plan. But anyways, I’m posting this online to hopefully help others who only have a short amount of time to spend in Costa Rica and don’t have a ton of time to figure things out for themselves! </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br />Saturday, June 9th: </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-from San Jose, catch a bus (8am) to Arenal (~4 hours) on Grayline tourist bus for $29 or a city bus (4.5 hours) for $3 from 5am and on, every half hour</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-check into lodging around 12pm (one option: http://www.cangreja-lodge.com/Cangreja%20Lodge/english/hotel.htm , http://www.arenal.net/hotel/la-cangreja-lodge/) $50 + tax/room. It’s supposed to be located right across from the best lava flow viewing area. There’s always the Arenal Observatory Lodge ($55 + tax-includes full breakfast buffet, swimming pool & jacuzzi) or a cheap hostel</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-have lunch in town<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">-hike to La Fortuna Falls (3 hour round trip hike-closes at 4pm), OR hike around Arenal National Park ($6 pp)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">-go to Tabacon Hot Springs, buy evening pass, 6pm-10pm, $40 </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">(could go to smaller, cheaper hot springs, but this is the biggest and most famous)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">-go to El Novillo for dinner – good view of volcano – good steaks, garlic seabass, etc… (open 10am-midnight) </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-OR instead of Tabacon & El Novillo, go to Eco Thermales hot springs from 5pm-9pm w/dinner for ~36. (Need reservations) </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br />Sunday, June 10th: </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-9am, take a shuttle/boat/shuttle combo ($25) over to Monteverde (arrive at 12:30pm), it cuts out hours of bus time: http://www.arenal.net/tour/monteverde-boat-taxi.htm</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-check into lodging </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-have lunch, can visit the Cheese Factory, go to the visitor center in the middle of town to look for 1/2 price tix for Canopy Tour to soar through the trees: http://www.canopytour.com/monteverde.html</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-go on a 2:30pm Canopy Tour (lasts 2-2.5 hours) </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">http://www.canopytour.com/monteverde.html</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">Tix are usually:</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">• $45 charge per adult.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">• $35 per student (12 years and older).</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-have dinner/go to a bar or something<br /><br /><br /><br /></span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Monday, June 11th: </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-go to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve in the morning (best time to go) to hike through the jungle $12, $6.50 students</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-have lunch </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-can catch the 2:45pm Grayline bus (for tourists) to Manuel Antonio/Quepos (it’s $38, ~4 hours). I can’t find info right now about a city bus from Monteverde to M.A., but there probably is one. The Grayline bus is safer though, especially since 1/2 the ride will be after the sun sets. </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-arrive in Manuel Antonio/Quepos around 7pm </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-check into lodging (read about this place: Blue Monkey (Mono Azul): http://hotelmonoazul.com/cover.htm</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-have dinner<br /><br /><br /><br /></span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Tuesday, June 12th: </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-wake up early, have breakfast, and go to Manuel Antonio National Park to hike, see wild monkeys, go to the beaches, etc. ($6 pp - opens at 8am) </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-catch 5:15pm flight on Nature Air from Quepos Airport to San Jose ($28 each, includes taxes). Duration: 25 minutes! </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-check into lodging (could stay the night in Heredia, see day below for more info. I would have to leave very early though to get to San Jose to catch the tour, which would be okay).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">-maybe go to Mirador Ram Luna for dinner: http://www.frommers.com/destinations/sanjosecostarica/0042028262.html</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br />Wednesday, June 13th: </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-I get picked up early in the morning to go on this day tour: http://ecoscapetours.com/</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-You wander around San Jose or take a bus to the nearby colonial town of Heredia or one of the following in the morning (30-45 minutes away): </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">http://www.frommers.com/destinations/sanjosecostarica/0042026092.html</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />-You go to the airport for your 2:55pm flight </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">(a taxi from Heredia to the airport is cheap…$2) </span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />*** There’s a $26 airport departure tax from Costa Rica to the States<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Thursday, June 14th:</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />- I go to Heredia in the morning and then catch my 2:55pm flight<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">-Arrive at SFO at 11:20pm on June 14th, if I make it back from the frickin' jungle! </span><br /></span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-13890347238856665752007-05-05T19:25:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:51.120-08:00Happy Cinco de Mayo!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi249cEcDIERvszOn8o3_GKr1eBkuxZBGwSyh3emQTHT7nz4lW4bOawXnI0vRRrtIRWsEyg0mMn4my2aZVh-XrSG456E08S3PC2bx_NHBI1vcS8HTLEzTvtZvqyLQE3nqd8KyFg/s1600-h/cinco+de+mayo+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi249cEcDIERvszOn8o3_GKr1eBkuxZBGwSyh3emQTHT7nz4lW4bOawXnI0vRRrtIRWsEyg0mMn4my2aZVh-XrSG456E08S3PC2bx_NHBI1vcS8HTLEzTvtZvqyLQE3nqd8KyFg/s400/cinco+de+mayo+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061270144549376194" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:georgia;" > Dolores Park - San Francisco </span><br /></div>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-88587397042284561642007-03-27T00:14:00.000-07:002008-12-09T00:39:54.697-08:00New York - February 2007Here are some photos I took while I was in New York City last month. I'll add a link to more pictures in the near future and...maybe...even write something...someday.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_n720GgK0f4wwZenUNSZ48onNiAb6c-cSJS3VhlIGQMaC6SQ8zf8YzmyB40iSTRV6PFV_K9KQCuS0iSooeAjx7eM3Ouch8yXV3xCyzJBUzD1Efvf0VcZyf6dW5jSM6qubovM6/s1600-h/Go+on,+Take+the+Money+and+Run.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_n720GgK0f4wwZenUNSZ48onNiAb6c-cSJS3VhlIGQMaC6SQ8zf8YzmyB40iSTRV6PFV_K9KQCuS0iSooeAjx7eM3Ouch8yXV3xCyzJBUzD1Efvf0VcZyf6dW5jSM6qubovM6/s400/Go+on,+Take+the+Money+and+Run.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046891541585251218" border="0" /></a>Go on, Take the Money and Run<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ2SRW3ZpC9QvzSr8bS3m4nBwgHxffCdJglXS3Z4l3XnjMCNS0lY2b634Ud5nKGcOmoQgaTo8abjvmPsmKh0O6zcGqHStC0sOCWzSzWXjKo5eGj5eb9PVUdcrDeA0iXFAYcRE/s1600-h/The+Shoe+%26+Balloon+Tree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ2SRW3ZpC9QvzSr8bS3m4nBwgHxffCdJglXS3Z4l3XnjMCNS0lY2b634Ud5nKGcOmoQgaTo8abjvmPsmKh0O6zcGqHStC0sOCWzSzWXjKo5eGj5eb9PVUdcrDeA0iXFAYcRE/s400/The+Shoe+%26+Balloon+Tree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046878983100877522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Shoe and Balloon Tree</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYKDlL4FpPgv_GNS-O6zACZBFmnvqtBQleseDcKrU8roFkeZMN2kmIYVwWKt1VJUueQEOX7YZ_SN4dhMdTpn-QjoTEoTspScpoW6W4HF19yz-VtZ54YGM3_YqFt5S2cZ469sL/s1600-h/Staten+Reflection.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYKDlL4FpPgv_GNS-O6zACZBFmnvqtBQleseDcKrU8roFkeZMN2kmIYVwWKt1VJUueQEOX7YZ_SN4dhMdTpn-QjoTEoTspScpoW6W4HF19yz-VtZ54YGM3_YqFt5S2cZ469sL/s400/Staten+Reflection.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046880116972243682" border="0" /></a>Staten Island Ferry Reflection</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQBvrsEZcoOla3X6oq7rk0B3Oy52HQaKcgsJwbxbXZQdPReCEnNbkvGr0Y1VNuB5kGhUJc7hSsgrrFxwre3IVq1h2BOCsn1H6sUEKDX3mvYvnUcdFQGtS8aNqAfVh2C4uAKn0/s1600-h/Cielo+Drummer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQBvrsEZcoOla3X6oq7rk0B3Oy52HQaKcgsJwbxbXZQdPReCEnNbkvGr0Y1VNuB5kGhUJc7hSsgrrFxwre3IVq1h2BOCsn1H6sUEKDX3mvYvnUcdFQGtS8aNqAfVh2C4uAKn0/s400/Cielo+Drummer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046880847116684018" border="0" /></a>Brazilian Drummer at Cielo</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3rR3RnhUSf63rTW8RphaY0HUokeMMFFn86qmzvwd3tyt_YjCJYJkFNOzh6-y-isj7xWyOvqxkyyy9u_HblftWVAVzVkCMjmOGYR63_URQO-LT8amD-Byr4BqG9jbYCFkOfd5/s1600-h/Love+is+Dada.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3rR3RnhUSf63rTW8RphaY0HUokeMMFFn86qmzvwd3tyt_YjCJYJkFNOzh6-y-isj7xWyOvqxkyyy9u_HblftWVAVzVkCMjmOGYR63_URQO-LT8amD-Byr4BqG9jbYCFkOfd5/s400/Love+is+Dada.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046884759831890690" border="0" /></a>Love is Dada</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_SFhbHUIuD7tZHHeCxNigOOhju_kYLoorONrsWrwk00Nw7P__xSh5YGss3TDhNN0CTo4XZe0EWpQ3XJ-yNKs2kqkJ4QKN2xo_i5DSnpgc6MvxqPn9Xp9GSeG8VGmF2oTrmn6/s1600-h/Men+in+Uniform+at+Phantom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_SFhbHUIuD7tZHHeCxNigOOhju_kYLoorONrsWrwk00Nw7P__xSh5YGss3TDhNN0CTo4XZe0EWpQ3XJ-yNKs2kqkJ4QKN2xo_i5DSnpgc6MvxqPn9Xp9GSeG8VGmF2oTrmn6/s400/Men+in+Uniform+at+Phantom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046885086249405202" border="0" /></a>Men in Uniform at Phantom</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRzegkiU1O3ZCzH2nc6NrnxnYulOWC_uKl81Rg7C7kOlcboLbCYdnCS_d6Vt8YLiQnUQbDKafSN4nBe0XnecgVHjB7t2Tvz-HMMboh6Jojx9CKS1B1DtMW9DufFmMCdj3OLqt/s1600-h/When+Art+gets+to+your+Head.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRzegkiU1O3ZCzH2nc6NrnxnYulOWC_uKl81Rg7C7kOlcboLbCYdnCS_d6Vt8YLiQnUQbDKafSN4nBe0XnecgVHjB7t2Tvz-HMMboh6Jojx9CKS1B1DtMW9DufFmMCdj3OLqt/s400/When+Art+gets+to+your+Head.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046885339652475682" border="0" /></a>This is Your Brain on Art</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6Gp20ZRC0G98-UK01RpRMP9zbreeZyZM49ariHIuWU2nOrecMr6zzD9o8zZk0aPCMhjDqflIxhrL9UoT4A4l1QVot0BoY7-i9LXPhVRsnU66UhbVx4ZTcQb0_LMhLY9vqrXV/s1600-h/The+Fairest+of+them+All.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6Gp20ZRC0G98-UK01RpRMP9zbreeZyZM49ariHIuWU2nOrecMr6zzD9o8zZk0aPCMhjDqflIxhrL9UoT4A4l1QVot0BoY7-i9LXPhVRsnU66UhbVx4ZTcQb0_LMhLY9vqrXV/s400/The+Fairest+of+them+All.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046886121336523570" border="0" /></a>The Fairest of them All</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBijUl7_VBOx6Xb0kENiASl93gMGTPjNcGVeh-_nvx6IeOiz5lt4MraS4KLO16cY7FsDrrCfRIcRqC0nW0_13sFr7pplzRVwzMc7iR3Y8Hxogal5-2GAHOp_DyGxKFAKyYaUk-/s1600-h/Through+the+Fog+and+Smog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBijUl7_VBOx6Xb0kENiASl93gMGTPjNcGVeh-_nvx6IeOiz5lt4MraS4KLO16cY7FsDrrCfRIcRqC0nW0_13sFr7pplzRVwzMc7iR3Y8Hxogal5-2GAHOp_DyGxKFAKyYaUk-/s400/Through+the+Fog+and+Smog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046886404804365122" border="0" /></a>A Smoky Scene</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwhwhWPdah6kcfPmXKpV8DtNydQJgC1V_QMl6GlNsmFt9foeIHcApCcKtMAf4oAEqicUSoyMk58v_ciR-bXM9W3SyUcxGsoANDqraWDKloUTD7UggtohtZAsz38KLJ-llzJ7H/s1600-h/36+x+48.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwhwhWPdah6kcfPmXKpV8DtNydQJgC1V_QMl6GlNsmFt9foeIHcApCcKtMAf4oAEqicUSoyMk58v_ciR-bXM9W3SyUcxGsoANDqraWDKloUTD7UggtohtZAsz38KLJ-llzJ7H/s400/36+x+48.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046886920200440658" border="0" /></a>36 x 48</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5CTSJ7TMSD6i-RiKaawnDu9jY-eJb7hLxYynNRTktrzwIWevBkKQPYY0QznWeiZ0erT1ZN6t_VChQCoP0UT2OXpgxXokiLcx-taZ2bcuDevp3zjL-RDItzq9JVwOLwH7OJ7W/s1600-h/Trinity+Church.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5CTSJ7TMSD6i-RiKaawnDu9jY-eJb7hLxYynNRTktrzwIWevBkKQPYY0QznWeiZ0erT1ZN6t_VChQCoP0UT2OXpgxXokiLcx-taZ2bcuDevp3zjL-RDItzq9JVwOLwH7OJ7W/s400/Trinity+Church.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046887319632399202" border="0" /></a>Trinity Church at Twilight</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LmBMqv7urD_5HXzGAoi25Pqj3GzZIa0zV5KeNz4tIwQBvg5WYJUMuI8bK76_BbhpFtvaWSmMwkgU5mBMsFJhmf-oY4PPsMzjFkoYFPpsVZopJNLfnJHAnuhRBm9WZNzvx-rM/s1600-h/Washington+Square+Park.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LmBMqv7urD_5HXzGAoi25Pqj3GzZIa0zV5KeNz4tIwQBvg5WYJUMuI8bK76_BbhpFtvaWSmMwkgU5mBMsFJhmf-oY4PPsMzjFkoYFPpsVZopJNLfnJHAnuhRBm9WZNzvx-rM/s400/Washington+Square+Park.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046887684704619378" border="0" /></a>Washington Square Park</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5y39OCz2alzFSr2efw9FTS7P3h6djO4JGEsPIiAOvcd0611frdgqouZeYIRQSD_eAB6Ebm1EPaSl4SOKqXrssbUEh-dO2-vJPAefmMHz0sLqu7ffYrnb5zQalI5IFBlkOsxzv/s1600-h/Two+Boots+Pizza.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5y39OCz2alzFSr2efw9FTS7P3h6djO4JGEsPIiAOvcd0611frdgqouZeYIRQSD_eAB6Ebm1EPaSl4SOKqXrssbUEh-dO2-vJPAefmMHz0sLqu7ffYrnb5zQalI5IFBlkOsxzv/s400/Two+Boots+Pizza.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046891077728783234" border="0" /></a>Two Boots Pizza</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcpKdIJuvhYfRutheRXc_QqWw4ITbPdYt43ARvjW3E38Nw1Ewa1gfbzTROKeWpY5lfnNbtO1F_AjrzbNO6vvvWZUxv2KEyO8kUfbcItFow_QlfIOSb0ENPOpTvHPIRi_HmlUy/s1600-h/Shop+%27til+you+Stop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcpKdIJuvhYfRutheRXc_QqWw4ITbPdYt43ARvjW3E38Nw1Ewa1gfbzTROKeWpY5lfnNbtO1F_AjrzbNO6vvvWZUxv2KEyO8kUfbcItFow_QlfIOSb0ENPOpTvHPIRi_HmlUy/s400/Shop+%27til+you+Stop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046878592258853570" border="0" /></a>Shop 'til you Stop<br /></div></span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-89377816097751680592007-02-12T03:35:00.000-08:002008-12-09T00:39:54.785-08:00Three Parts Rum<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCenB_c07hU7HHuxOQDSbRoLYXl1Vqg7OS24vbkg7Y-U4WjJKln5UW_5tQ1Igg5e1ktL0tjBEMTn2pwFGMTl2lcq3rZIY7NIhL7Srr5oVcm2aJ1p2u-HLXC4ipyNkjSLTy1o5l/s1600-h/3+Parts+Rum.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCenB_c07hU7HHuxOQDSbRoLYXl1Vqg7OS24vbkg7Y-U4WjJKln5UW_5tQ1Igg5e1ktL0tjBEMTn2pwFGMTl2lcq3rZIY7NIhL7Srr5oVcm2aJ1p2u-HLXC4ipyNkjSLTy1o5l/s400/3+Parts+Rum.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030610428267824994" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's a short fiction story I wrote about six years ago. I was never good at fiction writing...making something out of nothing...but I had to come up with something to pass my class...it's nothing much.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">THREE PARTS RUM<br />by Aubrey Andel<br /></span></div><br /><br />I saw his tattoo before I saw his face. It was of a naked woman straddling a Harley with the words “Born to Ride” encrypted in bold, black lettering. When he flexed and released, it looked as if the woman was humping the motorcycle. He was turned towards my mother on the couch, flexing and releasing for her amusement as I walked into the living room.<br /><br />“Don’t stop Fred, that’s just Mina,” my mother said as Fred turned to me and winked. “God, that’s so funny,” she said and slapped his thigh. “I bet you didn’t even flinch when you had it done.”<br /><br />“I’m a big boy baby, I never flinch,” he said.<br /><br />That was my second impression of Fred.<br /><br /><br />“Don’t you want to hear about my new boyfriend?” my mother had asked me that morning when she came home.<br /><br />“Maybe when I wake up.”<br /><br />She sat on the edge of my bed and nudged me until I peeled the blanket off my face. <br /><br />“He’s a keeper.”<br /><br />She told me how she met him last night at Duke’s Canoe Club where she spilled her drink on him while she was attempting to hula dance to the music of Henry Kapono. They ended up sharing a jumbo Mai tai and watched the sun set over Waikiki. As newlyweds walked by they tried to guess how many months or years it would be before they split up. She told me his parents immigrated to Hawaii from Samoa when he was just a boy. I even knew he preferred almonds to macadamia nuts and that they ended up at his place. I went back to sleep with the mirage of a large, tan man lurking in my dreams.<br /><br />He was bigger than I had dreamt. The mid-day, summer sun filtered through the mini-blinds, streaking shadow and light lines across his figure. I knew Samoans were big, but I hadn’t anticipated that The Incredible Hulk would be indenting a crater on my couch. As Fred shifted his weight from one butt cheek to the other, my mother gracefully rearranged herself into the newly created nook.<br /><br /> “Hello,” I said cheerily.<br /><br />“Hiya kid.”<br /><br />“Isn’t she a doll? She’s half Hawaiian you know,” my mother said. “She gets the dark hair from her father and the green eyes from me. Luckily she got his Polynesian complexion too, God knows I’m always in need of a tan.”<br /><br />“I’ll take you to Kailua Bay tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll get some sun and watch the windsurfers. Pack a picnic and chill out. How’s that sound?”<br /><br />My mother curled her petite self around Fred and began scratching his bicep. She purred with excitement as I headed for the kitchen.<br /><br />“Honey, while you’re in there, could you make two rum and cokes for me and Fred?” she asked in her best Marilyn Monroe voice. “Just a tiny bit of ice, you know.”<br /><br />“I know.”<br /><br />I made them the way she taught me: one part coke, three parts rum, two ice cubes and a twist of lime. The same drink I made for her several times a night after my father left the island to join his mainland mistress. A year earlier when the taxi in front of our apartment departed with my father in the back seat, my mother held me so tight that I could hardly breathe. She whispered in my ear, “Now I don’t have anyone.”<br /><br /> As I came out of the kitchen with the rum and cokes, the French doors of my mother’s bedroom closed with a click. I set the glasses down on the coffee table in the deserted living room and got ready to go to Mr. Suki’s.<br /><br /><br /> I started working at Mr. Suki’s soon after my father left. My mother said to me one evening when she came home after styling hair all day at Kokua Kuts, “Mina, you’re sixteen now. If there are two mouths to feed and only one income, one mouth will be left unfed.”<br /><br /> I responded to Mr. Suki’s help wanted ad in the paper the following morning. I became his errand girl.<br /><br /> I rode over to Mr. Suki’s on my moped, a ten-minute ride away. His house was near downtown Honolulu, close to the water. He always left the door open when he knew I was coming so I could walk right in. When I arrived, he was wearing a kimono as gleaming white as a milkman’s uniform, meditating in front of his Koi fish tank. He slowly rose from the ground and turned to me.<br /><br />“Ah, Mina,” he said in his calm, soothing voice. “Today you go to Chinatown to get groceries for Mr. Suki.”<br /><br />He walked over to his tea tin on the kitchen counter where he kept his cash and unrolled a twenty-dollar bill.<br /><br />“Here now. You take money and list and go.”<br /><br />I wasn’t like Mr. Suki. I could never stay focused on what I was supposed to be doing. I wandered into a dozen stores, entranced by scarlet, char-sui stained hanging chickens, almond-eyed toddlers playing behind cash registers and the exotic scent of jasmine that permeated imported products packed onto tiny shelves. I bought myself a steamed pork bun from a toothless Chinese woman. She coaxed me with, “Yum, is so good.” It was. I eventually gathered the items on the list and headed back. <br /><br /> A jar of bean paste, three papayas and a ten-pound bag of rice were a lot for me to carry. I should have charged Mr. Suki by the pound like the market. He once told me about the rice paddy workers from Japan; how they labor all day long under the sun and never complain.<br /><br /> “What for? Is no good. Family first, sore back second.”<br /><br /> It was hard to abide by his mantra when I still had a quarter of a mile to walk and the papayas kept taking turns dropping from the plastic bags. My job was not so bad except for those market days when I would haul back Mr. Suki’s groceries. I had my moped but Mr. Suki said I should rely on my feet more. “It’s good for the soul,” he would say.<br /><br />When I returned from my journey and walked through his door he came to me and said, “Ah, my little one. So strong, so strong.” Those were the words he always said to me when I finally made it back. I placed Mr. Suki’s groceries on the kitchen counter as he added twenty to my weekly pay figure posted on the refrigerator.<br /><br />“That all for today Mina,” he said. “You go home now. You take good care of mother.”<br /><br />I went back home that evening ready to take a long, hot shower. I was wrapped in my towel, walking towards the bathroom when my mother tapped me on the shoulder.<br /><br />“Mina, why don’t you let Fred take a shower first? I know how long you take. He’ll just be a couple of minutes,” she said as she dabbed her wrists with orchid perfume. “He really needs to get ready.”<br /><br />“I didn’t know he was still here,” I said. “Can’t he go home and take a shower?”<br /><br />“He’s taking me out tonight. We’re going to a Thai place.”<br /><br />She shoved a five-dollar bill into my hand.<br /><br />“Here honey, don’t make a scene. I don’t want anything to ruin my night.”<br /><br />She kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’ll even bring you home the leftovers.”<br /><br />I waited in my bedroom for half an hour as Fred soaked in my shower.<br /><br />During the following weeks my mother occasionally handed me a five-dollar bill. I noticed there was always a large bowl of almonds on the coffee table. When I opened a Barnes & Noble bag one day I found two books about Samoa inside.<br /><br />“I’ll read the books and tell Fred all about his home country,” my mother said as she stroked the covers. “I think I can teach him a lot.”<br /><br />A couple of times a week my mother and Fred would go out to eat at a cheap, cozy restaurant. Sometimes I would run errands for Mr. Suki after school and he would send me home with musubi and teriyaki beef to share. On other evenings, the three of us would attempt to cook a nice meal together.<br /><br />“Well, the mahi-mahi is definitely burnt,” Fred said as he took a dish out of the oven with his mittened hand one night. “But don’t worry, I think it’ll taste alright if we smother it with enough of this delicious, gourmet pineapple salsa.”<br /><br />My mother and I laughed as he whipped out a wooden spoon from his apron and attacked a can of Dole diced pineapple. We listened and swayed to a tape of ukulele music as we ate our blackened fish.<br /><br />After dinner the two of them would usually go for a motorcycle ride. It was funny to see my mother in a helmet and boots.<br /><br />“Now this is glamorous,” she would say as she twirled into the living room in her riding gear.<br /><br />I would watch them climb onto the motorcycle from the window and then wave them goodbye as Fred revved the engine. They were usually gone for at least an hour. Sometimes I pulled out the photo album I kept in my closet that was full of pictures of my father. My mother never liked it when I looked through it in front of her.<br /><br />“Put away that silly album,” she said when she caught me flipping through it one day. “That was my past and I only want to look ahead. Nothing good came from him and nothing will.”<br /><br />The photo of my parents cutting their wedding cake was my favorite photo. My father and mother both had frosting on their noses and goofy expressions on their faces. They were really young and it looked like they had so much fun together.<br /><br />As the months went by I started to place my thumb over my father’s face in the photo when I looked at it. I tried to imagine Fred there and wondered if he and my mother would ever get married and if it would last for her the second time around.<br /><br /><br />One evening, Fred dropped my mother off at our apartment after a motorcycle ride. She came in wearing her helmet. When she took it off I could see that she had been crying.<br /><br />“It’s over,” she said.<br /><br />She went straight to her bedroom and closed the door. I could hear her crying all night. In the morning she said he didn’t really give her a reason why he broke up with her.<br /><br />“It just wasn’t meant to be,” my mother said in a cool, collected voice. “Can you believe he said that? As if he couldn’t come up with a better reason.” She picked up her bowl of cereal and stared at it.<br /><br />“It just wasn’t meant to be?” she asked the bowl.<br /><br />She began requesting rum and cokes again. I tried to put in more coke and less rum.<br /><br />“This isn’t how I taught you to make them, Mina,” she said. “Do your mother a favor and try to follow a simple recipe.”<br /><br />She went on sabbatical from her job at the salon and hardly left the apartment. She began watching television all day long, even infomercials which she always said she couldn’t stand. She would watch them for hours. She began to look even paler than normal and her diet consisted of Cheerios and canned corn.<br /><br />I came home one afternoon with some food Mr. Suki gave me.<br /><br />“Here, try some of this,” I said as I placed a plate of udon noodles in front of my mother. “Mr. Suki says noodles always make him feel better.”<br /><br />I turned down the volume of the Thighmaster program.<br /><br />“Is good because they long,” I said in my best Mr. Suki voice. “The longer the food, the more time it take to eat. Ah, when you eating, you no worry so much.”<br /><br />She grabbed the noodles and threw them at the television. “Don’t treat me like a child, Mina,” my mother said as she jumped off the couch and marched towards her room. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”<br /><br />She slammed her bedroom door. I left the apartment and walked over to my friend Kalani’s house. She kept me distracted with her positives versus negatives list of the three surfers she had crushes on. Great bod, no brain; best surfer, worst kisser; great smile, lousy style.<br /><br />I returned after the sun had set and found my mother back on the couch in front of the television.<br /><br /> “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” I asked her.<br /><br />“No.”<br /><br />“The plumeria tree’s in full bloom. Would you like the windows opened?”<br /><br />“No.”<br /><br />“Do you want me to leave?”<br /><br />“Yes.”<br /><br />She cradled the drink in her hands, the ice faintly tapping the glass. I walked towards the door and was about to exit when my mother sat up straight and looked at me.<br /><br />“Mina.”<br /><br />I held my breath as I waited for her to say that she didn’t want me to go.<br /><br />“If you think the Jap can take better care of you than I can, then why don’t you just stay with him?” she asked as she narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure he has a spare mat you could sleep on.”<br /><br />He had more than a spare mat; he had a spare bedroom. I moved in with him that weekend.<br /><br />Our bedrooms were the exact same, furnished with a black futon, a bedside table with a small lamp on top, a dresser and a fern. The only thing different was the direction the beds faced: towards each other. I would stretch out my toes at night, wondering if Mr. Suki could feel the tension we created: the yin and yang, the tai and the chi, or whatever opposite forces there are out there that are supposed to keep the world in perfect harmony.<br /><br />I would try to call my mother or visit her everyday. Sometimes she would talk to me or let me in the apartment and sometimes she wouldn’t. Soon enough I got used to living with Mr. Suki. Every morning Mr. Suki would carefully spoon out the seeds from a papaya and mix them in his tea as if they were a delicacy, a poor man’s caviar. I religiously watched for any sign of papaya parts to appear among his tufts of white hair. In the evenings when he smoked his pipe, I would try to inhale the sweet scent before the smoke drifted away like uncoiling ghost entrails.<br /><br />I tried to disturb him one night while he was meditating just to see how focused he was. I tiptoed into the living room and unrolled a tatami mat in the corner of the room. I sat down Indian style, closed my eyes, placed my wrists on my knees and began softly humming, “Ooohhhhmmmmm.” He didn’t flinch. I carried out my experiment for five minutes but he outlasted me by thirty. When I returned to my bedroom that evening after finishing my errands, my futon mattress was gone and did not reappear for two weeks.<br /><br />I was able to work for Mr. Suki even more than usual while I stayed with him. He sent me to Chinatown one afternoon to get groceries for him. As I weaved my way around bins of fruit and fish on the sidewalk, I saw Fred. It was the first time I had seen him since he left my mother a month ago. The two bags of groceries he carried looked like petite clutch purses against his huge body. I walked over to him, ready to slug him with my bag of rice.<br /><br />“Hey Mina, how are you? How’s your mother doing?” he asked.<br /><br />“Oh, she’s doing well,” I said. “She stays in the apartment all day long watching infomercials and I’m living with Mr. Suki because she kicked me out. Everything’s great.”<br /><br />“I’m sorry Mina,” Fred said. “I didn’t know things were going to turn out this way.”'<br /><br />“So what happened, why’d you leave her?”<br /><br />“It just wasn’t meant to be.”<br /><br />“Don’t give me that bullshit. Those words drove her crazy!” I yelled. “So you come into her life, you lead her on and then you leave her, you fat fuck!”<br /><br />“Jesus, girl! Back off. That’s what people do,” he said as he rolled his eyes and set his bags on a bench. “They try out different partners until they find the right one. You just wait, soon enough you’ll see. So just calm your pretty little head down because I’m not in the mood to deal with your temper tantrum.”<br /><br />I threw my bag of rice on his sandaled foot. He yelped and hopped backwards. I began punching him in his stomach. It felt like my fists were kneading play-doh. I kept on punching him as he tried to push me away. He finally shoved me and my cheek smashed against a pole. I collapsed to the ground. People surrounded us as Fred knelt down beside me.<br /><br />“I didn’t mean to do it Mina,” Fred said. “I’m so sorry. Mina, are you alright?”<br /><br />I looked up at the crowd and then I turned to Fred and said, “That didn’t hurt.”<br /><br />He wanted to take me home but I wouldn’t let him. After a couple of minutes I got up and started walking as everyone looked on. When I was out of Fred’s sight a taxi driver who had seen the incident offered me a ride home. I looked at my face in the rear-view mirror. It wasn’t bleeding at all; there was just a big, blue sphere on my cheek.<br /><br />Mr. Suki called my mother when I arrived at his house. It took her almost an hour to get there. When my mother came, Mr. Suki left to visit his neighbor. She asked me what happened and I told her the same story I told Mr. Suki, that I got in the way of a boy who was swinging a baseball bat around in circles. She seemed to believe me; Mr. Suki had eyed me suspiciously.<br /><br />We sat on steel chairs in front of the Koi fish tank, silently watching the fish glide past one another.<br /><br />“God, they’re so plump,” she finally said. “I wonder how they would taste as sashimi.”<br /><br />My mother sat and stared at the Koi fish. When I got up to go to the bathroom she said, “Mina, while you’re in there, could you make me a rum and coke?”<br /><br /> “Mr. Suki doesn’t have rum or coke.” <br /><br />“Can I at least get a shot of sake?” she asked.<br /><br />I brought her a shot of Ginseng tea.<br /><br />“Ahhh, that hit the spot,” she said as she sank back into the chair.<br /><br />“I bet it did.”<br /><br />When Mr. Suki came back he said that I should leave my moped and ride with my mother.<br /><br />“Come on, get in,” she said.<br /><br />“Where are we going?”<br /><br />“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?” my mother asked.<br /><br />“To the mainland.”<br /><br />“Sorry honey, this isn’t the Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang car. It doesn’t float and it doesn’t have wings. I’ll just start driving and you tell me when you want to stop.”<br /><br />“Okay.”<br /><br />We circled the island and as we drove along the North Shore I saw a sign ahead for Waimea Bay.<br /><br />“Let’s go there,” I said.<br /><br />We parked on the side of the highway and hiked down the path leading to the beach. The Waimea Rock jutted out from the ocean, two stories tall and fifty feet from the shore. As soon as it came into our view we started running towards it, losing our flip-flops in the sand. We swam through the ocean in our tank tops and shorts. The climb up the rock was slippery and sharp. At the top, there were ten guys taking turns jumping off the rock.<br /><br />“Look what we have here gentlemen,” the first guy who saw us said. “We have a couple of brave ladies in our midst.”<br /><br />“Whenever you girls are ready, just tell us and we’ll clear the way,” another said.<br /><br />“We’re ready,” we said in unison. We stood at the edge of the rock with our toes clinging to the coarseness beneath us.<br /><br />My mother started counting, “one, two…,” On the count of three she grabbed my hand and we jumped. A ripping pain surged through my body as I broke the surface of the water. She bobbed up beside me with a look of anguish on her face.<br /><br />“Should we jump again?” I asked my mother as I tried to fight back the tears.<br /><br />“No,” she whispered. “Never.”<br /><br /><br />My mother always said ocean water is the best styling product. It adds texture and volume to hair naturally and it’s plentiful and free. She beckoned for me to sit in front of her on the couch so I could be her hair model. I could feel her breath on my neck as she tried to decide which salty chunk to deal with first. My mother twisted my damp hair into pin curls, taking a piece at a time, twirling it around her fingers and then securing each section to my head with a bobby pin.<br /><br />“In less than an hour you’ll have gorgeous, wavy hair,” she said. “In the meantime, why don’t we go and get your stuff from Mr. Suki’s?”<br /><br />Mr. Suki helped gather my belongings and load the bags into the car. He packed us some freshly made unagi rolls to eat at home.<br /><br />“You and mother share. Eat together,” he said.<br /><br />He seemed to be pleased that I was finally returning home. He bowed goodbye and said, “Ah…my little one. So strong, so strong.”<br /><br /><br />As I began taking out the pin curls, I could hear my mother in the kitchen preparing a bag of ice for me. She walked into the living room after the last curl was released.<br /><br />She looked at me and said, “Perfect.”<br /><br />She brushed the hair away from my face and placed the ice on my bruise. We both knew that the mark would soon disappear, that it was only a matter of time before the healing process would be complete.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">p.s. I'm horrible with endings (and middles too) so if anyone has any suggestions for an alternate ending (or middle), tell me about it! </span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-63329353757996388982007-01-30T10:43:00.000-08:002008-12-09T00:39:54.936-08:00Dine About Town<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGCdmPAcrww8mgIA6hJ7mthdggF69eGVUDtnfDk3dV8hlzRocHfrztLNMqi4hFGInDRSpbC4a211G_VkWiU0KlCdUG8B79s-4BF_GHXbmdY7YaDMUlJARw4qVF-z-pnZ0oQme/s1600-h/le+petit+robert.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGCdmPAcrww8mgIA6hJ7mthdggF69eGVUDtnfDk3dV8hlzRocHfrztLNMqi4hFGInDRSpbC4a211G_VkWiU0KlCdUG8B79s-4BF_GHXbmdY7YaDMUlJARw4qVF-z-pnZ0oQme/s320/le+petit+robert.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025904500770535842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />There's only a day and a half left of </span><a style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.onlyinsanfrancisco.com/dineabouttown/" target="_blank">Dine About Town</a></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >! Eat out at San Francisco's best restaurants at a bargain price. You'll get a prix fixe 3-course lunch for $21.95 and dinner is only $31.95. A fabulous deal, considering that the entree alone at most of these restaurants is well over $20.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So far I've had dinner at </span><a style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.onlyinsanfrancisco.com/dineabouttown/enhanced_listings.asp?id=303" target="_blank">1550 Hyde Cafe & Wine Bar</a></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" ><code></code><code style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia">where I </code><code style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia">dined on <span>grilled romaine hearts with bacon vinaigrette and citrus segments</span> (stole a couple of spoonfuls of the roasted garnet yam soup with chive crème and crispy pancetta & the rabbit pate terrine), followed by hoffman gamebirds' coq au vin with crimini mushrooms, pearl onions, niman bacon and yukon gold potatoes (tasted the fresh paparadelle with milk braised berkshire pork, bloomsdale spinach and pecorino & the grilled niman ranch hangar steak frites with frisee and "aio e oio"), followed by Scharffen Berger bittersweet chocolate-pumpkin torte with pine nut caramel & I pecked at two other decadent desserts. 1550 Hyde uses fresh ingredients from the farmers' market and you can really taste the difference.<br /><br />I've lunched at </code><code style="font-family: georgia;"><a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.restaurantlulu.com/restaurants.html" target="_blank">Restaurant Lulu</a><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"> </span>where I had the roasted eggplant & portabello appetizer, followed by the veal stew (I know, I'm bad) and an amazing blood orange cheesecake. The large rotisserie in the dining room at Lulu churns around whole chickens and ribs and provides a nice, cozy atmosphere to the rather spacious restaurant.<br /><br />For lunch today I'm trying to decide between Jack Falstaff, Asia de Cuba and Campton Place Restaurant. Too many choices and not enough time!</code></span><code><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" > <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >I think it's going to be </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" ><a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.onlyinsanfrancisco.com/dineabouttown/enhanced_listings.asp?id=292" target="_blank">Asia de Cuba</a></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >. I can't wait to take a bite out of a Maine lobster club with ginger-mango mayo and applewood smoked bacon with a side of Mojito fries. Delicioso! I love "working from home"!<br /><br />p.s. as of 11:45 pm Tuesday night: I'll update this soon and tell you about Asia de Cuba (where I ended up for lunch) and Scott Howard Restaurant (where I ended up for dinner).<br /><br />UPDATE: So I ended up at <a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.clifthotel.com/clift_hotel_asia_de_cuba.asp" target="_blank">Asia de Cuba</a><br />for lunch and the lobster club was awesome! The restaurant is located inside the Clift Hotel, home of the <a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.clifthotel.com/clift_hotel_redwood_room.asp" target="_blank">Redwood Room</a><br />, where overpriced drinks, cougars and PUA's comingle in the midst of a swanky setting overlooked by googily-eyed portrait paintings on the walls. The bento box that my dining companion ordered included crispy black bean and chickpea dumplings in a tomato-ginger sauce, chipotle glazed strip steak and fried rice with plantains (several other options were available to choose from). Both of our dishes came with opera cake for dessert and the club included coffee or a pot of tea.<br /><br />And for my Dine About Town finale, the best was certainly saved for last. I had never heard of the place before, but now <a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.scotthowardsf.com/" target="_blank">Scott Howard</a> is my favorite restaurant in the city (and within walking distance of my apartment so I can work up an appetite on my way over). I ordered the carrot broth, maine scallops and the panna cotta. I did try everything else listed below too, and also the lamb loin that is not listed.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">First Course</span><br />Smoked salmon - Fingerling potato salad • Green apple • Creme fraiche<br />or<br />Carrot broth - Chervil sabayon • Truffle oil<br />or<br />Mache & frisee salad - Blood Orange • Fennel • Champagne vinaigrette<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">Second Course</span><br />Maine scallops - Maitake mushrooms • Saffron sauce • Yukon potato purée<br />or<br />Scottish salmon - Shallot confit • Hedgehog mushrooms • Fingerling potatoes • Curry beurre blanc<br />or<br />Pork shoulder - Celery root puree • Braised kale • Maple syrup glaze<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">Third Course</span><br />Panna cotta - Citrus salad • Macadamia nut brittle • Citrus glaze<br />or<br />Warm chocolate cake - Blackberry coulis • Creme fraiche<br />or<br />Butterscotch pudding - Caramelized banana<br /><br />The carrot broth soup was phenomenal, probably my favorite soup in the city now, and I’m a huge fan of soup. Sure, anything with truffle oil is good, but this was outstanding! My scallops were beautifully prepared and all of the entrees, with the exception of the salmon, were perfectly flavored and…my most flattering adjective when talking about food…savory. The entrée portions are not large, of course, forcing you to focus on every bite before it hits your belly. All three of the desserts were winners and the special Dine About Town wine pairing they offered ($15 for two glasses of wine plus a port or Muscat) helped to round out an amazing meal. <a style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);" href="http://www.onlyinsanfrancisco.com/dineabouttown/enhanced_listings.asp?id=352" target="_blank">Scott Howard</a><br />, you’re my hero.<br /><br />Only 11 months until Dine About Town 2008! Until then, bon apetit!<br /></span></span></code>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-72838752721662123992007-01-25T01:59:00.000-08:002008-12-09T00:39:55.403-08:00Shitters on the Sidewalks of SF<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Just a typical scene as I walk a couple of blocks from my office to grab some lunch on Clement.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCncdxMMfPPNr0f3G4pEQfCKpzmD3TwItggzVTMreVTW6YZ10CjsIX1HvY6Ykb8FTXLj8j3vO-N8NLYlkISXQBdKgBtsTYrHd3Z55DMA8UU-GOzfv5VWpbJ6fHnkERRVvqAAz1/s1600-h/Toilet+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCncdxMMfPPNr0f3G4pEQfCKpzmD3TwItggzVTMreVTW6YZ10CjsIX1HvY6Ykb8FTXLj8j3vO-N8NLYlkISXQBdKgBtsTYrHd3Z55DMA8UU-GOzfv5VWpbJ6fHnkERRVvqAAz1/s400/Toilet+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023916351819282834" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIF8t4GxSUOBqHh_Y2IXGxX9JfGsc6ItqRGMLY6MaESZpWSyDOvjjgYPixULtFrWZip5xK9iUaViyNA0yB29wk-wqnJrCQUWIZgTNV2LYfye_zpc79fcLxDWF-w8pTCTLYAX4t/s1600-h/Toilet+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIF8t4GxSUOBqHh_Y2IXGxX9JfGsc6ItqRGMLY6MaESZpWSyDOvjjgYPixULtFrWZip5xK9iUaViyNA0yB29wk-wqnJrCQUWIZgTNV2LYfye_zpc79fcLxDWF-w8pTCTLYAX4t/s400/Toilet+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023916184315558274" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=shitter" target="_blank">The Urban Dictionary's definitions of "SHITTER"</a></span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-38409844840292440192006-12-09T12:14:00.000-08:002008-12-09T00:39:55.602-08:00Holiday Depression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4biHjX9L3l1YoeftWhdQK8dDHle5jEI4q1KOTl5I6iN7n4lI66t28BG_tUWOFQhigzJknU0KI2bbMRtS4TUSjT5SU0u6ORogczjEd-V2adadOiYL-GiP-kooXioGlvNiGziK/s1600-h/beer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4biHjX9L3l1YoeftWhdQK8dDHle5jEI4q1KOTl5I6iN7n4lI66t28BG_tUWOFQhigzJknU0KI2bbMRtS4TUSjT5SU0u6ORogczjEd-V2adadOiYL-GiP-kooXioGlvNiGziK/s320/beer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5006627250797498562" border="0" /></a>Yesterday my boss gave me a 1000 Won Korean bill he found while rummaging through his stash of junk. It was the first time I’d ever seen Korean money. It’s worth about one dollar and five cents. He also brought in this newspaper article he clipped out years ago. It’s depressing, but kind of funny:<br /><br /><br />Street Talk by Bob Burnside<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:130%;">How do you deal with Holiday depression?</span><br /></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Timothy McLeroy (shines shoes on Castro Street) </span><br /><br />I get drunk. If I’m broke, I get depressed all the time anyway. But if you drink too much then nobody cares about you. My family doesn’t care. I try to be independent. Now I shine shoes but I used to play the piano on the street until someone stole it. I don’t drink so much when I’m playing. If anyone has a spinette that they don’t want, you can contact me through this newspaper.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Glenna Hill (on Castro Street) </span><br /><br />I make certain that I have time to be by myself to do what I want to do and not what everyone else wants me to do. We are given our families with no choice in the matter. Sometimes they are people that we would not choose as friends and it’s difficult to spend time with them. I think that there is a lot of guilt around that. I also try to take some exercise and might do some meditation – maybe a good long walk on the beach.Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1164345183392250632006-11-23T20:55:00.000-08:002006-12-04T23:06:44.160-08:00Double Entendre Turkey Talk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/234/1096/1600/466753/gobbler.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/234/1096/320/828477/gobbler.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>That's the biggest one I've ever seen! <br /><br />How long do I beat it before it's ready? <br /><br />Talk about huge breasts! <br /><br />Just spread the legs open and stuff it in. <br /><br />How long will it take after you stick it in? <br /><br />You'll know it's ready when it pops up! <br /><br />Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist. <br /><br />I didn't expect everyone to come at once! <br /><br />Just wait your turn, you'll get some. <br /><br />It's a little dry, do you still want to eat it? <br /><br />Whew, that's one terrific spread! <br /><br />I'm in the mood for a little dark meat. <br /><br />Are you ready for seconds yet? <br /><br />Don't play with your meat. <br /><br />You still have a little bit on your chin. <br /><br />If I don't undo my pants, I'll burst! <br /><br />Wow, I didn't think I could handle all of that! <br /><br />It's Cool Whip time!<br /><br /><br />(P.S. No, I didn’t write this! I’m not dirty like that! Happy Thanksgiving!)<br /><br /><br />Here's a link to something I actually wrote...last year:<br /><a href="http://aubreyandel.blogspot.com/2005/11/no-thank-you-very-much.html#links" target="_blank"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">No Thank You Very Much</span></a>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1163488116597240132006-11-13T22:53:00.000-08:002006-11-20T11:33:29.716-08:00You'll love Like.com<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/likeimagesearch.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/400/likeimagesearch.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />There’s no need to be working when you could be shopping. Your boss won’t mind if you spend an hour or two or three browsing an amazing new website called <a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);" href="http://www.like.com/" target="_blank">Like.com</a>. Just say you’re looking for a white elephant present for the office holiday party.<br /><br />Most of us slack about at work, so luckily for us, there are non-slacker types out there who actually use their brainpower to make life a lot easier for lazy people. My friend Danny is one smart guy, Harvard for undergrad, Stanford for his M.S. and Ph.D. After all that schooling he joined a start-up called Riya, a Silicon Valley visual search engine company that has just launched an addictive shopping site that finds items by appearance.<br /><br />You can browse through jewelry, handbags, shoes and watches without having to sift through a dozen different sites to find exactly what you’re looking for. You hardly have to read anything, just look and click and repeat. You can even click on a celebrity to find an accessory similiar to the one your fave IT chick or chunk of hunk’s sporting so you, too, can look like a million without spending a million.<br /><br />After choosing a category and type of accessory, refine your search by color, shape and pattern, or by brand, size and shopping sites including Amazon.com or Zappos.com. If a certain detail appeals to you, such as a silver buckle, you can draw a box around the buckle and items featuring a comparable looking buckle will pop up. Double click on one item and the site will find similar items for you to peruse until you find the perfect necklace, clutch, stiletto or pearly faced watch.<br /><br />Save yourself a fistful of dollars by jumping on the bandwagon early. There’s FREE shipping for the first 10,000 customers! So everyone, go to Like.com <a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);" href="http://www.like.com/" target="_blank">RIGHT NOW</a> and start shopping. Clothes will be added to the site soon so check back often for new additions and improvements to the shopping experience.<br /><br />When Danny’s not climbing to the top of Mount Shasta or giving his running shoes a workout, he’s slaving away looking at pictures all day as part of his job as a senior researcher at Riya. Support his hard work and visit Like.com, the site that’s going to take the world by storm.<br /><br />Oh, and you know that little website called Match.com? Well, Riya is in the works to use their face recognition technology to help singles everywhere find their mates based on aesthetic qualities, similar to the Like.com search. No one really reads the profiles anyways, right? Right.<br /><br />This is exciting! Believe the hype. Who says looks don’t matter? Surely not the people behind Like.com.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">- </span><a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);" href="http://www.riya.com/about" target="_blank">About Riya</a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">- </span><a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);" href="http://www.prnewswire.com/mnr/riya/26072/" target="_blank">Riya Launches Like.com</a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">- </span><a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);" href="http://www.techcrunch.com/tag/Riya/" target="_blank">Riya’s Like.com Is First True Visual Image Search</a>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1162524502915933202006-11-02T19:21:00.000-08:002006-11-14T18:59:40.636-08:00Cheap Ass Halloween Costumes<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">The past three Halloween’s in San Francisco have made me realize how incredibly cheap I am. Pumpkin pies aren’t the only things that I know how to get for a buck. </span><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/wonder%20woman%20035_2.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/wonder%20woman%20035_2.2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/wonder%20woman%20024_2.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/wonder%20woman%20024_2.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Wonder Woman in 2004: </span>Bought the gold headbands and earrings for a dollar at Goodwill. I cut and pasted a red paper star onto the headband. Those are my ghetto bootie bedroom shorts. I should not have been wearing ghetto bootie bedroom shorts in public. I definitely should not have been dancing around (or running through the bathrooms and rescuing people in the hallways) in them at a posh club. <br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/IMG_5262_2.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/IMG_5262_2.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/IMG_5241_2.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/IMG_5241_2.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Mary Had a Little Lamb in 2005: </span>Found the apron at Goodwill for a dollar. Had the shirt and skirt. Hijacked my roommate’s lamb that her ex-boyfriend gave her and made him my bitch for the night. Minhlan and I were an hour late for our own house party because we had to check out a potentially better party in the east bay earlier and then one in SOMA later. Found out the lamb likes beer.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/DSC01086_2.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/DSC01086_2.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Where’s Waldo in 2006: </span>Didn’t even bother to go to Goodwill. Ransacked the household emergency costume stash and threw on the outfit that’s been worn by a different person for the last ten Halloweens in a row. I passed the fluffy hat up in favor of a ski headband. I’m obviously getting old because I don’t even care if I look sexy for Halloween. Well, at least I had on a short skirt. And that’s not a double loser sign on top of my head, that’s a Where’s Waldo sign!Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1161488490107196932006-10-21T18:28:00.000-07:002006-11-01T20:27:55.903-08:00Diary of a Sex Slave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/mn_trafficking_042_df.2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/400/mn_trafficking_042_df.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">Short Attention Span News: Wherin the author of this blog cuts and pastes parts of news articles so that her A.D.D. - prone readers don’t have to read an entire…FOUR-part series. It’s still pretty long, so be prepared to skim. Assume that after a majority of the paragraphs, there are paragraphs of the story that are not shown here. The photo is of You Mi, the main subject of the story.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">From the San Francisco Chronicle, written by reporter Meredith May in October of 2006</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold;">Part 1: SEX TRAFFICKING </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">San Francisco Is A Major Center For International Crime Networks That Smuggle And Enslave</span><br /><br />“Many of San Francisco's Asian massage parlors -- long an established part of the city's sexually permissive culture -- have degenerated into something much more sinister: international sex slave shops.<br /><br />Once limited to infamous locales such as Bombay and Bangkok, sex trafficking is now an $8 billion international business, with San Francisco among its largest commercial centers.<br /><br />"There's a highly organized logistical network between Korea and the United States with recruiters, brokers, intermediaries, taxi drivers and madams."<br /><br />Once in California, the women are taken most often to Los Angeles or San Francisco, where they are hidden inside homes, massage parlors, apartments and basements, only to learn that the job offer was just a ploy.<br /><br />Women report being beaten, raped and starved by their keepers. Kim, who also withheld her last name, told The Chronicle in an interview in South Korea that she was forced to pay $4,400 for plastic surgery to open her eyes and make her nose thinner and pointier, "like Marilyn Monroe."<br /><br />There are at least 90 massage parlors in San Francisco where sex is for sale, according to the online sex Web site myredbook.com. The site has been around since 1997 and has more than 55,000 reviews of Northern California sex workers.<br /><br />The city may even be unwittingly contributing to the problem. Thirty-seven of the erotic massage parlors on My Redbook's list have massage permits issued to them through the San Francisco Department of Public Health.”<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);" href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/10/06/MNGR1LGUQ41.DTL" target="_blank">Read Full Article: Part 1</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold;">Part 2: A YOUTHFUL MISTAKE </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;">You Mi was a typical college student, until her first credit card got her into trouble</span><br /><br />“For nearly a year, You Mi was caught in a sex-trafficking triangle -- starting in South Korea, one of the world's leading importers and exporters of sex slaves, and stretching to the exploding Asian outcall market of Los Angeles and then to the Asian massage-parlor mecca on the West Coast: San Francisco.<br /><br />Along a crooked hillside market in the South Korean port city of Busan, vendors gut fish and wash chicken feet, getting ready for the morning shopping rush.<br /><br />This is You Mi's hometown, also known as the San Francisco of South Korea. Situated on the southeastern tip of the country, Busan also has steep streets, summer beach tourists and even a white version of the Golden Gate Bridge.<br /><br />Busan is also the birthplace of South Korea's sex industry, where Japanese troops built the first brothels after invading the country in 1904.<br /><br />Busan is infamous for Wan Wol Dong, a maze of dark alleys where women are on display in row upon row of "glass houses." A peculiar Korean invention, a glass house is about the size of a parking space, with glass walls on three sides and a mirrored back wall concealing a private bedroom. Women sit on chairs or chaises or on the floor inside, illuminated by red lights that cast a pink glow.<br /><br />Money was tight for all the families in her neighborhood, so You Mi never felt deprived. But in 2001, when her family had to struggle to come up with nearly $6,000 to send her to a university closer to the city, she realized her family was poor. At college for the first time, she was surrounded by friends who came from the glittering beach high-rises.<br /><br />And they had something You Mi had never seen before -- credit cards.<br />A friend explained to You Mi that she could buy things without cash. A magic card, You Mi thought.<br /><br />It was easy for her to get sucked into the shopping culture in Busan. Fashion is a major cultural preoccupation for South Koreans, who crowd the glittering neon shopping districts at night to window-shop and people-watch. Designer labels create the dividing lines among social classes, and women dress in fur, cashmere and heels just to run errands. Street beggars are nonexistent, and poverty is considered a mortal sin.<br /><br />Such intense pressure to acquire "American luxury goods" puts the average South Korean family in $30,000 credit card debt.<br /><br />Two years after getting the original credit card, her combined debt hit $40,000.<br /><br />So by fall 2002, You Mi began to wonder whether she was willing to do the unthinkable: sell her body.<br /><br />The longer You Mi searched, the more it became clear to her that she couldn't stomach the thought of having sex with strangers for money.<br /><br />After looking for a week, You Mi found on the Internet what appeared to be the perfect solution.<br /><br />"Work in an American room salon. Make $10,000 a month. Very gentle. No touching. No second round."<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);" href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/10/08/MNGAULL53D1.DTL" target="_blank">Read Full Article: Part 2</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold;">Part 3: DIARY OF A SEX SLAVE: BOUGHT AND SOLD </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">You Mi is put into debt bondage -- life becomes an endless cycle of sex with strangers</span><br /><br />“You Mi had not anticipated an illegal border crossing when she signed up for the job. Worse, she didn't know that she was a pawn in an international sex-trafficking ring -- and that someone was waiting in the United States to buy her.<br /><br />You Mi had made it to the United States, yet she was anything but free.”<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);" href="http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/c/a/2006/10/09/MNGM5K215270.DTL" target="_blank">Read Full Article: Part 3</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold;">Part 4: DIARY OF A SEX SLAVE: FREE, BUT TRAPPED</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;">In San Francisco, You Mi begins to put her life back together -- but the cost is high</span><br /><br />“The door of the Sun Spa opened. The manager, a Korean woman in her 50s, led You Mi inside and quickly handed her off to the masseuse with the most seniority.<br /><br />For the next four months, You Mi would become a person she never imagined. She and five other sex workers would share a dingy apartment on O'Farrell Street across from the Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theatre. She'd spend her waking hours at Sun Spa, having sex with more than a dozen men a day, six days a week, and scurrying into secret hideaways during police raids.<br /><br />She would find the rumors about San Francisco to be true: It was a booming stop on the international sex-trafficking route. There was lots of money to be made. Customers plentiful, tips great.<br /><br />But first, she would have to surrender her last shred of dignity.<br /><br />What You Mi knew of San Francisco was limited to the two blocks between Sun Spa and the cramped studio apartment she shared with her co-workers. It was in the heart of the Tenderloin, the end of the line for San Francisco's most desperate: the addicted looking for a street-corner fix, the homeless looking for a cheap motel, the men looking to buy sex.<br /><br />It's here where the bulk of San Francisco's 90 illicit massage parlors are concentrated, identifiable by double metal security doors, surveillance cameras and windows that are blocked out with aluminum foil, plastic garbage bags or paint. To You Mi, the area seemed grittier and scarier than the open-air sex markets in her South Korean hometown of Busan.<br /><br />At first, You Mi was not making much money. Her constant frown made it obvious she didn't like the work. None of the men chose her from the couch on her first few days of work.<br /><br />The money she earned in tips was also getting eaten away by little fees and costs structured into You Mi's working arrangement. Her share of the rent on her apartment was $300 per week. You Mi would also have to pay $50 a day for food, a $40 weekly tip to the cook, plus a $70 weekly tip to the Sun Spa manager.<br /><br />Given all the incidental costs, sometimes You Mi walked home with as little as $100.<br /><br />You Mi finally summoned the courage to call to her mother for the first time since she'd landed in California. Her mother was furious.<br /><br />After You Mi said goodbye, she thought about her situation and got angry. She made up her mind to work as hard and fast as possible, even during her period, just so she could get out.<br /><br />After hearing her mother's voice, You Mi became an actress.<br /><br />She smiled at every customer from the couch, hoping to be chosen.<br /><br />Gone was the sullen young woman who kept her eyes down and spoke only when spoken to. She told jokes. She flirted.<br /><br />She turned her brain off.<br /><br />For the first time, she had repeat clients.<br /><br />The backroom bell rang. The Sun Spa women hustled to line up on the couch for a customer who had just walked in from the October night.<br /><br />Moments before, the women had been laughing about who had the ugliest regular customer. You Mi was still suppressing a giggle when she sat on the couch.<br /><br />The 28-year-old man, who had weaved in from a nearby bar where he was drinking away a bad breakup, thought her smile looked more genuine than the others. He pointed at You Mi.<br /><br />In private, the man's eyes softened. He was the first customer You Mi ever had who didn't grab at her. His touch was gentle, respectful.<br /><br />When he asked for her phone number, she gave it.<br /><br />He called, and asked whether he could take her to an Italian dinner in North Beach.<br /><br />Using an electronic Korean-English dictionary and the rudimentary phrases she had learned in Korean schools, she was able to talk with him about their families, their lives and what brought them to San Francisco. You Mi wasn't ready to tell him everything, but she knew she would someday.<br /><br />Another night they went to sing karaoke at Do Re Mi in Japantown. This time, You Mi skipped the makeup and the sexy clothes. He looked at her in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, and thought she was simply beautiful. He asked her that night to leave Sun Spa.<br /><br />In November, four months after her first day at Sun Spa, You Mi had enough money to pay off the credit card debt. She gave $30,000 -- plus a $1,200 fee -- to a Sun Spa manager who drove to Los Angeles every two weeks with bags of cash.<br /><br />Once in Koreatown, the Sun Spa manager gave the money to an underground Korean money changer, who called his people in South Korea and told them to deliver the cash to You Mi's mother.<br /><br />All the women working at Sun Spa sent money home this way. Within the sex-trafficking ring, the rule of thumb was to trust no one, but there were a few unbreakable codes of conduct. Trusting a stranger to send tens of thousands to your family in South Korea without stealing it was one of them.<br /><br />The day You Mi left Sun Spa, she had just her passport, some money and some clothes. The other women in the brothel assumed she was getting married -- the main reason most women left sex work.<br /><br />You Mi directed the taxi to drop her off at the home of the one person who had shown her some kindness during her ordeal -- the boyfriend she had secretly been meeting for dates outside Sun Spa.<br /><br />For the first time, she got to see what California looked like on the outside. He took her to the Golden Gate Bridge and Baker Beach, and bought her first pair of hiking shoes after she broke a heel on one of their nature walks.<br /><br />You Mi couldn't believe she had been living amid such a breathtaking landscape for months, yet had never seen it. She had forgotten that beauty even existed.<br /><br />In South Korea, You Mi's mother went to court with the money, to settle with all the collection agencies.<br /><br />Then she called her daughter.<br />"It's over," she said.<br /><br />You Mi wanted to believe her mother, but her heart wasn't in it. She now knew the cold truth -- that her life would never be simple again.”<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold;">Epilogue</span><br /><br />“Inside a Korean restaurant in San Francisco, You Mi ran between the kitchen and the tables with little white bowls of appetizers.<br /><br />Korean dinner always starts with numerous small plates: kimchi, fish cake, daikon radish, black beans, anchovies, sesame-soaked cucumber and acorn jelly. It's sweaty apron work for minimum wage.<br /><br />With the Korean custom of not tipping, she was lucky to take home $30 a night from the customers.<br /><br />But she was free.<br /><br />It was June 2006. It had been a little over two years since she stepped out of Sun Spa for the last time.<br /><br />The men who arranged You Mi's trip from Korea, her brokers in Los Angeles, and the madams and taxi drivers who controlled her movements were among those named in Operation Gilded Cage, a federal indictment of 45 Koreans in Los Angeles and San Francisco.<br /><br />Although two dozen masseuses agreed to testify in San Francisco, none of the 29 people charged in connection with Korean sex trafficking in the Bay Area has gone to trial. Ten have pleaded guilty to lesser alien-harboring or money-laundering charges, and most of them were sentenced to less than a year in custody and fined less than $5,000. The woman who operated Suk Hee, where You Mi refused to work in North Beach, was ordered to forfeit $1.2 million.<br /><br />The two suspected San Francisco ringleaders -- the only two charged with sex trafficking -- are still awaiting trial.<br /><br />News of Operation Gilded Cage spread quickly through the Korean community. You Mi learned that some of the women taken from the massage parlors might qualify for a T-1 visa for trafficking victims, allowing them to stay in the country for three years and then apply for a green card. Only those who could prove they were enslaved by "force, fraud or coercion" would receive the special visa.<br /><br />Ivy Lee, an attorney specializing in human trafficking at Asian Pacific Islander Legal Outreach in San Francisco, helped You Mi apply for the T-1 visa. After a five-month investigation, the government concluded that You Mi was a sex-trafficking victim and granted her the visa on July 25.<br /><br />You Mi is ready for her new life in California. She has fallen in love with the landscape and the relaxed attitude about gender roles. It amazes her to see women running companies or running errands in ponytails and sweats.<br /><br />And she has fallen in love. The relationship between You Mi and her boyfriend lasted outside the artificial environment of the massage parlor. (Her boyfriend asked to remain anonymous in this story so they can maintain a private life together.)<br /><br />But she never truly can escape her past.<br /><br />Today, seven of the 10 alleged San Francisco brothels raided in Operation Gilded Cage are still open for business, including Sun Spa.<br /><br />Despite increased federal and local attention, sex trafficking still thrives in the Bay Area.<br /><br />The explosion of sex trafficking in California led lawmakers this year to make the state one of the few with its own human-trafficking law.<br /><br />For You Mi, her time as a sex slave has left a permanent bruise on her soul. A year of her life was taken away. Her innocence is gone. Her trust obliterated. Tension is woven into her personality.<br /><br />You Mi misses her family. She misses her life before it went so wrong. The T-1 visa has given her a sense of justice, but she wants men to know what really goes on inside a massage parlor.<br /><br />"Most customers come into a massage parlor thinking nothing is wrong; that it's a job we choose," she said. "It doesn't occur to them that we are slaves."<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);" href="http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/10/10/MNGN9LFHRO1.DTL" target="_blank">Read Full Article: Part 4</a>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1160644638327193442006-10-12T01:52:00.000-07:002006-10-16T00:02:38.486-07:00Let them Eat Pie!<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Are you going to the<a href="http://www.miramarevents.com/pumpkinfest/" target="_blank"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"> Half Moon Bay Art & Pumpkin Festival</span> </a>this weekend? Want to know how to get a cheap pumpkin pie?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/pumpkin%20patch%202.3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/400/pumpkin%20patch%202.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ></span><br />You can get a whole pie for a fraction of what they're selling a slice for at the fest by heading on over to the pie-eating contest.<br /><br />The last time I went, I had no intention of entering the contest, I just wanted to see the spectacle, but when they began passing around cinnamon scented 9-inch pumpkin pies for the contest and I asked “how much” and they said “a buck,” I whipped out a dollar for the decadent dessert faster than you can say trick-or-treat. I even got it smothered in whipped cream by holding out my purchased pie as the cream-dispensing guy walked by. I was in heaven. I didn’t have a fork and I didn’t care. Neither did the people I shared it with.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Insider’s tip:</span> </span>Start hanging around the Bank of America Family Stage a little before 2:45pm on Saturday or Sunday. That’s when the competition for kids 12 and older begins. Position yourself close enough so that you’re within the pie-purchasing realm, but far enough so that you can make a quick get away after the dough exchange. This is not a pie for scarfing down with half of it ending up on your shirt for all to see, this is a pie to secretly savor in some shadowy corner where you can lick the pan clean.<br /><br /><ahref="http: target="_blank"></ahref="http:>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1160118338072568952006-10-06T00:53:00.000-07:002006-11-14T11:14:33.136-08:00Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/3265393066663438.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/3265393066663438.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> Just my kind of movie - a mockumentary.<br /><br /><a href="http://people.monstersandcritics.com/article_1206146.php" target="_blank"> Sacha Baron Cohen creates real havoc with Borat<br /></a><br /><a href="http://people.monstersandcritics.com/article_1208790.php" target="_blank"> Cohen's Borat is really ticking off Kazakh officials<br /></a><br /><a href="http://www.borat.tv/" target="_blank"> -Official Borat Website </a><br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/borat" target="_blank"> -Borat’s MySpace Page </a><br /><a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/borat/" target="_blank"> -Rotten Tomatoes Movie Review </a><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borat:_Cultural_Learnings_of_America_for_Make_Benefit_Glorious_Nation_of_Kazakhstan" target="_blank"> -Wikipedia Article </a><br /><a href="http://cracked.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=1101&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;mode=thread&order=0&thold=0" target="_blank"> -CRACKED.com: The 10 Best Borat Skits of All-Time</a><br /><br /><br />In regards to the beginning of the first article, I fell off a treadmill once when I was in Colorado. It hurt. A lot. I have never stepped foot on a treadmill since.<br /><br />I was in the exercise room of a hotel attempting to work out a little more after spending a day hiking at Rocky Mountain National Park. The only thing separating me from the people at the outdoor pool was a glass wall.<br /><br />My need for speed got the best of me and I kept on pushing the button to make my machine go faster. One push too many and my body was catapulted off the treadmill and after one glorious thump my entire backside was burning with pain as I suffered from shock. At least the people at the pool got a good laugh.Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1159516017758067982006-09-29T02:07:00.000-07:002006-10-03T14:20:20.680-07:00Chasing the Sun in SoCalThe sudden departure of the sun from the city of San Francisco makes me want to crank up my janky-ass space heater and crawl under the covers with a cup of spicy Mexican cocoa, whisking me away to the shores of Baja with a bronzed babe at my beckon call.<br /><br />Because I’m a beach bum at heart, I keep a spare bikini, tank top, shorts and flip-flops in my trunk at all times. This emergency kit has helped to ensure that my depletion of vitamin D is non-existent. Now that there's no need for this kit, I wish I was back in southern California where I recently spent two weekends (during which time I complained that it was too hot and too sunny…I’m very temperature sensitive).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/Fishermen%20at%20sunset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/Fishermen%20at%20sunset.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>The first weekend I almost got killed on my way to a reggae boat cruise birthday bash. Note to self: The birthday girl should NEVER be the one in the driver’s seat.<br /><br />A crazy-Asian-stressed-out-female-driver behind the wheel is a big fat NO NO!<br /><br />Minh-Ha, I understand that you needed to get on that boat, but honking your way through red lights at 70 miles per hour across busy intersections is only fun when you’re extremely drunk, which we weren’t yet. If the Long Beach fire department had been looking for a new recruit to drive their truck though, I’m sure you would have been their top choice. Calling people repetitively and screaming into your cell phone, “STALL the boat! STALL the boat!” was effective, yet life-threatening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/minha%20and%20jonathan.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/minha%20and%20jonathan.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Yes, we made it, and yes, we rocked out to reggae, and yes, I was relieved that my mom didn’t have to learn of my death by reading the headline: <span style="font-style: italic;">Four Girls Die en route to Reggae Boat Cruise</span>.<br /><br />The next morning Lissette and I crashed our first Vietnamexican wedding. Minhlan’s (Minhlan and Minh-Ha are sisters, so don’t mix up the Minh’s) best friend Kim’s wedding whom we had never met before, to be exact. Minh-Ha drove again, and we were late again. I was worried for Minh-Ha as a committee of three Vietnamese elders surrounded her after the ceremony. They were concerned that the direction of her bangs was not in accordance with the natural flow of her hair. The consensus of the elders was that if swept to the opposite side, it would be much more aesthetically pleasing for all. Shortly after, Minh-Ha said, “At my wedding, Minhlan’s sole job is to keep our parents away from me.”<br /><br />Kim is Vietnamese and her new husband German is Mexican, so of course, the reception was held at a Chinese restaurant. A rarity for sure, a fiery Mexican woman who could speak and sing in fluent Vietnamese was the highlight of the reception, which also included a blaring Mexican band and a Vietnamese dancer dressed in traditional garb.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/kim%27s%20wedding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/kim%27s%20wedding.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>As I’d heard, everyone leaves right after the cake-cutting portion of the party at Vietnamese weddings, and this reception was no exception. With the first slice of the cake, all 200 guests wiped the lobster from their chins and left immediately. Minh-Ha managed to smuggle a slice and Lissette and I figured we’d try for a whole take out box since the entire cake had been deserted (minus two slices). The restaurant staff refused our request and so we tied them all up and took the cake hostage.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/me%20in%20Beemer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/me%20in%20Beemer.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />The second weekend I drove nine hours straight, from 9:30pm to 6:30am, to get to Carlsbad, just north of San Diego. That’s including the stop at Osha for Thai take-out to eat in the car, the hour I drove in the wrong direction, and the hour it took me to get back on track. Occasionally Lissette and Minhlan would wake up and ask me if I was awake. No, I wasn’t sleepdriving, except for the last half hour.<br /><br />We finally arrived at Lynda and Alan’s new condo. (Another Vietnamese wedding in May! Couple, I am currently considering your request for me to be your wedding photographer. Just remember that I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing and that these photos need to last you a lifetime.) I got two hours of sleep before I had to wake up to spend over three hours at a spiritualist camp. I won’t reveal whose ideal that was, but I will reveal some of what I learned about my future after handing over 20 dollars for a 15-minute session: I have a great year ahead of me! I will be romantically involved with someone by Thanksgiving! I will eventually get married and have two kids! Etc. Etc. Etc! I could write a whole entry going off on this…but I’m too tired…so too bad!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/hosts%20at%20coast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/hosts%20at%20coast.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Two of my crew were not satisfied with their first readings and so they each chose a second psychic to see (which is not recommended, perhaps because all of the psychics are spread out on the same lawn and feel betrayed if you flee to another, but they knew that’s what would happen, right?).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/Minhlan-Reach%20Out.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/Minhlan-Reach%20Out.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We then crashed at Encinitas Beach where Minhlan chased after the ice cream man in the parking lot for a Rocket Pop - the most physical activity she’s done in the past six months. Alan grilled up some delicious Korean BBQ back at the condo and then we met up with Ian for a beer at a bar…and that sums up half of the weekend, I’m getting really tired now. With my last burst of energy, all I have to say is that if you are ever in Mission Bay, you have to stop at a beachfront restaurant called World Famous. The baked nut-encrusted Brie with mango chutney is one of the best things I’ve ever had, especially when taken to-go, to eat right on the beach, with good friends, with a balmy breeze.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/Sunset%20from%20patio.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/Sunset%20from%20patio.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>So San Francisco, lose the gloom or else I’m moving to SoCal!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:85%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Photo 1: View from the Reggae Boat Cruise - Fishermen in Long Beach (photo by Aubrey)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 2: Minh-Ha and Jona-fun at the birthday post-party (photo by Lissette?)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 3: Minhlan holding Kim’s wedding dress train at the house ceremony (photo by Lissette)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 4: Me in Alan’s highlighter yellow/green-colored ’79 BMW 2002 – it has a panoramic view. Love it. Want it. Now. He keeps his company car, a Chrysler Crossfire, parked on the street while his baby rests in the garage (photo by Alan)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 5: Our hosts at the coast – Lynda and Alan (photo by Aubrey)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 6: Minhlan and Lissette - Minhlan listens to Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” a little too often...reach out (photo by Aubrey)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Photo 7: Sunset from Alan and Lynda’s patio (photo by Aubrey)</span> </span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1156913098893229222006-08-29T21:42:00.000-07:002006-09-27T14:50:25.330-07:00It's in the Cards<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/rsw4wands.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 253px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/rsw4wands.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Last night Minhlan looked at me and said, “Aubrey, you’re a lucky person. You could be really happy if you wanted to be.”<br /><br />I thought I'd write that quote on a Post-It and stick it on the middle of my mirror to recall her words. The problem is, I'd forget to look at the note. It would surely stay up there for a long time, but eventually it would fall to the floor or behind the dresser and I wouldn't even realize it was gone.Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12757274.post-1155274025776513272006-08-10T22:25:00.000-07:002006-08-23T10:55:09.553-07:00Ode to My Rocking Chair<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/1600/DSCN0400.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 258px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/234/1096/320/DSCN0400.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />On the third of May in the year 2006 you came into my life and now I’ve sold you away. With one glance on Craigslist I knew I had to have you back then, all cozy looking with your microseude cushions and wooden trim.<br /><br />You started out in the corner next to the window but then came the dresser that shoved you near the faux fireplace, the space I consider front and center.<br /><br />When I sat on you, you made a squishy sound, the sound of too much lube in your joints and too much lube in your gears…why’d you have to go and turn all porno on me chair? I was looking forward to having a relaxing, not riotous affair.<br /><br />And so my bottom graced your cushions only every so often instead of every day. I began piling clothes on you and covered you to pretend that you were useful in some way. You took up too much space with your matching ottoman and all, you even nicked my mantle and bruised my thigh as I walked by.<br /><br />My roommates looked upon you with disdain, too old-looking, too countryish, too expecting motherish they'd say. I finally relented and posted you back onto Craigslist from whence you came. Tons of people replied and they all wanted you for their own. I ended up selling you to the first person that responded and even drove you to your new home.<br /><br />Upon my return I saw the empty space you left and began missing you so soon. I recalled when I used to say to visitors to my room, “Don’t knock it ‘til you rock it” and when they sat on you they’d exclaim “I like it!”<br /><br />We had a rollercoaster of a relationship, riding high one moment and the next a downward dip. No longer a fixture in my sunny room, I’ll have to replace you with another chair soon.<br /><br />And so the wife of the man who owns you now is about to give birth to her first child. I wish you luck at your new abode, may your days be peaceful and mild, resting in a room filled with blues and greens, where you’ll rock all night to lullabies and sweet baby dreams.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />P.S. You can find my Ode to the Fruit Man of Miami by scrolling to the bottom of this page: <a href="http://aubreyandel.blogspot.com/2005_11_01_aubreyandel_archive.html" target="_blank">Click This!</a></span>Aubrey Andelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07680366791389677669noreply@blogger.com3