A Rozy View on Life

On a more serious note

2010-09-29T23:04:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of unstable elements in life. And as humans we seek stability. We need some sort of comfort, some sort of hope, something unchanging, something or someone trustworthy.

I have often found this in friends. No matter how bad life sucks, at least I have my friends. Or so I thought. In college one of my best friends committed suicide. I could no longer look to him for consistent comfort. I had always expected him to be there for me and now he was gone.

People will let us down, sometimes by their own doing, sometimes by no fault of their own. But there is still a longing for something stable. Something consistent. Something unable to fail us.

I have come to the conclusion this could not be something human. It must be something beyond the realm of our own human existence. If perhaps there were someone or something that was here before I came into existence and will be here long after I am gone, perhaps that could be the trustworthy source of an unending hope.

I killed a cactus

2010-09-23T19:29:00.000-07:00

I bought a cactus because they are known for being low maintenance. I have never owned a plant and that seemed like a good place to start. Perhaps I should have viewed it as "no maintenance" because within the first 2 weeks it seemed to be getting too dried out. So, I watered it. And it died. You just can't win.

How you know you're in Montana

2008-09-17T20:47:00.000-07:00

When the article on the front page of the newspaper is about a school teacher who while riding his bike to work literally ran into a 300 lb bear and both went tumbling down the road. Both survived.

I may not be a genius, but I am smarter than a lot of people.

2008-08-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

I flew to Seattle a couple weeks ago. There's one thing about airlines that continues to boggle my mind. You know how there are different boarding zones to determine what order people get on the plane? This is a good idea.

First class is usually first to board. I understand this. They spent more money on their tickets and they deserve to board first so that everyone else is forced to walk by them lounging in their comfy over-sized leather seats with a cocktail in hand, everyone else jealous of their lush setting while heading back to coach. I understand this.
I also understand having handicapped people and parents with small children boarding early. They need more time.

It's the whole organizational structure of the boarding zones that I don't understand. If I were in charge, I have at least a couple ideas of how I would organize the boarding zones. Perhaps the first people to board would be those in the back of the plane. This way you never have to force your way by someone in the aisle or awkwardly squeeze into the row to let someone pass. No more waiting for that guy to try and cram his over-sized carry-on in the overhead bin. You fill up the plane from back to front. This makes sense.

Another option would be to have everyone with window seats board first. This philosophy seats passengers from the outside in, thereby removing the inconvenience of having to asking your row neighbor to get up so that you can get past them to your seat. No more of that holding your ticket in your hand and pointing to your window seat so that person knows to get up, move into the center aisle (congesting traffic) and allow you to access your seat. This strategy also seems to make sense.
What doesn't make sense is the reality of how the boarding zones actually work. The boarding zones seem nicely organized into a hierarchical structure of numbers, with passengers boarding the plane in either ascending or descending order of zone number. A problem is encountered when one gets on the plane and realizes that the boarding zones are completely irrelevant to the passengers' seat numbers. There are people everywhere on the plane, front and back, window and aisle seats, clearly no organization to how people are shuttled onto the plane. There is truly no reason for boarding zones except to give passengers the false perception of organization.
Perhaps my criticism of the boarding zones being completely irrelevant is unfair. I do allow room for the possibility that the boarding zone correspond to passenger's birthday, favorite color, favorite cereal, phone number, or any variety of personal information. I have not done enough research to verify any of these. The point being that regardless of these possibilities, the boarding zones do in no way increase the effectiveness of boarding the plane, except perhaps by the fact that there will be four short lines for boarding the plane instead of one long line. Within this optimism, there still remains the reality that it will take just as long, just as many people will have to squeeze into the row to let another pass, you still have to wait for the guy to cram his luggage in the overhead bin and you still have to point to your seat and make your row neighbor get in someone else's way by moving into the center aisle to let you by.
Thank goodness I only had to pay $400 for this kind of efficiency. I hope the plane mechanics have a little more foresight.

A Glimpse into the "Depths" of my Mind

2008-07-17T21:56:00.000-07:00

You know how people have a terminal velocity? Like when people jump out of an airplane and reach the fastest speed they can go.
I wonder if grass has a terminal height. Like the highest height it can grow to and not get any taller.
The reason I ponder this is that if grass does not have a terminal height, my imagination runs wild. ( I confess that I don't know all that much about when and how the continents got populated and when, but work with me here.)
The way I see it, when the Indians got to America the grass had been growing for quite some time. I'm not just talking days, months and years here. So basically anywhere they wanted to go, they had to trek through grass fields that were hundreds of feet tall. Perhaps thousands of feet tall.
I suppose there were grass eating animals around, but surely not enough to take care of all the grass.
You see where I'm going with this? I see either two options. Either grass has a terminal height or the Indians spent the vast majority of their time forging machetes and hacking their way through grass jungles, the like of which modern society has never seen.
Yes, this is what I think about in my free time.

I Put My Money Where My Mouth Was

2008-07-06T22:31:00.001-07:00

I'm a firm believer that our lives should not be lived within the confines of our comfort zones. It is the times that we do the things most objectionable or scary to us that we learn the most. I feel to some extent that this idea continually drives me more to do things that are not natural.
Unfortunately, this philosophy has consequences. Like when some friends invite you to go swing dancing. Those of you who know me know how brutally awful my dancing "abilities" are. Those of you who don't know me, just take my word for it.
So in line with stepping out of my comfort zone, I went for it. Try anything once, right? And of course I knew there would be some ladies there, so that helped.
So there I am awkwardly trying to figure out the basic foot moves when the teachers keep adding more complicated maneuvers in. One of them was called the tuck and roll. Luckily it didn't involved flying out of a cannon as one might expect.
So I'm starting to get the hang of it and feeling a little more confident. We switch partners frequently which prevents any one particular female with getting too frustrated with me. I go through one session in which I'm feeling pretty good, by far the best I've done all night. My partner responds, "Don't worry. You'll get it. Just keep trying."
Of course, all I can think is, "Honey, that's as good as it gets. You want more from me?"
Needless to say, I have no plans on becoming a professional dancer, of any sort.
At least from the evening I was able to take confidence in living up to my life philosophy and stepping out of my comfort zone. Not to mention being able to dance with some nice old ladies.

A Game

2008-06-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

Did you ever read that kids' magazine, Highlights? It was awesome. You remember where they had two pictures of similar situations and you had to find all the differences between them? Yeah...that was sweet.
Well, this is kinda like that, but there is only one picture and there are no differences. Sorta.
So here's a picture of me, in my room, wearing a shirt I got in Bosnia for about 10 dollars. I was pretty stoked about it. So your job is to figure out what is wrong with this picture, besides the fact that I don't really look all that happy.

Fun at the Dentist

2008-04-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

I went to the dentist recently. It had been a while since I last went. I had to get x-rays, you know, the ones where they try to bring you right to verge of gagging and inducing the vomiting reflex, and have you hold that while the machine takes the x-rays. Clearly this is not my favorite part. At least they give you a lead vest to protect you against the harmful rays. And I say "vest" because it had no arms and stopped at my belt. I can deal with nearly gagging but there is something very discomforting about having harmful x-rays directed toward me and knowing that although this is for my dental health, a possible outcome is that my future child will not have a mouth at all due to the x-rays that have interfered with natural development of the genetic elements that created him. At least the x-rays showed that all me teeth are in the right place. And by that, I mean my mouth. Of which my future son will most likely not have.
There was a new element to the dental experience. Sunglasses. Yep. The lady handed me sunglasses (you know, like the really big ones that old people wear over their regular glasses) and I wasn't really sure what to do. I mean, I had brought my own sunglasses, and frankly I thought my own were a bit more stylish. After looking at the dental assistant a bit awkwardly, I figured I'd put the shades on. Maybe it was just a psychological thing. Like if you feel hip then you won't notice the fact that your teeth are being scraped and drilled by sharp metal instruments.
Despite the less positive elements of the experience, it was not completely unredeeming. The dental assistant was pleasant, attractive, and married. You'll see where I'm going. She told me I smelled good, which was a nice compliment, albeit a bit awkward since I don't take compliments well and she was married. And she still is, I'm not suggesting she left him or anything. She asked me if I wore cologne, to which I responded negatively. I then felt obligated to explain why I smelled good since I was not wearing cologne. I was wearing aftershave. That in itself is not weird, except for the fact that it was obvious that I had not shaved for a couple days. I suppose in my awkwardness of being complimented by a married woman it seemed that if I explained that I was wearing aftershave because my face was dry (as opposed to applying it after I shaved) she would perceive that as a cover-up and trying to explain away that I wore aftershave (since I don't wear cologne) in order to attract the opposite sex via scent at the dentist's office.
Who says I don't have a healthy imagination?

Why it's a good idea to cover your mouth when you yawn

2008-04-12T13:35:00.000-07:00

So you don't look like a fool and get captured photographically.

P.S. It's amazing how contagious yawning is. I bet you can't look at this picture for a full minute without yawning. I dare you.

How you know you've been spending too much time with your tax consultant

2007-12-12T12:16:00.000-08:00

I went in to H&R Block to get my taxes done the other day. (Yeah, I know I'm 8 months late). I ended up spending too much time in that office and it appears that my tax consultant became quite comfortable with me.
After paying, she handed me my receipt and very casually said, "I can staple this into your packet or you can just put it in your purse." She didn't stutter or anything. I opted to just put it in the packet.

Suspicion Confirmed

2007-12-04T12:33:00.000-08:00

I've always known that I couldn't dance. Pretty much everyone I know is aware of this fact as well. Still, many are gracious and do not readily bring this to mention.
The other day I was hanging out with my dad and 16 month old nephew. They were listening to music and dancing. My nephew came to me, grabbed my finger and pulled me toward him (his standard communication for me to come do something with him). I stood up and started dancing with them. A mere 3 or 4 seconds later, my nephew stopped dancing, returned to my seat and patted it motioning it was time for me to sit back down. Although his verbal communication is not yet very well developed, he knows how to convey his feelings and he knows what poor dancing looks like. His tact may be lacking, but his perception is quite keen.

Mmmmmmm....meat and geography

2007-11-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

So there I sat, eating my tasty pljeskavica (very over-simply stated it is a Croatian hamburger). Upon eating approximately half of it, I paused to remove some more of the onions (you know me) that were on this tasty meat and bread product. To my surmise, upon removing the top bun I recognized something. Although I expected to see a partial meat patty on the bottom bun, I found something even more remarkable. Croatia.

Yes, that's right. Croatia. But in meat form. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my pljeskavica was a very patriotic piece of meat and had become the shape of Croatia.

Oh, what a treasure indeed. How blessed I consider myself to be a part of this modern day miracle.

If you are not amused by bathroom humor, you should probably skip this post

2007-11-12T08:21:00.000-08:00

So I went to my friend's village for a couple days and the first day we went to his uncle's vineyard to pick grapes. As we were picking grapes, we had our fair share to eat as well. They were amazing. Not only were we eating grapes off the vine, but we also indulged in fresh figs and peaches from trees he was growing. This isn't the story in itself, but just some background info. Main point: I had eaten a lot of fruit.
The next day my friend was working, so I walked around town and spent time reading. I was sitting at a cafe around 9am, and realized that in order for me to make the most of the day I needed to take care of something first. That something was a body's natural response to eating so much fruit the previous day. I walked past the waitress to the bathroom. I walked through the first room which consisted of a urinal and sink, and proceeded into the stall.
Upon covering the seat with protective strips of toilet paper, business began. I was quickly met with an uncomfortable situation. The lights went out. "Did the waitress come turn the lights out? Did the light bulb burn out? Will it just be more embarrassing if I try to yell to the waitress in broken Croatian to come turn the light on?" These were the questions running through my mind. I opted to take matters into my own hands, presuming that the less amount of attention I draw to myself the better.
In MacGyver like fashion I wield my cell phone like a flashlight and search for a light switch. No luck. Plan B. Use the cell phone light to provide enough light needed to tie up the loose ends of business. I admit this was less than ideal.
I open the stall door into the room with the sink and urinal and am met with a surprise. The lights came on. "Why?" you ask. Because some incompetent person (or one with a creative sense of humor) had installed a motion sensored light for the entire bathroom in only one part of the bathroom. The bathroom stall was completely removed from the potential of setting off the sensor, and only those using the urinal or sink received the benefit of a lighted room. Brilliant.
With the company of light I return to stall to retrieve my jacket and purse (it's ok in European culture for men to have purses). The lighting revealed that the toilet still held evidence of my visit (don't make that face, I already warned you in the title), so holding to my convictions of bathroom etiquette, I grabbed the toilet scrubber and removed the evidence of my business transaction. Another unfortunate circumstance met me.
You know how some people unscrew the lids to salt shakers in restaurants so that when people salt their food the cap will fall off and their meal will be covered in salt? Well, it's kinda like that, but instead of the salt shaker lid coming off, it was the scrubber portion of the toilet scrubber that came off and I stood there, kneeling over the bowl with the scrubber handle in hand. The scrubber sank to the bottom recesses of the bowl. I felt I already had a bonding experience with this toilet. Would this bonding increase to the point that my convictions of bathroom etiquette would force me to stick my hand in toilet to retrieve the scrubber? Heck no.
My conviction held strong, but I had watched enough MacGyver to know there had to be other options. I may be over-stepping my bounds making comparison to MacGyver, as you may now be expecting me to concoct a duct tape lasso that I used to retrieve the scrubber. That I did not do. But I did work the handle back into the scrubber while it sat at the bottom of the toilet and was able to screw the handle back into the scrubber enough to return it to its rightful home in the stand next to the toilet. Mission accomplished.
Sometimes simple things like going to the bathroom are really not all that simple.

How you know you've still got it going on.

2007-11-01T15:01:00.001-07:00

You walk into a high school classroom. You are introduced to the teacher. A girl in the classroom smiles and waves to you and says to the guest that introduced you to the teacher, "Aren't you going to introduce him to us?"

What are you looking at?!

2007-10-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

Although the cafe serves probably the worst coffee in town, I will leave it unnamed because the wait staff is very kind. Allison and I had lunch there. The waitress, most likely in her mid forties, was very kind. She was impressed by my Croatian language skills, although they are less than impressive. She was very intrigued and warm toward the friendly outsiders who had clearly taken a liking to her culture and language. Upon receiving our lunch, Allison and I bowed our heads to thank the Lord for the bountiful food in front of us. I sat, head bowed over my plate of tasty pljeskavica, in devout prayer. The kind waitress approached, asking in a surprising manner, "What are you looking at?!" I raised my head from prayer, awkwardly with obvious surprise on my face. She realized we were praying and quickly left.
Shortly after, she approached asking, "Ti molis?" (You are praying?). I answered in the affirmative and was met by a very unexpected response. She hugged me. What a kind lady.
Although the coffee is the worst I have had in Rijeka, the kind waitress who appreciates prayer surely makes up for it.

Nightmares are scarier when they are real

2007-09-19T09:50:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I woke up in the middle of the night (actually it was about 5am or so) and was faced with a very frightful situation. I woke up, opened my eyes, but couldn't see anything. I knew I wasn't dreaming and a very uncomfortable and nervous feeling overtook me. Fortunately, this feeling was soon replaced by an overwhelming feeling of stupidity when I realized I was facing a blank white wall.

A Good Idea?

2007-05-28T10:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen two things that just shouldn't be combined?

"Xtreme Hammocking" but only because it was Xtremely awkward

2007-05-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

There I was enjoying the beautiful day. Gorgeous park (the largest in Europe), sun shining, deer feeding nearby, an incredibly pleasant conversation having just ended. And to top things off, a hammock. Old Faithful, I will call her. Just me, Old Faithful, and sheer bliss. I was spending a moment or two in prayer prior to delving into a delectable read. Then I sensed an interruption.
My spideysense alerted me that a passerby was indeed passing by my haven of heavenliness. His name was Timothy, and he was a bit surprised to see a "human body" in the hammock. Not really sure what he was expecting, but it seemed this was his first encounter with a hammock. Timothy was about 65, Irish, and seemed to be a nice gentleman.
We exchanged pleasantries and Timothy stood near the hammock, gently rocking it as we spoke. We came to an awkward silence in the conversation and I half supposed he would be leaving. Instead he stayed there rocking the hammock. To make things more awkward (try to picture the physics) I am laying in the hammock, Timothy is standing next to me, rocking Old Faithful. My face is at approximately Timothy's crotch level and any discrepancy that exists is continually removed by the rocking of the hammock. Back and forth and back and forth. Yeah, awkward.
We resume the conversation slightly and then Timothy and I say our farewells. "Well, that wasn't too bad," I think to myself. Oh, optimism. The awkwardness prevails and Timothy remains. "Hadn't we just parted ways?" I ponder. To solidify my interpretation, I stare off in the distance, still at Timothy's crotch level, but looking the other way. This should help convey that my part of the conversation is over.
I forgot to mention that throughout the exchange of ideas, Timothy gradually gets moves closer and closer toward the side of the hammock that my head is somewhat awkwardly resting on. I needn't explain the consequences of this.
Awkward, uncomfortable, suspicious, and pondering the lack of efficiency in curtailing the conversation. I really can't handle any more of this ominous rocking. It's like in the Edgar Allen Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum, the pendulum getting closer and closer, building suspense until it makes contact. I wasn't prepared to stick around long enough for this to occur.
"I'm going to read now," I plainly stated. It was clear. And Timothy left.
Once I determined Timothy was beyond ear-shot, I erupted into laughter. Just me, Old Faithful, and laughter coming from the blue hammock containing a human body. I laughed for quite a while, partially from inability to deal with the awkwardness I had just experienced and partially in joyful expectation of being able to share it with you. May you find some sort of strange entertainment in the 5-10 minutes I spent in discomfort, and enjoy those briefs moments of bliss in life-you never know when they'll be interrupted by a 65 year old Irish man.

Evolution. The theory proven?

2007-05-11T11:25:00.000-07:00

When I moved to Europe I was aware that there were several significant cultural differences. A few to mention: tight pants on guys, cigarette smoking everywhere, man-purses, cafes everywhere, Euro hairstyles, the list goes on. I came into this culture open-minded and feel that I have been able to assimilate into some of these categories.
The category that initially seemed the most attractive was the freedom to experiment with Euro hairstyles. It seems that mohawks and mullets are both readily prevalent, as are rat-tails.

(Amazing, isn't it.)

It is just more acceptable here. Call it behind the times, or perhaps even ahead of the times.
Long being a fan of the mohawk, this was the perfect location to enjoy its benefits to the fullest, without fear of being judged by the older generations. A recently developed personal appreciation for the mohawk consists of its natural merging with my receding hairline.

See how well it works.

(Like a match made in heaven.
The receding hair line and the mohawk that is,
not me and the old lady.)

Carrying on. So after some time of the mohawk, I grew a desire to someday be the proud owner of a mullet-hawk. Mohawk up top, mullet in back. But trust me, it would look good. According to European opinion anyway. So in my moderate, half-hearted attempt to procure this mullet-hawk something interesting happened. I wasn't really intentionally working towards the mullet-hawk, but more so hoping that one day it would become a reality of its own doing. What struck me by surprise, was that in this European way of life, it seemed that my mohawk (in the process of growing out) had evolved. Into a full blown rat-tail.

That could be put in a rubber band. It is affectionately referred to as the "rony-tail." The proper combination of rat-tail with a pony tail.

I shall now leave you to yourself to think through this modern marvel. Enjoy.

On a taxi ride in Sarajevo

2007-04-30T11:24:00.000-07:00

The taxi driver had to readjust his rear-view mirror decorations. Why? The beer bottle kept clanking against the cross. At least there were multiple air fresheners to put between the two.

I'm a Camel-Riding Ninja

2007-04-24T12:07:00.000-07:00

If you wish to disagree, please consult the pictures below. I think you will find them quite convincing.
See how well I blend in to my surroundings.

On a bus ride in Sarajevo

2007-04-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

I saw a hotel. The name of the hotel: "BM" Hotel. Yes, the BM was in quotation marks. Why? I leave that up to your discretion or lack thereof.

What do a Brown Corduroy Skirt and Hitler have in Common?

2007-02-22T03:44:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a man wearing a skirt call you an ignorant Nazi slave? No? Well, I have. Those weren't his exact words, but that was his point.
Last night Andy and I went to "Conspiracy Night" where a university professor shows a video regarding some current controversy and then discussion follows. Our film of choice depicted George W. Bush as the Hitler of today (photoshopped pictures with W. in full Nazi gear, Hitler mustache and all), desiring to rule the world through a New World Order. Turns out this Nazi New World Order has been around for a long time with the desire of world domination. Christopher Columbus was actually part of it. America was discovered to be used as a tool to develop technology and be a temporary stage for this Nazi regime. Of course, the events of 9-11 were a predominant role in the film, and how Bush has used the threat of terrorism to control the American people. There is a secret society, although not really all that secret-the Skull and Bones, who are tied to the Nazis and whose role it is to establish world domination. Of course, George W., his father and grandfather were all part of it. As is much of the American government.
Although this sounds a bit far-fetched, I must admit the film was utterly fascinating. And a bit frightening. I might even watch it again sometime.
So once the film was over, the professor addressed Andy and I with a question resembling, "So now how do you feel after having being enlightened to the fact that your country is the new Nazi regime desiring world domination and you are its slave, being used to accomplish its purposes? It must be a lot to take on at this new realization. You have never before realized the extent and comprehensiveness of what is going on." I admit I was a bit surprised. My ignorance and gullability.
I was soon told that the Bible was written by an established corperation in Rome. And every single war that has been waged was a result of an elite group within the society that desired to control its own people by fear. But keep in mind that discussion also involved the hundreds of other conspiracy movies that contain lies and half-truths, but in response to these comparisons, it was made clear that in our incredible fortune we had the privilege of stumbling upon the movie that gives all the answers to life. Imagine-us, in an offshoot of a bar, about 15 of us, listening to a man wearing a brown corduroy skirt, finally exposed to the reality of life and why things are the way they are. Imagine my delight. I apologize for flaunting. You'll catch your break someday.
Really, the movie was quite fascinating and had many interesting points. It was made by Alex Jones, a journalist from Austin, Texas. I think it was called "Martial Law" perhaps. Beware of the reality you may find yourself in, you ignorant Nazi slave, you.

Dance Maniac

2007-02-12T14:48:00.000-08:00

For those of you who know me, you are well aware of the fact that I do not like to dance. Or more accurately; I cannot dance. Perhaps even more accurately; I cannot dance well. It has something to do with my absolute lack of rhythm. I am learning to clap and sing at the same time though, and am becoming quite average at it.
Now for the goods. So there we were in Morocco, enjoying a traditional Moroccan meal. Then comes our traditional dinner entertainment. Dancers. Scantily clad dancers. And a dancer with a tray balanced on her head that had many candles on it.Luckily she was wearing more clothes. She was, uh, more experienced in the realm of dancing. This based on her candles and less young looking appearance. I guess you have to prove yourself before they let you dance with candles on your head. I don't blame them.
So there we are watching the lady with candles on her head (perhaps this is her take on being the 'light of the world') when the first song ends. "First song" signifying yet another song to follow it. Perhaps this candle dancing woman had a special ability to perceive the flaws of her spectators and was well aware of my lack of abilities in the dancing arena. Early in her dance, she proceeds to our table, approaches my chair and begins rubbing my mohawk. A little awkward, but as you rightfully suspect, it gets worse. She then grabs my hand and pulls me out of the seat.(Note the excitement and willful accomodation expressed by my facial features. At least the guy on the left is having a good time.) I really don't have much time to deliberate "Is it better to be ridiculed for being a bad sport and not dancing with her or to be ridiculed for revealing one's horrible dance moves to their friends and a restaurant full of strangers?" Being in a good mood, I opted for the latter. There we are, in my public dancing debut.

Monkey Mania

2007-02-06T12:25:00.000-08:00

So I had 2 options for the day trip. A place inhabited with wild monkeys or another place that had blah blah blah. Clearly, the superlative choice was easy. Monkey Island. In reality, it wasn't truly an island, but it kinda looked like one. And it just sounds good.
At the intial commencement of our tour, the cabbie dropped us off out front of a cave. To my instant delight, we were met by many monkeys.
Monkeys sitting.Monkeys walking.
Monkeys on vans.
You get the idea. We stood in wonder of these delightful little creatures, watching them with the fascination of a child in a huge candy store. Don't misunderstand me; we had no plans of using the money mom gave us in order to purchase the monkeys for the sake of tasty consumption. Moving along. As we moved along we spotted a monkey in a tree, a bit more of a natural setting for the monkey (compared to the concrete street). He was also engaged in a very natural activity. Taking a tinkle.
Looks pretty comfortable, doesn't he.
It's ok. Everybody does it. Immediately after taking care of business, the monkey abruptly jumped to the rail right next to us.
This is right before he jumped
We were all a bit frightened, by the idea of being attacked by a monkey, especially a monkey who probably still had tinkle on him.
After touring through the cave, we were met by more monkeys. I hear imitation is the highest form of flattery.

This little guy was just hanging out on the fence. I'm pretty sure if his mom wouldn't have been nearby I would have kidnapped the little fella and made him my very own pet and friend. I imagine procurring a monkey at this age would make him more likely to see me as mother figure and in turn develop our bond. More on the idea of monkeys as pets later..
Continuing our journey through Monkey Island, we came upon another precious specimen.
Once again, imitation is the highest form of flattery.
Andy decided to forego the instructions directly in front of this monkey and pet him anyway.For those of you not familiar with the monkey species, a brief educational introduction:
Monkeys like to climb

and eatand give thorough back rubs and wrestle

and just sit around

and pickpocket

and try to scare you when you make faces at them.As we traversed the furthest reaches of Monkey Island, we discovered some subjects that were quite sociable with the human species.
In my endeavor to enjoy the reality of having a monkey on shoulder (as a pirate, I would much prefer a monkey to a bird), we decided to follow these seemingly people-friendly primates.
I approached one monkey, and while still about 15 feet away, he began walking toward me. Without any sort of coercion or persuasive "monkey-talk," the monkey jumped on my bag (aka man purse) and propelled himself onto my shoulders. Apparently the other monkey got a little jealous. Standing about 20 feet away, he ran to me, also scaled my body and began brawling with the first monkey. I was a bit uncertain of how to respond.
Don't worry, I didn't throw up.
This guy thought Andy was an amusement ride.
Based on the picture, I think I have to agree with him.
Although my first encounter with monkeykind caught me a bit by surprise, we rapidly grew more accustomed to each other.
This monkey was hungry.Here is an action shot of a little monkey (who seemed to be acting as if he were intoxicated-stumbling, trippining, etc.) almost falling of his seat.

Don't worry, he caught himself. He is adorable, huh.
Being an avid thumb-sucker in my childhood (and early adolescence) I felt an additional bond to this pint sized primate.
This venture solidified my fondness of monkeys and increased my desire to have one as a pet. Although some people look down on monkeys for throwing their own poo, this could be a very strategic quality to have in the midst of a burglary or visit from an unwanted friend or salesman. I would also train my pet monkey to use the toilet (to cut costs on diapers and just general mess around the housse), I would teach him Tai Chi (partially for my entertainment and partially for self defense in relation to burglars and other monkeys, dogs, and stray cats), and I would also teach him to enjoy a cup of black tea with milk, sipping gingerly with pinky extended. Oh, the possibilities of being a citizen in pet monkey ownership existence...
I leave you with a couple of my favorite shots of this magnificent expedition of Monkey Island.

Sweet Dreams

2007-01-06T10:27:00.000-08:00

The other night I was dreaming, as I often do while I am asleep. There I was, standing in my living room. The living room of the house that I spent 19 years of my life "living" in. Seems to be an accurate title for the room. When out of the blue, a little Ewok walked in to the room. We were both surprised to see each other, and he looked at me with these big round puppy eyes. I think he feared I was going to hurt him.

(The dream Ewok was a couple years older than the one pictured here)
He was just a little guy, with no more than 5 or 6 Ewok years under his belt. He was wearing camoflague, as any proud Ewok would. He was also very cute, and I felt a little bad by the fear I instilled in him. He must of been frightened, separated from his family and encountering a human in his own living room.
Although not frightened by his presence, I did become a bit concerned. "Are there more Ewoks in my house?" "How many?" "How did they get in the house?" "How long have they been living here?" "Where do they hide?" "When there is no one in the house, do they come out and have parties?" Many questions like these caused a bit of uneasiness and curiousity in my dreaming mind.

I decided to discover the answers to these questions by following the little guy. Surely he would lead me to elucidation. Unfortunately, by following him I instilled even more fear in this little Ewok. I confess feelings of guilt, but I was determined to get to the bottom of this potential Eewok colony living in my house. Although moving fast, he ran very slowly, on account of his little Ewok legs. We came to my bedroom and the small creature was nervously trying to open my blinds and the window in order to evade my capture. Again, feeling bad that he was so scared and anxious, I helped him with his escape, lifting the blinds and opening the window for him. The tiny creature didn't seem to notice that I was trying to help him and proceeded with his getaway. He climbed out of the window quite hurriedly and in a panicky manner. Not really having any of my questions answered, I stood there and watched the Ewok through the window.
What he did next caught me by surprise. Once he got outside, the little guy lit up a cigarette and stood there, looking at me and smoking.
This was the end of my dream, but in recollecting these happenings, more questions come to mind. "Was he old enough to smoke?" "Did my 'chase' force him to calm his anxious nerves by lighting up a stogie?" "Am I guilty of causing a little Ewok to experience trauma that leads to a life of cigarette addiction?" "Or perhaps the Ewok was just really jonesing for a cigarette and due to his good etiquette wanted to respect the house and its owners by not smoking indoors, and therefore was not fleeing from my pursuit, but merely trying to be a good guest in the midst of getting his fix?"

The Fight

2006-12-25T04:45:00.000-08:00

I got in a fight last week. With Santa. We duked it out over the real meaning of Christmas, and you know what, Santa fights dirty. Our squabble lasted nearly 45 minutes; I was surprised by the stamina of this jolly overweight character. I admit that Santa got the best of me for the first part of the fight but the true meaning of Christmas motivated me to put Santa in his place.

After getting out of this headlock, I determined to use any means necessary to curtail the efforts of my assailant. I was forced into stabbing him with a standard ball-point pen (ironically, one I got in my stocking last year) which in turn penetrated his jolly forcefield of strength and left him nothing more that a pile of outter garments possessing absolutely no Christmas spirit whatsoever.
May the true meaning of Christmas continue to prevail.

A Dream Come True

2006-12-18T08:37:00.000-08:00

I don't yet have a pet monkey, but today another wish of mine became a reality. Living in the cafe saturated culture of Rijeka, it has long been a desire of mine to become a regular at one of the city's fine establishments. Just like in "Cheers". I have scoped out a few potential hot spots, unfortunately one is under construction.
Prior to my language study today, I met Alexis at my #2 choice for a cappucino. Having premeditated my scheme to become a regular (and even having selected a table that I hope to eventually be reserved for me and my "company"), I once again entered the establishment. Deciding to venture away from my standard cappucino, I meandered into the cafe with the thoughts of ordering a hot chocolate (which in reality is more like a cup of warm pudding. Mmm, mm). Upon breaching the doorway, the waitor greeted me with a "Hi", not the standard Croatian greeting. A bit startled by his use of English, I smiled and nodded, uncertain of which language to resond with. His following statement was the one that clinched my happiness for the next week. "Cappucino?" he asked. Once again a bit surprised (albeit pleasantly), particularly in light of my recent decision to veer from my standard cappucino for a hot chocolate, I gladly responded in the affirmative, "Da." This wonderful man had memorized my face and my beverage of choice. Mission complete.

Why I am not God

2006-11-26T09:34:00.000-08:00

Clearly this post could be very lengthy (based on the title) butI will resort to providing merely one tangible example. I have difficulty holding one person in my hand, let alone the entire world.

If she can do it, so can I.

2006-11-16T11:56:00.000-08:00

Today I saw a nun crossing the street....while the crosswalk light was red!

The Warfront

2006-11-13T15:18:00.000-08:00

There is a battle waging between my hair and my forehead.
Unfortunately, my forehead is gaining new territory each day as my hair loses battle after battle.

Bigfoot??? (from the archives)

2006-11-06T09:49:00.000-08:00

This past weekend a group of 3 Croatians and 6 Americans were enjoying a leisurely swim in the Adriatic Sea in the mid-afternoon. All of the sudden, there appeared a figure in the distance, near where two Croatians were jumping into the water from rocks above.

Let's take a closer look.

Even closer.

Rumors have it that Bigfoot (aka Sasquatch) has been swimming these waters for centuries. In this region bears are often known for swimming from the coast to nearby islands, and it appears that Bigfoot also has a fancy for swimming.
Upon further observation by the swimmers, the supposed Bigfoot appeared to be imitating the human swimmers and climbed the rocks, jumping into the water below as they had previously done. Don't be fooled, this creature is of higher intelligence than once suspected. It appears to be a decent swimmer and possesses superior enough intellect and dexterity to put on the snorkle gear of one of the Americans. Although the American was somewhat alerted to this acquisition of supplies, the creature kindly returned the gear after having used it.
Let us not judge this being, but let us seek to live in unity with it.

Noah

2006-11-01T07:56:00.000-08:00

This is my newest nephew, Noah.

Although still a newborn, he is developmentally ahead of other children his age by leaps and bounds.
He is an accomplished yawner.

He can sleep with one eye open.

He can already sit up by himself.

He has a strong left jab.

He is capable of looking very sophisticated, even while asleep.

And he is already capable of watching tv and changing the channels (we only let him watch Animal Planet and the Cartoon Network).

Short shorts

2006-10-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

The verdict is in. Chicks dig short shorts. And not just for themselves, but for their men. My personal belief is that this man on the left was only able to woo his woman by the confidence he exerted in proudly sporting his short shorts. Clearly she was impressed, and continues to be. Short short wearing man, I salute you for having confidence that I hope I never possess.

Gotta Go

2006-10-22T14:04:00.000-07:00

On our way home from church this morning Andy and I saw something that in reality is not all that unfamiliar to Rijeka. It was a man urinating beside a dumpster. This sight in itself is not too strange, but his geographic location was what amused us. We were not intrigured by the fact that the dumpster was his location of choice, but were more intrigued by the fact that there was a public restroom 15 feet away that for some reason seemed less appealing than the dumpster.

The Zo-man

2006-10-20T16:23:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Zoran. He is part monkey. And part bat. He is amazing, isn't he?

Wowza

2006-10-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

There Andy and I were, walking down our street when our ears were met with an all too familiar sound on our local street, Fiorella la Guardia. That sound which so many times soothes us to sleep at night was none other the the screeching of car tires. This time the screeching was followed by yet another sound. No, it wasn't the sound of metal crunching metal, it was more the sound of a bag of potatoes hitting the floor from a 30 foot drop. This sound was in actuality a noise made by a woman who was crossing the crosswalk while an automobile driver had attempted to rush through the red light. Unfortunately (for the woman), he did not make it through the intersection before the female pedestrian did. Her body was met by the front of the driver's automobile, which was screeching to a halt. He was unable to stop in time, and based on my best eye-witness calculations, his car stopped about 8 feet past where she was standing.
She regained her footing and the driver quickly exited his vehicle to help her to the sidewalk. I suppose he could have helped her get to the sidewalk more quickly by not trying to run the red light and not running in to her, but you have to do what you can when you can. She was clearly shaken up, but was able to walk to the other side of the street.
I do not mean to use other's misfortunes for our amusement, but my desire is that we all may learn from this experience. What we learned in school is truly a worthy statement to remember, "Look both ways before crossing the street." Even if you see the little green guy on the light post across the street, LOOK BOTH WAYS.

Haircut

2006-10-13T00:22:00.000-07:00

So I went in to get a hair cut and upon being asked what style I wanted, I replied, "Just take a little off the top." It appears that specificity is a requirement if one truly has a particular style in mind and wishes not to deviate from it.

Walking a kilometer in someone else's shoes

2006-10-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

In my pursuit of trying to understand the minds behind those who carry man purses I have gone the extra kilometer in attempting to acheive personal understanding. Yes, I spent aproximately 10 minutes (metric minutes, not standard) on a Croatian tram in Zagreb putting myself in the place of those who carry man bags. I myself was one of these men for a mere 10 minutes.

In this short time, I desired to better understand the phenonenom and the psychology undergirding the abundance of man purses in Europe. After my 10 minute bout, I fearfully regret that this experiment yielded no repeatable results. No new insights were gained, no revelations of man pursing were discovered. I fear that all that came of this experiment was a certain amount of uncomfortableness. Discomfort on the part of my friends around me, I am rather secure in myself.
On second thought, something else did come from this time on the tram. I noticed a sign that caught my attention and consumed my thoughts.

Why on earth would Europeans allow men to carry purses, but not allow men wearing jumpsuits on the tram? I just don't understand. It doesn't seem fair.

Why I love Dollar Stores

2006-10-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

Reason #102

You can buy a bowl with a picture of Moses giving the ten commandments to David the shepherd boy. For only a dollar!

The Latest Craze

2006-10-05T15:09:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you to what will soon be the talk of esteemed art circles, wealthy collectors and average citizens. It is http://johnandandy.blogspot.com/ . JohnandAndy is an abstract exegesis of life and society. Join JohnandAndy in their adventure and allow their lives and expression to guide you in pondering the deeper things in life.

What do a Kansas farmer and a hippo have in common?

2006-09-30T16:19:00.000-07:00

While driving on a highway in Kansas I saw a sign that stated, "One Kansas farmer feeds 128 people." I was reminded of this billboard a couple weeks later while observing a hippo in its "natural" environment.

Not only were there a tremendous amount of fish feeding off of some sort of algae on its back, but I also had the opportunity to see the hippo go #2.

I hate to be incredibly childish (that's a lie), but it truly was a fascinating experience. I watched as the hippo's excrement (of a very impressive size) rolled down the "ocean floor" of its "natural" environment. Many more fish flocked to the rolling lunch, as others swam to the source to feed off the recycled nutrition. Although perhaps too vivid a picture, it is quite pertinent to the Kansan farmer statistic. The hippo is sure to feed at least 128 fish, most likely 128 fish families, if not more. Farmers from Kansas and hippos in "natural" environments, I thank you for feeding our world.

Even if it is me that you are eating.

Why it doesn't pay to be my friend

2006-09-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

Reason #17
When you take off work for a week to hang out with me in Missoula I show my gratitude by shooting off half of your tooth with an “Air-Soft” gun.

(He was a little shocked and upset)
Turns out the plastic BBs are really not that soft after all.

(This picture is just kinda creepy)

(Then Shane recognized the humor in the situation)

Shane, my friend, I humbly apologize and thank you for your forgiveness.

The airline gods must be crazy-The Final Conclusion

2006-09-20T10:39:00.001-07:00

I arrive in the Frankfurt airport circa 8:30 am. I desperately desire a secure location to nap, and I suppose that my gate would be the safest and most logical. I approach my marked gate, in order to check in prior to boarding, but am met by a security guard that would not grant my entrance to the gate. Somewhat similar to the shuttle driver. The security agent tells me to come back after 11am. My flight is scheduled to depart at 12:15pm.
I am forced to find another location to nap in-the waiting area for a different gate. This is a very similar gate to the one my plane is to leave from, except that it is not blocked to my access. Once entering a pleasant sleep, I am rudely interrupted by an airline attendant vocalizing quite passionately that all the people waiting in the waiting area must leave. I ponder why it is considered a waiting area if people are not allowed to wait in it, and if they do not want me to nap in this particular area, why do they not allow me to nap at my own gate’s waiting area? An enigma.
Upon arising in a moderately frustrated manor, I decide to use the restroom. Any rumors about German engineering being impressive are utterly false. Whoever’s idea it was to put two swinging doors (three if you include the one to the stall) in one tiny restroom should seriously be fired. There is barely enough room to open the doors and walk in, and this is ignoring the reality that there are others in the restroom, not to mention travelers with bags/backpacks. I digress.
At 11 am I decide to return to the path which leads to my gate, and am met by a line of people awaiting entrance to the terminal which holds their corresponding gates. The same security agent retains customers and denies entrance for some mysterious reason. Eventually, near 11:20 am, the agent allows access to passengers, and I expect to go through security once again. I believed this delay was due to security checks. Indeed there were no security checks, merely a vastly open and empty terminal.
I arrived at my gate to check in (my flight leaving at 12:15 pm), and found no airline employees. I decided to start a line and wait in it, to guarantee my position on the flight. After standing there for 40-45 minutes, and having one previous airline attendant walk by eating an ice cream bar saying “Wow, I can’t believe nobody is working here yet,” another airline attendant arrived to serve the line of the 50 customers that now wait behind me. This with about 10-15 minutes of expected departure. The attendant, upon looking at my tentative boarding pass, surprisingly remarked, “You have not been booked on this flight.” “I have not been booked on this flight!” I exclaimed, “You’re kidding me.” “No, you haven’t been booked, and this flight is completely full,” she stated matter-of-factly. Until this point I was able to find my circumstances somewhat humorous, but now that my flight to Croatia was now in sight, I was not amused at this being snatched from my grasp. I was utterly amazed. “How could this flight not have been booked?” I pondered to myself. At this, frustration grabbed a hold of me, and violence now became a very vivid emotion. I tried to restrain myself.
Upon a moment or two of typing, the attendant handed me a boarding pass and said, “This will work.” “I’m on the plane?” I asked, “I have a seat?” She affirmed that I did, and relief began to take over. Once again I pondered to myself why she would tell me I didn’t have a seat, then hand me a boarding pass with a seat number on it. Why question a good thing, I guess. As I stand there in line to get on the plane, my name is called on the intercom by the attendant that gave me the boarding pass. She told me to talk to the other attendant. Upon conversing with the second attendant, she stated that the flight was full and I indeed did not have a seat and should wait behind the desk. “Would you please make up your mind! Stop toying with my emotions!!” I yelled to her in my mind. After waiting for a matter of minutes, the second attendant then takes back her previous statement, and tells me that I have a seat on the plane. Suspiciously I take the boarding pass and head to the plane.
I arrive to my seat on the plane and am met by a 40ish year old woman sitting in my seat. “Grand,” I think to myself. “Maybe, just maybe, she truly is sitting in the middle seat, not my aisle seat, and is just waiting for the right passenger (me) to arrive before she returns to her proper seat.” I ask her, “Are you sitting in this aisle seat?” She replies, “Yes, this is my aisle seat.” Well, no surprise I suppose. I decide to further clarify, and continue looking at here in amazement. She reads her boarding pass, at which I direct her to her rightful seat, the aisle seat behind me. Phhheeewwww.
Our pilot later comes on the intercom stating that we will be delayed as baggage attendants remove luggage belonging to passengers that did not make it on the plane. “A good safety measure against terrorism,” I think to myself. 40 minutes later we take off.
Although my original flight to Croatia was to arrive more than 24 hours previously, I was uncertain of the location of my luggage. I supposed that it sat in the Croatia airport, eagerly awaiting my arrival. My baggage was not on the baggage claim belt, as I suspected, so I ventured to the lost/found baggage office.
My luggage had not yet arrived in Croatia, which surprised me moderately, considering that it should have originally been in Croatia more than a day ago. Upon asking, I am told that my baggage is still in Frankfurt. I fill out the appropriate forms and leave the office somewhat glad that I do not have to lug three large bags on the bus to Rijeka.
Sometime later I make the connection of the baggage attendants off-loading luggage from passengers who “did not board” and my confusion in the Frankfurt airport. I then, partially in anger and partially in amusement, think about having to wait an extra 40 minutes on the plane before takeoff in order for my bags to be unloaded. Oh, the luck.
My bus ride from Zagreb to Rijeka consisted of two Croatian men (in their fifties) talking about Americans. This conversation was partially in Croatian and partially in English. I went to sleep and woke up about an hour later to conversation about Americans. I hate to end on this moderately boring and insignificant note, but this nearly ended my travel adventure. My bags were expediently returned to me in Rijeka the following day, to which I found incredible delight.
I was now home, to my Croatian home anyway, and had clean underwear. Life doesn’t get much better than this, ladies and gentlemen. I have learned even more to enjoy the small things in life. Like airline employees’ coordination or general efficiency.
This is your disgruntled airline passenger of the month signing off.

The airline gods must be crazy...Part 2

2006-09-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

There I am at the Denver International Airport, in line for my Frankfurt flight. Then my name gets called on the loud speaker to approach the desk. “I bet they couldn’t fit me in coach and had to bump me up to first class,” I though to myself.
Turns out the flight had been double-booked and I was the passenger that was selected to receive a later flight. How thoughtful. Upon asking the customer service desk attendant about the next possible flight and hotel accommodations for the night in Denver, the response was less than ideal. No flights in the near future and no hotels to put me in. Bad combination. So she decides to send me to Washington/Dulles Airport to receive lodging and get a Frankfurt flight the following day at 6pm. Whatever.
Upon arriving in Washington D.C., the customer service desk attendant hands me a voucher for a discounted hotel stay. Notice that I did not say “Complimentary Stay,” but merely a discounted price. I suppose they thought they made up for my hassle by giving me an extra flight from Denver to Washinton. She then said that the voucher was really worthless, since all the hotels were full anyway. Upon this encouragement, she offered me a blanket to keep my warm while I slept in the airport. I hate to be selfish, but spending the night in an airport after a day of travel and preceding an even longer day of travel overseas, this solution was not acceptable in my sight. I asked for the assistance of a supervisor and received directions.
The new customer service agent/”supervisor” makes arrangements for me to stay at the Hilton (compliments of the airline) and to be picked up by the Hilton shuttle. Upon arrival of the shuttle, and after accepting three pilots and another customer, the driver denies me permission to board the craft and claims that his hotel is completely full. Not exactly the response I had desired, particularly considering that the local time was 1am. We exchanged a few words, none violent or inappropriate, and parted ways.
Another visit to yet another customer service representative ensured my reservation and called the shuttle service to demand they not deny my entry and safe passage.
Shuttle #2. Everything went smoothly.
As I entered the Hilton, I realized this might be the nicest hotel I had ever been in. The desk attendant stated that my room did not have a shower, but I was free to use the fitness room showers in the morning. “What kind of Hilton is this?!” I quietly pondered. Free is free, I suppose.
Turns out my room lacked yet another lodging accessory, a pillow. At least I had towels in the bathroom (not sure why, considering there was no bathing apparatus) to use as a pillow……I was a cub scout once.
It appeared the reason my room had no shower was that I was staying in the presidential suite. A pleasant surprise. Although I must admit I think I would have preferred a shower over huge 2 story window wall and excessive mirrors. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy looking at myself, but what I enjoy even more is looking at myself when I am clean and showered.
In the morning I traverse over to the fitness center. Not to improve my physique, but to improve personal hygiene. The stairs to the locker room shower are gated off, truly not a surprise considering my recent luck. After searching for an employee and attempting to come to some sort of solution, I am again redirected to the main desk, at which point I am issued another key to another room to make use of its shower facilities. Let me tell you, this shower was saaweet. Glass door, a built-in tile seat in the shower (for those who find showering a strenuous activity-I opted to stand, considering my recent visit to the fitness center which lacked any sort of physical activity), and two shower heads.
After improving my declining cleanliness, I put on my one day old clothes (and socks) and began yet another day (or two) of intercontinental travel.
I made use of my free food vouchers and entered the dining facility. Based on dress and overall appearance, I was the only person there in the full-time Christian ministry. Who would have thought that, in the Hilton?
So, wondering what delectable tastiness I should order in this fine establishment, I opted for that which would not contradict my current economic status. A hamburger and french fries. Don’t worry, in order to blend in to my surroundings I ate my hamburger with a fork and knife. But only half of it. I then followed my meal with a tasty cappuccino and began planning for the upcoming year in Croatia.
Washington/Dulles Airport. It would seem silly to expect smooth sailing at any point in my journey. The first question asked of me was in regard to me considering taking a different flight to Frankfurt the following day, for the sum of $600-$700. Although quite appealing, I opted to get to Europe as soon as possible, in light of my already tardy arrival. The attendant questioned my travel plans and excessive amount of boarding passes displaying different times, days, and locations. Another attendant asked for my receipt for the purchase of extra baggage, to which I could offer no such evidence. I was then forced to pay the necessary amount and eventually was let free.
My boarding pass had been stamped with multiple “SSSS”s, which I suspect stands for “Systematically Search his Suspicious Self.” I was led to an elite line of customers awaiting security check. Passengers ahead of me were individually led into a private room to receive a special security check. Needless to say, I feared the worst….the rubber glove.
Once again special providence was given, and I was led through a series of somewhat normal, yet more thorough security checks. No significant issues arose. I now wait in the Frankfurt airport, curious to the normalcy of the remainder of my trip…….

The airline gods must be crazy

2006-09-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

I show up to the airline counter to find a line of angry customers. The cause of their frustration: multiple delayed flights to and from Chicago. I joined them in their concern, as my flight to Croatia was originally intended to go from Wichita to Chicago to Frankfurt to Zagreb, Croatia. Recognizing that my initial flight was to be delayed, I employed a particular strategy that I learned while studying at Wichita State University. It is called logic. Based on my deduction, I realized that if I were to miss my first flight, I would in turn miss the rest of my flights, thereby arriving in Croatia long after my team.
I approached the counter with my 95 lb bag, 75 lb bag, and two carry-ons (standard for those overseas travelers). The airline employee at the desk concurred with my deductions and readied herself to help me in my dilemma. I asked if there was a possibility of flying out of Denver instead, and she looked into the situation. During her search, she recognized that I purchased my ticket through a travel agent, to which she stated, “Never do that again.” Upon realizing I had a paper ticket (due to the travel agent), she stated, “Never do that again.” So, we’re off to a good start.
To save time (an American value called “multi-tasking”) she asked how many bags I would be checking and how much they weighed, while she still worked on my connecting flights. She was not impressed with my answer, and consulted some international guidelines. It would cost me and additional 300 some dollars for the heavy bags. In her near-infinite kindness, she continued to look into regulations and discovered I could get by with only paying $120 if I could transfer enough of the weight over to a third bag. Lucky for me, I had packed my army duffle bag.
While transferring my skivvies from one bag to another and continually weighing the bags to achieve proper weight distribution, many frustrated customers watched as I publicly handled my base layer of clothing. At this point I am also holding up the rest of the line, but luckily did not receive any verbal abuse.
The kind employee then asked me if I had a visa to Croatia. Upon heartily laughing to myself, I stated, “No, but it is in process.” Oh, how many times have I made that statement? Way too many. She then question my period stay in Croatia to which the response was, “One year.” She replied, “Well, it says here that you cannot enter the country unless you have a visa or return ticket for within six months.” Cleary I had neither.
Once again, in her near-infinite kindness, she made another call to see what could potentially be done. While on hold she apologizes for the wait, but mentions that there could be a $20,000 fine for the airline for letting me on the plane.
I also ask her if it is a big problem that my last name is misspelled on my ticket (only one letter off). Her reply, “Yes, that’s a big problem.” “Uh-huh, I see…..” I think to myself. She says that all that will happen is that I will be double searched at all the checkpoints. “Yippee,” I sarcastically think to myself.
Eventually the conclusion comes. She says that it would suffice to give me a formal warning that I could be deported from Croatia. Like this is the first time I have heard that. I feared something worse.
She states that is one seat left on the flight to Denver, then also one seat left on the flight from Denver to Frankfurt, then proceeds to book them both for me. It seems that everything is going to work out just fine.
Then, once again in her near infinite-kindness, she says that she will not charge me for exceeding the weight limit on one of my three bags, and also will not charge me for my extra bag. What once seemed grim turned into a quite pleasant experience. Thank you, my unnamed near infinitely-kind airline employee. You have made my life much more enjoyable, and to you I salute.

The airline saga continues……..

I Got Digglered

2006-08-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

So here’s the story.
My new roommate Andy and I decided that we should partake in some men’s time while at Copper Mountain. Earlier in the day we had noticed a contraption that intrigued our inclinations toward outdoor adventures. It was a mountain scooter called a Diggler.

The fantasy realm of combining scootering with mountain-biking is no longer merely a fantasy. It is a reality, perhaps too much of a reality for some of us.

Downhill on a Diggler

There were many warning signs to the effect of “This can be really dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing,” “Danger,” “People have died here,” etc. Clearly these signs were not for me, but for the other people who didn’t know what they were doing.
After our first run down the mountain, Andy and I both felt more comfortable on Digglers. We decided to take one more run down the mountain in order to appreciate our newly developed abilities. I found that the best way to display these recently sharpened skills was on the terrain park. The terrain park consisted of one large hill/jump leading to a series of three smaller jumps. Following my initial trial of this terrain park, I decided I was ready to get enough speed off the first hill in order to catch some air off the first small jump.

I think this is a picture of same terrain park in the winter, but if not-it is very similar. The largest jump is in the back.

I went up the trail far enough to gain enough speed to get over the first hill with sufficient speed to launch me off the first small jump. As I proceeded over the first hill, I encountered a problem. Andy, my roommate, also realized there was a problem when my Diggler went over the first small jump without me. The problem was that as I went over the first and largest jump, it turned out that I had gained enough speed to catch some pretty decent air.

This is what taking a jump on a Diggler is supposed to look like. Pretty sure I didn't look like this at all.

To my surprise, I found myself flying about 10 feet in the air. As this is not a customary happening for me, I felt slightly out of my element. To add to my dilemma, at some point my Diggler and I separated paths mid flight.
As far as I can tell (based of remaining evidence), I resorted back to an infantile state of the fetal position in hopes of providing some sort of reassurance before my inevitable collision with the earth. Turns out Mother Nature doesn’t like it when you try to defy her rules.
I met the earth with a loud “BAM,” which was accompanied with a certain amount of physical pain. At this point I experienced a certain amount of psychological pain at the realization that Andy (my not so small roommate) was coming behind me on his Diggler. I knew that my physical pain would grow exponentially were he to come over the hill and land on me. I quickly stood up, ran about 4 steps, then fell back to my comforting fetal position.
Having seen my Diggler take the second jump without me, Andy quickly but cautiously came to my vicinity. He flagged down the medics, which appeared to be taking their sweet time. Directly after having my head smashed into the earth, the medics proceeded to ask me a slew of personal questions - name, address, phone number, what hurt, what happened, etc. Frankly, I just wanted a little time to enjoy my fetal curl, and try to let my brain and body figure out what just happened. No such luck.
It turns out I had been able to protect the entire left side of my body by landing on my right side. Oh, and my head and face also helped break the fall. The collision literally knocked the snot out of me, which I still find amusing. My chin was cut and bleeding and my right side received some scrapes. After receiving some antiseptic spray and a band-aid, then waiting for about 15 minutes, we were driven down the mountain (about a 20 minute ride). Throughout this time, yet again another stranger (the driver) tried to conversate with me as I battled nausea.
Skipping ahead….

At the hospital

We get to the hospital and after the mandatory paper work that asks if I want communion or have any final rights, am directed to a hospital bed. Fast-forwarding through my hospital stay, my chin wound was cleaned in order to be anesthetized for the needed stitches. The doctor inserted a large needle into my chin and slowly injected anesthetic as he moved the needle along. The needle point came to my laceration, at which point anesthetic leaked through my wound. He proceeded through my wound, injecting more anesthetic. He even went so far that the needle poked out of the other side of my face and squirted anesthetic all over the floor.

Check out the sweet blue paper shorts I scored from the hospital

The doctor finished, until Andy mentioned the other cut near my lip. The doctor recognized his mistake and remedied it by injecting more anesthetic near my lip. Did I mention that the insertion of anesthetic was the most painful part of this journey? It was. Well, besides the blister I have on my left thumb from the handlebar.
So, then I went to get an x-ray to see if I had broken any ribs. As I am walking down the hall I hear, “John! John!” Turns out it was my good friend Bryon.

He had encountered a similar accident on his road bike. His front tire blew while taking a corner and sent him flying. He encountered some nasty road rash on his shoulder and jacked up his hand pretty bad. It was ok though, he was wearing full body spandex.
So, we got to have hospital rooms right next to each other. It was a special time.

FIRE (From the Archives)

2006-08-06T12:55:00.000-07:00

It seemed to be a normal day. I was handing out English Workshop fliers with Jason and Nate (part of the summer team here in Croatia for 5 weeks) in front of the “Pomorski” faculty. At one point, the trash dumpster directly behind us began to smoke. From our deduction, we determined that a Croatian had thrown a still lit cigarette butt in the dumpster and had set some trash on fire. It was not really a “fire,” but was causing some light smoke to come from it trash receptacle.
We continued to pass out fliers as the dumpster smoked, assuming that at any moment the smoke would cease. After about 10 minutes of this, we decided that perhaps closing the dumpster lid would decrease oxygen intake to the “fire” and therefore cause the “fire” to diminish. Sounded like good logic to me.

Allow me to note that many Croatians (students and civilians) passed by, noting the smoke and carrying on with their normal routine. I felt that if anyone should attempt to remedy the situation, it should be a national. It seemed that it would be slightly odd for an American to enter the college faculty, asking in English, “Could I get a bucket of water, the trash can is smoking.”
After about another 5-10 minutes of the dumpster being closed and smoke continuing to seep out of the dumpster cracks, we decided that the contents of the dumpster may be becoming too hot and that a better plan of action would now be to open the dumpster to let it cool off. Upon opening the dumpster a literal plethora of smoke billowed from the trash can, and this process continued for much longer that we had anticipated.

After the initial billowage, which we expected to be the only release of smoke, smoke continued to pour out far beyond what our wildest imaginations could conceive.
I decided at this point, I should run up to my apartment (which was near), and get a pot of water to pour on the smoldering smoke heap. Once I got to my apartment, as I filled the pot, I looked out of my apartment to see that the billowing smoke heap had now turned into a raging inferno in the dumpster. Flames shot out of the can, two feet above its lid. My mission to put out this fire became much more important that I previously thought. I ran down the 3 flights of stairs, spilling water out of my measly pot, optimistically thinking one little pot of water would actually make a difference in this now raging dumpster blaze.
As I exited my apartment, the intersecting street was now filled with smoke, evidence that this fire was now out of control. A police car drove past the fire, all four members viewing the smoky spectacle. “Oh relief, the help I need to fight this fire,” I thought to myself. Upon this thought, the police continued to drive by, and I realized it was up to me to combat the forces of dumpster conflagration that raged nearby.
I ran to the dumpster as onlookers watched, and strategically poured my little pot of water on the fire. Surprisingly, my little pot put the flames out, at which I felt great satisfaction. “I’d better go fill up another pot just to make sure,” I thought to myself.
I again went to my apartment, and as I looked out my window, I saw that my previous dousing only temporarily provided a solution to the fire which now raged with more intensity than before. The fire had even burned a hole in the thick plastic dumpster, and flames exuded from this newly created opening. My solo effort to put out this fire not only became more important, but also more urgent. I ran down the stairs, spilling more water from my little pot than before, and exited my apartment to an even more smoke filled street than previously. I ran to the dumpster, now a blaze of glory, flames shooting out the top and from the hole.
As I approached the dumpster, I heard the sound of a siren. Yes, the firemen were now near. I stepped back to allow the professionals to do their work, at which time they dispensed a stream of water from their fire hose.

After a minute or two of trash can dousing, these firemen’s job was complete. Or so they thought.

I was the one who started this firefighting effort, and I would be the one to end it. I stood there with a still unused pot of water, as three firemen stood around the dumpster with their job complete. Nate dared me to walk up the dumpster, and nonchalantly pour the final pot of water on the dumpster, as if their efforts had been unsuccessful. Desiring to finish the job I started, I calmly walked over to the dumpster, and as I began the dumpster dousing, I ended it. Thanks for your efforts firemen, but I really had the situation under control.

Your Volunteer Fire-Fighter,

Johnny Hrvatski

The Tally

2006-07-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, that is correct, 477 ants dead. You break into my kitchen, steal my food, threaten the cleanliness of my kitchen (some may argue that this never existed in the first place) and as I initially threatened, you my little ant fiends are dead. I warned you, and I declared publicly that your existence would be cut short. I gave you multiple chances, yet you continually tried to abuse me and take advantage of me. No longer will man be ruled by ants. Man, not insect, was given authority over all living creatures and I intend to keep it that way.

Well, Thank You

2006-07-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

As usual, I walked into my kitchen. Upon looking at the stove, I recognized a larger force of ants than I have yet to encouter since war was waged.
This troop numbered over 100 and I confess my utter delight at the opportunity to slay a force of such magnitude. It almost felt like they were just giving me this victory, and who was I to deny their offer?
Current tactics remained standard issue, and flames of hairspray met the prowlers which herded around a chunk on food on the stove at the battle which I like to refer to as "Stovetop Slaughter".
Ants alive before the warfare:

Now let's zoom in a bit

Ants dead after the warfare:

Ants, I have displayed my utter seriousness toward your presence in my kitchen, it will not be tolerated. I fear you have moved me to make less personal and less entertaining means of your execution. Soon, your entire colony will reap the consequences of your intrusion. You, your children, your children's children and all that dwell in your residence should make amends with your god. You shall soon meet him.

It just aint right

2006-07-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

All me to preface this post with acknowledgement of my fondness for tea, not to mention my inclination towards sugar and sweet tea.

There I was, going to get the sugar to sweeten a tasty cup of tea, when to my amazement I saw that multiple scouts had made their way into my sugar shaker.

This is not funy. This is not kind. This is motivation for me to eradicate the entire race of ants worldwide.

For the previous day or two, I had taken a slight break from my relentless pursuit of killing every single ant that made it's way into my range of vision. Occasionally I would see an ant or two, and out of my great mercy would let them pass. These days are over. The days of Sodom and Gomorrah are now reinstated. No mercy. No survivors.

The Aftermath

2006-06-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

So, it turns out ants are not as smart as they are strong and diligent. The day following the Battle of Swiss Roll Mountain it appeared the ants had not learned their lesson. Once again, they forcefully entered their way into my kitchen in hopes of making off with my food. Not a good idea. (Although I do admit I left the Swiss Roll out in hopes of enticing more soldiers, hehe).
I confess my lack of creativity, but hold fast to my persistence and consistency. A war waged, very similar to that of Swiss Roll Mountain, but this time involving more team work and less strategy. The lighter and hairspray proved effective and I saw no reason to change the method. Luckily, Pete and Taylor were both interested in exacting revenge on the little thieves.
Although the hairspray is toxic for Taylor, this is the price she was willing to pay to join the war efforts.

Doesn't she look so lady-like as she kills the little intruders?
Pete was also interested in having his hand in the front lines. As you can see, it was not difficult to get him to join in the battle.

I actually think a new Pete was born that day. I can not be held responsible for his new desire to wage war on ants worldwide.
With all this said, 63 ants lost thier lives in The Aftermath. My little ant fiends, when will you learn that this is not a game?

A Conversation

2006-06-29T16:40:00.000-07:00

John: "So what did you do today?"
Francine: "I went on a 32 mile bike ride."
John: "That's cool. A couple days ago I jumped on one of those big trampolines for five minutes where they hook you into bungy cords so you can jump really high and do flips. My abs are still killing me."

2006-06-29T15:58:00.000-07:00

"Oh, the Carnage" has now been updated with pictures. Please do enjoy.

I hate to bite the hand that feeds me, but I'll do it anyways

2006-06-28T15:25:00.000-07:00

I now wish to express my dissatisfaction with Blogger. I have been trying to add pictures to my previous posts for quite some time now, and all efforts have been thwarted. I admit my inability to understand anything technological or computer related, but pictures on previous posts lend towards my credibility of not being the guilty party in this circumstance. I can no longer live with this frustration burning deep inside. Thank you for allowing me to vent and I appreciate your patience with lack of photographic evidence of my posts. Not that you think I would actually make any of this stuff up.

Redemption

2006-06-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight I played soccer with Croatians and Americans of my own age. No 10 year olds this time. Well, at least not until the last 30 minutes of the game, and she was on my team.
Of course the Croatians are much more skilled in the art of soccer, as it is source of national pride. The redemption comes into play by the fact that even though I was playing against people of my own age (and superior soccer skills), I was able to score two goals. Yes Mom, all that soccer playing through highschool payed off.
As is customary, the Croatians had a typical halftime and post-game break, consiting of water and cigarettes. Gotta love Croatian soccer.

Oh, the Carnage (The Battle of Swiss Roll Mountain)

2006-06-20T09:52:00.000-07:00

(Children, please don't try this at home)
I decided to take matters into my own hands and prepare an arrangement that would allow me to dispose of many ants at once. This very uncovert operation is known by the name of "The Battle of Swiss Roll Mountain."
Operation Swiss Roll is based on the saying, "All is fair in love and war." Since this is a war, I feel no guilt in using underhanded measures to rid my residence of unwanted intruders. Knowing that my ants have an affection toward chocolate chip bread, I decided to use another tasty bread product, a chocolate swiss roll, to entice the army out to fight. And by "fight," I mean to be completely slaughtered without a chance of retaliation.
I placed a piece of swiss roll on a plate and sprinkled it with sugar to get the attention of the little warriors. Pete even went to the extent of taping the plate down to the paper in order to grant them easier access to the roll (for our own purposes, of course).

the bait
I also made a little tape bridge leading up to the cake because it made it feel more like a medieval castle. I then placed pieces of chocolate on the bridge to lure them to the cake roll.

the bridge
I left the bait unattended for about 40 minutes and returned to about 40 ants carrying the booty away. I admit my amazement as I watched these tiny creatures carrying chocolate pieces five times their size. I looked upon them, impressed by their strength and teamwork. I admit it, I admired them.

strong lil' buggers
For a moment I considered relenting from my wrath. Then I thought that many must have admired certain characteristics of Hitler and his ability to command so many followers. This doesn't mean the war efforts against him should have ceased, and so I followed suit.
I left the roll unattended for about another hour, hoping that new recruits would appear and I would have the opportunity to demolish even more of the intruders. To my disappointment, the numbers remained similar. Out of optimism, I left once again for about 30 minutes.
the anticipation of battle
Upon arrival, general estimates showed about 50 ants in the vicinity of the cake, and General Hrvatski decided he could wait no longer.

the army (white paper used for contrast)
The Battle commenced, and many soldiers lost their lives. Any scouts that came to examine the battle or carry off their dead were immediately shot on sight. Pete acted as the scout and I the sniper. He would alert me to new targets, which would immediately be met with a flame of hairspray.

My little ant friends, you did not accept my previous warning. Consider this a display of my utter seriousness regarding your presence in my kitchen. You are not welcome here, and the death toll will continue to rise until you raise the white flag.

Current Death Toll: 71

2006-06-20T01:45:00.000-07:00

DIE

2006-06-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

This is not so much of a standard blog entry as it is a public declaration of war. Allow me to preface this declaration with the previous entry entitled "Me Against an Army," posted in May. Further experience also leads me to current feelings of anger and violence.
A couple days ago I purchased a tasty loaf of chocolate chip bread. I consumed part of it, closed the opening, and placed it on my kitchen table. The following morning I rose, excited about the chocolate chip bread breakfast that awaited me. To my surprise, upon opening the delectable bread product, I saw an army of ants on the table. Approximately 80 or so of the lil buggers. Fearfully I peered inside the bread package to see the bread appearing to move, the illusion caused by about another hundred ants devouring my breakfast.
Of course my reaction did not allow me time to engage in suitable revenge. In disgust, I threw the bread into the trash can and removed the remainder of soldiers from the table. I let them off pretty easy that time.
Later in the day I say five more ants on the table. They are now dead. Then I saw five more ants. They are dead as well. Any ant that I find in my kitchen or anywhere in my residence, will surely meet his fate. [As I type, I just killed yet another intruder. Current death toll is now 11]. Ants, consider yourselves warned. If I see you, you will surely perish.

Soccer Season

2006-06-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

Pete and I went to the island of Murter with Dario and his friend Marko for the weekend. Dario's grandparents live there. On Saturday evening, before watching the U.S. World Cup game, we decided to go play a friendly pick up game of soccer at the local playground.
There were a lot of kids there (around 10-13 years old or so) and we played a game of 6 on six. The four of us older guys were on a team with two youngsters, and the other team was composed solely of Croatian kids. Needless to say, the teams were not evenly matched.
After about an hour of play, I was pretty tired and the game ended. These little kids didn't take it easy on us at all. Not to say that they were double-teaming me or anything (that assumes respect for me as a soccer player), but they were tough. Yes, it's true. Those kiddies put a hurtin on us old guys. Like I said, the teams were not evenly matched.
The final score of the game was unknown (since it was a friendly match), but one thing is certain. I still did not score a goal.

Guns and Purses: Round 2

2006-06-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

So, I must admit my facination with those who carry guns and purses at the same time. Granted this particular interest leans toward male specimens, for I believe it is more common for women to carry guns than it is for men to carry purses (perhaps this is an inaccurate perception).
The following depiction occurred in Florence, Italy.

Please notice these ambassadors of the law, men and women alike, proudly sporting white purses, along with their side-arms. I have never been accused of being fashionable, but I just can't condone this sort of ensemble. I am also unable to see any practical purpose (such as intimidation factor) in the existence of these white purses. If extra storage is necessary, may I suggest more cargo pockets, more utility belt compartments, a small backback, or yay, even a fanny pack? I fear the presence of these stark white handbags counteracts any sort of intimidation that a gun may impose.
Although my previous post regarding men who carry guns and purses conveyed some sort of respect for this kind of behavior, my feelings for this particular Italian circumstance are not as favorable. I recognize these protectors of peace most likely have no say in whether they wear white purses or not, so I will try not to direct my attack on them personally. My beef lies with those who instituted mandatory white purses for all officers of the law. You, my friend are not only silly, but also unnecessarily risking the safety of your treasured citizens. Will law reign in a land where its ambassadors' appearances do not demand respect and convey authority?

Am I Any Better?

2006-05-26T11:39:00.000-07:00

[Perhaps it would be best to preface this entry with a post that was previously written, entitled "To Hammock (When a good thing goes bad)" posted in April 2006. "Am I Any Better" will make more sense in light of that entry.]

This is a view that I witnessed in the town of Dubrovnik.

If you can't quite see what we're looking at, let's take a closer look.

Still not sure? Let's just go ahead and zoom in a little further. That is correct, it is a pigeon.

This is very similar to the sight I saw from my balcony while I was hammocking ("To Hammock: When a good thing goes bad"). Except this time I was positioned above the pigeon. Previously, the pigeon had been positioned as the picture above represents, and proceeded to relieve itself on me.

This time I had the higher ground and a chance for payback. Put yourself in my shoes. My hammocking excursion had been thwarted my multiple pigeon efforts. They took advantage of their higher ground and ruined my hammocking pleasure. Now this pigeon, which (from my perspective) represented all that is pigeondom, sat there, unaware of his foe that lurked above.

I must admit my adolescent desire for revenge. Perhaps relieving myself on this little pigeon would not make a wrong right, but somewhere deep down inside would grin heartily. Somewhat shamefully (in hindsight) I pondered this divine retribution. Fortunately for the pigeon (and the pride of my family-although the pride of my family may have already diminished from the thought and admitance of my desire for vengeance) Taylor acted as my voice of reason.

As she stood there contemplating the reason for my childish laughter, she inquired to cause of my mirth. As I related my immature musings, she shamefully rebuked me in personal embarrassment. I considered her counsel and realized that this was neither the time nor the place for revenge, and perhaps not even the proper method.

In conclusion, I fear that in regard to motive and desire, I am no better than the pigeon. In regard to actual response (ignoring circumstance and presence of wise counsel) my actions could lead one to the belief that, indeed, I am better than the pigeon. You be the judge.

Smoking: not just for amateurs

2006-05-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

One thing I have noticed in Croatia is the commitment level of most smokers. Smoking is not just a hobby, but an activity that requires dedication and determination. Personally, I have not witnessed a plethora of multi-tasking in Croatia, but while on the island of Lopud I witnessed something that will not soon leave my memory. I observed perhaps the most committed smoker I have ever seen. This man, let's call him Zlatko (mainly because it's just more fun and makes it more personal), was very perseverant in his desire to smoke while working. Interesting thing though, his work consisted of pushing a wheelbarrow. Now, I would assume that a person who was smoking while pushing a wheel barrow would choose to pull the "I'll just keep the cigarette in my mouth the whole time and look like a tough guy" method. Not Zlatko. Zlatko chose the "I'll smoke my cigarette with one hand and balance the wheel barrow with one hand" method. This truly was a tremendous feat. Zlatko, you impress me with your commitment to smoking and ability to balance a wheel barrow while pushing it with only one hand.

Rodeo Clown

2006-05-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

Look with awe and amazement at the stupendous playground equipment the country of Croatia provides for their children (and foreigners).

Round 1: The Horse
[Although front-to-back stability on the horse is moderate, side-to-side stability is lacking.]

(As you probably guessed, I didn't quite make it for the full 8 seconds.)

Round 2: The Tire
[Not only is front-to-back and side-to-side stability lacking, the tire rotates, causing an even more challenging rodeo experience.]

This Tire-Bronco did buck me off a ways (pretty good distance, huh), but being the tough cowboy I am, I got up and carried on with my normal routine.
Cowboy up.

Knock Knock. Who's There?

2006-05-18T12:04:00.000-07:00

So there I was, sitting in the living room, checking my email and listening to Audioslave (they're a good rock band). When all of the sudden the doorbell rang. Now, this is in and of itself not an out of the ordinary experience, but what followed was clearly not ordinary.
I opened the door and looked out into the dark hallway to see no one. So my eyes searched the premises to find the fantom ringer. To my surprise, I found a woman (probably in her late 30's-early 40's), crouched to side of my door. Her position resembled that of a catcher in baseball. She sat with her head held in her hands, saying nothing.
"Perhaps this woman is drunk and needing somewhere to sober up," I thought to myself. "Or perhaps she is begging for money." As I stood there looking at her, I expected her to initiate conversation, since she was the one who rang my doorbell. This did not occur, so being the communication major that I am, asked her if she spoke English. (Using my skills of deduction, I reasoned that attempting to conversate in Croatian would be short-lived and inefficient). She said, "Ne.....ne...ne," which means "No.....no...no" This was followed by a few other words which were indistinguisable.
"Do you need something?" I asked. No response.
I stood there, wondering who she was and why she was at my doorstep.
Then, after a moment (perhpas longer), she stood up, turned toward me and attempted to enter my living quarters. Needless to say, this caught me by surprise. I stood my ground, as any 25 year old man would when a 40 year old woman tries to come into his apartment, and grabbed her arm saying, "Excuse me.....No." Then she grabbed me by the throat and started yelling at me. Ok, just kidding about the throat and yelling-I thought that would spice things up a little bit. (I partially attribute my willingness to stand firm to listening to rock music. Had I been listening to easy Jazz, perhaps the outcome would have been different). After stopping her and telling her no, she returned to her previous position squatting next to the door.
My adrenaline pumping (the proper response of anyone having just confronted a 40 year old woman), I stood there looking at her, trying to make sense of these circumstances. This lasted a few moments, as I pondered a proper response. "Do I prepare myself to be more forceful if she tries to come in again? Is she in need of something and should I help her? What could I do to help her? Maybe she thinks she has finally found her long-lost American son." (I quickly ruled out the last one-she didn't really seem all that happy to see me.)
"Do you need something?" I asked. "...........Can I help you with something?" Again, she sat there, head in her hands. No response. So I stood there once again, pondering my next move. "Maybe I should just shut the door and leave her on the doorstep. That's kinda weird, but I really don't know what else to do."
Soon, she stood up once again. She walked to the stairway and proceeded to walk downstairs as if nothing had happened. Her movements did not convey signs of someone who had been drinking and the purpose of her visit remains a mystery.

One down, some more to go

2006-05-12T10:47:00.000-07:00

This year in Croatia has consisted of many "firsts" for me. This year I have eaten my first salad, purchased a sweater, opened a foreign bank account, purchased scented toilet paper, eaten pasta every day for two weeks, and the list goes on.
A couple weeks ago Pete and I reached a landmark in our relationship as roommates. After only 8 months in Croatia, we finally exhausted our first box of laundry detergent. I know, it may have only said 40 loads, but some way or another, we have made it last 8 whole months. Think what you may, but I believe this can readily be explained by intentional conservation and effecient laundry usage or even by divine provision.

Jesus once made water into wine, and the Lord made a woman's supply of flour and oil not run dry in order to provide for Elijah, herself, and her son. Perhaps the laundry detergent is just one more example of the Lord's provision.

I know some of you are thinking to yourself, "John, stop trying to use the Bible to excuse your laundry habits." To you I say, "Judging others is one more activity judged as sin in the Bible." So thank you for not judging me:)

Cro Po-po

2006-05-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Well, the long awaited day finally came to pass. Merely an hour ago, as I sat praying (yes, I am that good of a Christian), my doorbell rang. It was none other than one of Rijeka's finest, a gentleman in blue. He came in, we sat down. He pulled out his stack of paperwork regarding my current visa status (or lack there of).
I, being a Communication major, thoroughly enjoy these sort of cross-cultural communication opportunities. Trying to be as polite as possible, I slid the pile of snacks, camera, cell phone, etc. across the table out of the way of this kind officer. My action (which I suppose to him appeared to be sudden and perhaps aggressive) was met with a loud and somewhat forceful, "Easy! Easy! Eeeeeaasy!" Guess he was a little spooked.
I think I may have made another mistake later on in the interview, while waiting for Pete to arrive back at the apartment. The officer and I sat there, neither one speaking the other's language incredibly well, attempting to make small talk until Pete returned. He asked if he could smoke a cigarette (Croatians love their cigarettes-this one smokes 20 a day), to which I responded, "No." [That one was for you, Taylor]. Don't worry Mom, he didn't pull his gun on me.
He asked a series of standard questions, "What is your birthday? Where were you born? What is your father's name? What degree did you graduate with? What exactly are you doing in Croatia?" and then followed with a question that I do not believe they train American cops to ask. "When you drink coffee, where do you go?" "Really? Are you serious?" I thought to myself. So I responded, and he seemed satisfied with the answer. This officer, on top of his 20 smokes a day, admitted to drinking 6-7 cups of coffee a day as well. This, my friends, is a true Croat.
Once the interview concluded, I asked him if he knew how long it would be until we would know the final decision regarding our visa status, to which he replied, "I will turn it in on Monday to the 'higher-ups', then after that two weeks. Or months." Once again, this my friends, is a true Croat.

Me Against an Army (Wildlife in the Kitchen)

2006-05-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

So there I was, in my kitchen, preparing to make a splendid cup of tea (mmmm, tea), when I noticed a bit of food on the floor, covered with ants. Perhaps "covered" is not an adequate word; "swarmed with" may be more appropriate. Recalling that this grouping of ants is properly referred to as an "army," I responded in such a way to combat the forces that invaded my kitchen and desired to leave it in an even less sanitary condition than it was already in.
I recalled an internet cartoon called Trogdor, and decided I must do what I think Trogdor would do in this situation. (Please view this link in order to accentuate your reading comprehension, and understand what was going through my mind as I battled my little enemies).
Unfortunately, as much as I desired an aerosol spray bottle to fuel the flames to burninate the army, no such bottles were found in my residency. I was forced to mehtods employed by early man, and merely used a lighter, tweeked to exude flames 5x that of the normal strength. After certain components of the apparatus began melting, I was forced to use two lighters: one as the flame-thrower, the other as an igniter. I must admit, that as I sat there for about 3 or 4 minutes combatting the forces of kitchen evil, the inner-child in me found much satisfaction in burninating this battalion that threatened my kitchen's well being.
Kids, don't try this at home.

Xtreme Hammocking

2006-05-07T06:27:00.000-07:00

Leisure sports are not just for leisure anymore. One can very readily combine the relaxation of hammocking with the thrill of any extreme sport, let's say particularly of rock climbing. I believe this picture accurately conveys this concept.

When trees are not abundant, make use of what mother nature provides. "John, is this 'Xtreme hammocking' merely because it in on rocks and not trees, as most people commonly conceive the idea of hammocking?" you might ask. To this, I respond, "I believe the inginuity of hammocking between rocks instead of trees lends toward 'Xtreme Hammocking', but the utter sharpness of the rocks secures the terminology 'Xtreme'."

These rocks were incredibly sharp, which not only makes the possibility of falling more of an immediate concern, but also increases the chances of ropes becoming frayed or cut in the course of hammocking (again, increasing the potential for falling). This unfortunate circumstance did limit my ability to rock in the hammock (not a pun), but did not decrease the overall enjoyment of the 'Xtreme Hammocking' experience. (Don't worry Mom, I put my semester of Engineering to use to ensure maximun saftey for your favorite son).

Notice the gorgeous view that this particular instance of 'XH' obtained.

If anything, I hope this increases your respect for extreme leisure sports and even motivates you to combine two pastimes you enjoy to produce a new form of enjoyable recreation.

Keep on Hammocking.

2006-05-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

Croatia: the place where it is perfectly acceptable to lounge around on the beach naked, but you get looked down upon if you are barefoot in your own apartment.

A Commitment to My Readers

2006-04-26T11:26:00.000-07:00

I commit to my readers (not necessarily in a timely fashion) to continue posting ground-breaking posts on man purses, hammocking, wildlife, and other valuable human interests. Thank you for you common intrigue in these fascinating topics.
Andy and Allison, I would like to welcome you to my world, trusting that through this blog, your understanding of life in Croatia will be greatly increased and in turn grow in you a deeper passion to partake in many of the same activities such as wildlife observation and the God-given pleasure of hammocking. Enjoy.

Got Milk?

2006-04-21T03:35:00.000-07:00

Ummmm....yes. The answer is most definitely Yes.

The Tale of Krk

2006-04-11T10:04:00.000-07:00

My friend Zoran took us on a road trip/adventure to the island of Krk. He is an excellent driver, look how close he got to this tree while parking. I would have run into it for sure.

So Zoran drove us to this cemetary and told us it was the most beautiful place in the world. "Zoran, it's a cemetary," Pete responded, "We just wanted to see the sea."

He then told us that the oldest written manuscript with the word "Croatia" on it, was housed in a church on Krk. Upon arrival, and to our dismay, we discovered the church was closed. Zoran suggested we climb the outer wall, break in, and "borrow" the stone tablet. After much persuasion, we were convinced.

Upon arriving on the other side of the wall, we were met by ferocious guard sheep. They "bbbbaaaahhh"ed at us ferociously, and charged.

This one came after Zoran, but courageously, he fought many sheep and darted to the church. Tim and Pete (having never been attacked by a herd of attack sheep before) did their best to distract the sheep while the "Zo-man" retrieved the ancient stone tablet for our touristing pleasure. I followed Zoran until I was intercepted by a stoney medieval man with a lethaly heavy book used as a blunt object for striking his assailants. Thanks to my previous training as a ninja, I subdued him after only a short while.

Zoran returned with the tablet, and we all rejoiced. The Zo-man proudly presented the goods which he had temporarily borrowed from the church.

I'm not calling him a liar or anything, but I don't see the word "Croatia" anywhere on the tablet. Oh, well. It's better than getting peed on by pigeons.
Being famished after our battle, our guide led us to what he promised as "Our very own boat, where we may be refreshed by the finest edibles Croatia offers." We entered our boat on the sea to be refreshed .

We received the necessary Croatian fuel,

but myself, still being attached to my American roots, demanded something more nourishing:

After recieiving the necessary energy from our boating feast, we continued down the coast for what seemed like at least 12 miles. Tim became exhausted, and from our best assessment, he suffered from a sever case of dehydration. He started speaking gibberish and running around all crazy-like. We tried to stop him, but he ran to a cliff and jumped off.

Although the water was only 2 feet deep (being a resilient young lad), Tim received the hydration he needed and suffered from only a minor cut on his foot.
At this point we decided we had experienced enough adventure for one day and began the journey home. The Zo-man's vehicle was cut off by yet another herd of guard sheep. These sheep appeared different that the others.

Yes, that is correct, they have targets on their wolly bums. Zoran claims they are part of an top secret missile testing agency. The targets are used to determine accuracy of cutting edge technology missiles in their abilty to hit moving targets. Zo-man even claims he saw an agent directing the course of one of these missiles via laptop under a dimly lit lamppost only miles from the siting of these sheep targets. I think he is a little paranoid.
Other current theories suggest the targets are natural birth defects or even genetictly passed down to the sheep's offspring. No one really believes these.
Still others propose that these sheep do not really exist, and are only ghosts of sheep that were once used at archery contests in previous centuries. Legend holds that these ghost sheep terrorize the kin of ancient archery champions whom used sheep boo-hinds for target practice.
The list of possible explanations continues. If you are aware of other potential theories, please share them.
At one point on the drive home, we had to make a pit stop. As we wandered through the town searching for a appropriate location to urinate, we encountered a large, accordian player, who aggressively ran toward us (recognizing our superior good looks and feeling threatened by them) and yelled at us violently. We ran though the back streets and came upon a narrow walkway that was sure to block access of our hefty attacker.

Our escape was successful, and our trip continued on. The car ride was generally safe, despite the meteorite storm we encountered. I apologize that there are no pictures, Zoran got knocked uncouscious for about 5 minutes, and I had to steer from the passenger's seat. We returned home safe and sound, delighting in the adventure that lay behind us.

To Hammock (When a good thing goes bad)

2006-04-08T04:39:00.000-07:00

Allow me to begin this post with a definition. “Hammocking” or “To Hammock” is merely the blissful experience of indulging in the specific purpose for which God created hammocks. Hammocking is truly one of my favorite pastimes which I have not delighted in for over 9 months, until today.
A week ago, my good friend Dave brought me a hammock from the states, a gesture which is certain to transform my life here in Europe. After the purchase of some rope, as well as necessary time and contemplation of proper hammock set up on my balcony, I arranged a satisfactory layout. Upon gracefully positioning myself in my new blue hammock, I cannot accurately describe the sheer delight that filled my countenance as I swayed back and forth, basking in the beauty of God’s creation, the hammock. To add to this incredible experience, I was also basking in the goodness of the sun while reading a charming book by A.W. Tozer. Ladies and gentlemen, life does not get much better than this.
But it does get worse. So, I lay there, relaxed and delighting in the glorious life of hammocking, when I felt a few sprinkles of water fall lightly upon my skin. In European balcony culture this is not out of the ordinary, as most inhabitants hang-dry clothes, which as times drip water onto the balcony below. The unfortunate circumstance here is that there is not a balcony above, just the roof. As my eyes searched to find the origin of this dripping, to my dismay all my eyes discovered was the hind end of a pigeon perched over the edge of the roof. Turns out this little guy had to take a tinkle.
Due to the sheer delight of my newly regained hammocking status, a little tinkle was not going to stop me. I continued on, reading and delighting, unaffected by this pigeon’s need to expel bodily fluids. I then became aware of the fact that in this fine city, there exists more than one pigeon needing to visit the little boys’ room. Actually, within the next 20 minutes, this circumstance occurred twice more. Still undaunted by these pigeons attempts to spoil my hammocking experience, I carried on.
In the 25 minutes that followed, this experience happened yet another time or two. My determination to continue delighting in my hammocking was not thwarted until at last I encountered a pigeon, which to my best estimation, had just visited 7 Eleven and consumed a Big Gulp. As nature demands, this Big Gulp was now reckoning its return to nature, and from this pigeon’s best estimation, I was nature. Previous sprinklings were just that, “sprinklings,” but this expulsion of fluids proved to create in me a sense of awe and fear, at which time I sprang from my hammock, and darted inside before being completely drenched in the result of 7 Eleven’s big money maker.

Is it ok to HATE?

2006-03-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

Who is your worst enemy? Is it the government, the media, the neighbor upstairs that tap dances at midnight, or perhaps Ed McMahon continually sending you letters telling you that you might already be a millionaire? Although I have issues with each of the items listed above, I cannot reserve the title of “worst enemy” for any of them.
Ali ibn-Abi-Talib once said, “He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, and he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.” I resonate with this statement. Not because I have a thousand friends, but that I meet my worst enemy everywhere. I cannot escape my enemy; everywhere I am, there he is also. He seems to stalk me, even knowing my choices in advance. Before I even decide what clothes I will wear for the day, he knows. He lurks in the darkest corners, generating his wicked energy to spite me, causing my frustration all day.
My worst enemy- he is not a person, he is not a place, he is not a corporation. He is worse. You can fight these enemies, they are tangible and have weaknesses. My worst enemy lurks everywhere and cannot be contained by an organization or a place. This enemy, the one that exists to spite me and thwart my daily efforts to live a life free from restrictions is none other than Static Cling. Yes, Static Cling is my worst enemy, the one that exists to make my life a living hell. It seems that he infects my every clothing article, hunting me down regardless of my clothing choice. I am bound by this enemy, unable to escape his unmerciful clinch. Here I must live trapped, his slave, constantly under his rule. I am man, yet ruled by static.

Wanna Play?

2006-02-18T12:57:00.000-08:00

Oh man, I hope you like games as much as I do. Here's a fun one for you. It's called, "I bet you can't guess what this is and how much it cost me." I don't know if you have ever played it before, it's kind of a new, up and coming game. All the kids are playing it.
So this is how it works: First you look at the picture, then you guess what it is, and then you guess how much it cost me. So go ahead. Perform those three easy steps, then finish reading on to see how close you were to the truth of the matter.

......The Answer is.......

So if you guessed this was your ordinary, every day gluestick (as I originally did), you my friend are incorrect. It is in all actuality a tube of ordinary every day chapstick, except for one characteristic. This smoothly transitions into the next question: cost. If you guessed $2, as I optimistically did, you my friend are incorrect. The actual retail cost (I can not honestly say "value") was 850 forint. This equates to $4.25.
Next time you are in the Budapest airport, either come prepared with your own chapstick or be prepared to accept the weather beaten, dry, chapped condition of your lips. If your situation was as desperate as mine, you may go ahead and fork out $4.25 for something that looks like part of a 3rd grader's craft kit and continually ponder its appearance. Don't say I didn't warn you.

We are not alone in the universe

2006-01-28T11:16:00.000-08:00

For those of you who thought only humans struggled with that pesky piece of TP sticking to the bottom of your shoe, you were wrong. Although this common European pigeon is on the move, notice that rebellious little square that remains stuck to the bottom of his foot. Yes, it’s true-this is not just a problem only dealt with by those higher on the food chain. Let us join together with our little pigeon friends to combat the forces of rebellious toilet paper squares that desire to destroy our self-esteem and thwart our plans to leave the restroom unhindered by free-moving TP radicals.

What is small, black, and used by thousands of men from all over the world?

2006-01-27T11:43:00.000-08:00

So there I was, at a very intriguing, cultural, and historical "Turkish" bath house in Budapest, Hungary. It was a magnificent structure, with a variety of hot and cold baths, used by inhabitants back in the 15th to 17th centuries. I, having forgot to bring my own bathing suit, was required to rent. Three American dollars was a small price to pay. A small price for a small suit. I had high hopes of wearing my boxers under the rented suit, in order to protect myself from the...well, there's no appropriate way of saying it...you know. Anyway, it would have looked quite silly, me wearing my blue and white plaid boxers under a small black speedo that has most surely been worn by thousands of men from all over the world. Luckily, I could enjoy my bathing experience with confidence, being that speedo wearing is quite culturally acceptable in Europe. I must say that the Americans with me were not as culturally adapted.
On a similar note, I wish to dispell a common misconception. Contrary to common belief, the loin cloth is still in use. While enjoying a variety of baths, ranging from 46 to 100 degrees Fahrenheit, as well as a wet sauna at 122 degrees, I and my company noticed a plethora of men employing the use of, yes, the loin cloth. I feel I cannot mention more of this activity without overstepping my bounds of public decency, something I must say these men had no regard for (particularly the man who wore his loin cloth backwards). I fear I have already gone too far.

Man Purses. Also for those who shoot guns.

2006-01-11T12:11:00.000-08:00

To clear up a common misconception, I have posted this picture which I believe speaks volumes. I came across this European soldier which proudly sported his very own man purse. For those of you who once thought man purses were only for the metrosexual, think again. I believe this man is proof that masculinity does not rest in one's haircut, spouse, car, or even tolerance for pain. Masculinity rests in one's confidence in oneself. Clearly, the camoflauge fatigues and man purse create no sense of cognitive dissonance in this man's mind, and for that I applaud him. Granted, I believe this sort of confidence renders me less of a man, since I personally do not believe I would be willing to test those limits. But hats off to those who continually stretch the limits and boldly go where I do not believe most men should go.

If you do not hear from me for a while, this man probably found this blog and I am currently being tortured in a European death camp for man purse haters. In that case, I would appreciate your prayers. Thank you.

New Doggy

2005-12-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

I got a dog last week. I found him in a dumpster. He was eating trash. He likes to chew on things like plastic bottles, chairs, and my leg. He is big and likes to play a lot. We get along well and play games. His favorite is when he chews on my leg and I try to get him to stop. He usually wins.
We are even starting to look like eachother. He has a bad drooling problem and I am have started the same. Some of my friends say I should go to the doctor, but it's not like this happens all day every day. I'm sure it will pass.

Looking good, if I may say so myself.

2005-12-23T10:08:00.000-08:00

Is your life really your own?

2005-12-23T09:18:00.000-08:00

Did you ever feel that your life was really not your own and that someone else was really in control? I have never felt that way, but I hear others have. They tell me that they feel some other being (whether it be God, a boss, or a significant other) has reign over them, and even twists their words to be something they in actuality are not. I can only imagine this leads to a loss of security and fear for one's identity. How aweful must that be if one is perceived to be one that one is truly not.
Therefore I am exercising my right to freedom of speech, which I believe is significantly powerful in rightfully conveying the truth of who one is in all actuality. Those of you who are feeling repressed, restrained, and inaccurately portrayed to the common people, I say to you, "Speak. Speak loud. Speak clearly. Speak truth for all the world to hear." Then and only then will the reality of your true self be exposed for all to see and respect.
On a personal note, and in response to questions that have found themselves to my ears, I must clarify some basic issues in response to my blog. "Why pink?" Well, pink is a soothing color and my goal in starting this blog is to be a source of peace and soothing to all who experience it. "Why were you scared of two Croatian women chasing you?" Simply put, there were two of them and only one of me. Lastly, "What kind of dinosaur do you roar like?" In hopes to make this blog as interactive as possible, that statement was written to allow your very own personal creativity to decide what species is most appropriate. Thank you for your involvement.

The Mugging

2005-12-15T09:59:00.000-08:00

Okay. I was walking home from a meeting when these two Croatian women step out of a bus stop. One of them was tall, one was short. They started saying something or other in Croatian and then I ran. They chased me until my Croatian friends came out and talked with them. Turns out they had a question about the bus schedule. Whew! Close one!

I changed the story to make it a little more exciting when I told my teammates.

I love blogging

2005-12-15T09:58:00.000-08:00

I am the best blogger ever, so get ready world! I am going to wow you with spectacular insights! I am the best! Bow before me blogosphere!