the hard thing about coming home is dealing with all the problems you made and then ran away from the last time you came home.

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Today I am learning Spanish from a series of tapes. Hopefully by the end of the day I will know Spanish.

The other day I went to Caroline's house and on the way there I met this homeless guy on the side of the road. I was cruising along listening to 95.7 Latino and Proud really loud with the window rolled down and I had to stop at the light. It was ridiculous to pretend I didn't see him, so I rooted around in my car to see if I had anything I could give him. I didn't really, I only had big bills, so I told him I was sorry, I didn't have anything for him. He said that me smiling at him was worth a million dollars. We chatted for a little while. He was 67 years old. He turned out to be really nice. I wondered what he was doing here on the side of the road since he was obviously rather nice and intelligent. The light turned green and I never saw him again.


I've been learning a lot about Che Guevara lately, I saw The Motorcycle Diaries and decided that I really didn't know a lot about this controversial figure and I ought to look into it deeper. Especially when some of the lines about how traveling changes you seemed to resonate so forcefully in light of my own recent travels. My mother brought home "El Che" which is an amazing documentary about Che's life told through video and pictures and the words of those who knew him. He is intriguing partly because he is so damn good looking and at the same time so amazingly committed to his ideals. Totalitarian, socialist, violent, brutal, I admire him because he held himself to all the same standards as he held others. There was no hypocrisy there. I don't agree with him, I would never join his rebellion, but I think if anyone could convince me to join it, it would be him.

It's the indescribable allure of somebody who has principles and follows them no matter what, usually getting absolutely nothing done for their cause because they are so unwilling to compromise and eventually dying a "martyr's death".

Then again there is somebody like Gandhi. Now there's a man whose principles were based on compromise. He was so unwilling to compromise on his wish to compromise that he ended up being killed for it, too. And he was able to accomplish a lot. Che was able to accomplish a lot, too... but he had to kill a hell of a lot more people and the result has since proved to be bittersweet if not completely sour .

Anyway, Latin America is really interesting. This entry isn't really well phrased, I realize, but that's because my mind is still processing and I haven't gone through the phrasing phase. Phrasing phase. Phrase phase heap ape pa a. I've become a lot more random lately. I attribute it to the fact that I can type faster.

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Dakar looked around a little cautiously. He was still hiding out in the middle of the forest, waiting for Jasper to return. He coiled up at the edge of the pond and slithered his long forked tongue into the water. He wanted to see if he could just keep it there and not let it dart in and out like a lizard. It was an old exercise from his days in training, meant to widen the gap that made lizards lizards and dragons their lords. He brought whatever small amount of water his tongue had collected slowly and measuredly back into his mouth. Dragons seldom drank water. Everyone always said that it surpressed the Fire. Dakar didn't have the fire. Neither did they. What were they so worried about? The water was delicious and cold. He let some of it seep between his teeth and down his throat. He didn't think of anything, his mind was preoccupied with the smell of the forest and the delicious dribble of the water down his chin. He wondered what it would be like to go for a swim. Jasper loved swimming. He always giggled and splashed and acted like a complete fool whenever he was covered in water. The water loved Jasper. It invigorated him. Dakar wondered if it could do the same for him. The pond wasn't very deep. So what if dragons couldn't swim, he could simply wade in the bright clear water and watch the colorful fish dart about his body. He gazed longingly into the pond.

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He had been lying in the shadow of the cavern all day, watching Chalco and his friends as they flew in and out over the water. They were playing a game centered around an old cormorant, but the bird was sluggish and their repeated passes had made it frightened and confused- it flew in erratic circles and its feathers were coming out in crazy bursts. Dakar's large eyes, like deep black mirrors, followed the unfortunate bird. His head lay cradled between his forearms and his ears were fanned just enough to catch hints of the brilliant blue sea crashing on the cliff-side so many hundreds of feet below. His stomach was sick with pity. Chalco had been sitting on a precipice at the edge of the cavern for some time, his forearms crossed in contemplation, the sunlight glittering off of his brilliant purple-gold scales, casting a thousand dancing lights backwards into the cave. The sunlight suited Chalco perfectly. He looked like the sparkling idols of old that decorated the ancient temples in the city-center. Dakar preferred the darkness. It protected him, it wrapped its cool, stretchy arms around him and made everyone else let him alone.
"Oh, leave that tired old bird already" called Chalco lazily from his perch. His eyes sparkled. "It's time for Dakar's training."
Dakar's head snapped up and a cold chill ran through his body. The circling dragons murmured with excitement and came to roost on the cave's edge. The lone cormorant fluttered vainly towards the cliff's summit, dropped ten feet, paused, and then plummeted haphazardly the thousand feet into the sea. Chalco easily leaped the twenty feet from the precipice to the cavern. He surveyed his friends' faces.
"So far we have been testing Dakar's courage and fortitude, trying to turn him from a weak little iguana into one of us. We have trained him to endure great pain without so much as a grimace. Now is the time for his final test.”
The final test. Its formal name was the Snake’s Terror, but Chalco probably invented the name that very day, standing there in the bright sunlight, the sweet-smelling sea breeze buffeting his smiling whiskers, commanding the rapt attention of his friends with a slow soft stream of suggestions.
Within a few minutes Dakar had been prepared. His wings were lashed to his body with a series of carefully tied knots. His arms and legs were tied to each other. Without his limbs, he had the same abilities of a snake, the others agreed. He had use of neck and tail, but they muzzled his snout so he could not speak or cry out for help. They meant to push him off the Cormorant’s Wharf, whose tiered peak was just high enough to break his legs if he tried to land on them while they were tied. If he panicked, they would let him fall. If he showed good resolve, they would save him. Things did not go as planned. Before they started down, there was an argument; Dakar could never remember how it started. Arseno, a pugnacious black angular dragon wanted to cast the little green dragon from the mouth of the cavern. The Cormorant’s Wharf was hardly sufficient for a final test, some of the others agreed. Chalco became very angry. Dakar could not speak. One eye was pressed into the sandy rock and the other saw only shadows and sky. The cliff edge came closer. There was a scuffle. He felt a hard shove and then there was only empty space. The air rushed past him. He was falling, still falling. His wings tried to open on instinct but their bonds held fast. Panic seized his stomach. Around him there was still only empty space.
The fall to the water should have killed him. Instead he crashed into the top of the Cormorant’s Wharf, the top of his intended platform dive. The wood splintered. The highest platform gave way. He struck the next, and the next, and the rotting wood came with him with deafening crunches. At last he bounced free of the scaffolding, free-falling the remaining distance straight into the sea. It hit him like a rock wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. As soon as the water managed to get out of the way, it came coursing back. He could not move his arms. The ropes cut into his wings. His breathing was quick and short. He could not breathe. The water was rising. The salt burned his eyes and nostrils. There was broken wood everywhere.
Suddenly there were claws on his skin. They pulled, lifted him out of the burning, sucking water and onto dry land.
Dakar could not fly again for more than six months. His father never asked what happened. He did not want to know. He never visited Dakar in the infirmary, and when Dakar was finally back on his feet, his look of utter shame at the sight of his son’s limping figure was enough to discourage the young dragon from ever approaching his father again. He never told him that it was Chalco, his most beloved son, who had orchestrated the entire fiasco. He never told him that it was Chalco who caused the bruising and the swelling that often ruined his chances on Race Day. And Dakar never knew that it was Chalco whose shove had finally pushed him over the edge that day.

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You need love.
You are a pretty normal, well-rounded person
that just craves that fairy tale love where you
will be swept off your feet and live happily
ever after. Chances are that you fantasize or
dream about it so much that you either see all
the guys/girls as unromantic or you tell
yourself that anyone could be your soulmate.
You long to have someone by your side and you
want to give back on the romance part too, not
just give.

What Do You Need in Your Life? [dark pics]
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sugarbear: You see, all the tires went out the door, where they became rubber trees. then we cut down the rubber trees and made paper out of them!

she-who-must-not-be-named: on a scale of importance from 1 to 10, that's like a .005 for me.

I like the mist. It has settled over Denver and the eastern plains, no doubt to hide us from the coming storm. The storm will not see us, think that we are not there, and then pass us right over. california was not so lucky. Oh, Denver, how I love thee. Sunday I could have just sat outside forever.

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Your Icecream Flavour is...Neopolitan!

You aren't satisfied with just one flavor. They say variety is the spice of life and this shines through in your Ice cream of choice! Just don't eat all the chocolate and leave the strawberry and vanilla behind!

What is your Icecream Flavour?

Find out at Go Quiz

The University of Blogging Presents to Zanzibar An Honorary Bachelor of Boredom Majoring in Quiz Addiction Signed Dr. GoQuiz.com ®

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Blogging Degree
From Go-Quiz.com


-Perfect- You're the perfect girlfriend. Which
means you're rare or that you cheated :P You're
the kind of chick that can hang out with your
boyfriend's friends and be silly. You don't
care about presents or about going to fancy
placed. Hell, just hang out. You're just happy
being around your boyfriend.


What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?
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innocent kiss - you're cute and sweet and like it
that way


What Sign of Affection Are You?
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Which HP Kid Are You?


Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.


Harry Potter Quiz: Which Hogwarts Professor Are You?
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