I was once a long time ago…Japanese

September 17, 2011: Boredom always has a way to set in. As you can see by this photo…a camera is a great way for me to combat boredom, keeping myself occupied.

This week I left Montevideo and headed to Piriapolis, setting up a new base camp, at a beach town that I am told poor families go to for the weekends. I hope that this town of 8089 people keeps specializing in entertaining poor people and frugal backpackers because to me, it is much nicer here than some of the higher class beach towns. The sand seems to look the same and even tastes the same…the water is the same…the houses that sit in back of you are not as expensive nor do they frequently reach 20+ stories…but the restaurants are more “real” and the people seem to be a lot more pleasant.

My favorite camera of the three in which I am traveling with, was sent back to Canon in the United States almost one month ago for repairs. I will be getting it back in 3 to 5 business days according to the United States Post Office, giving me more options on the photos I am able to take and where I will go next to take these photos. You would never think that traveling with 3 cameras would not be enough. But, the past 2.5 or so years, I had 4 critical repairs made for all 3 cameras…all failing me at least once.

If I just had one more SLR camera to add to my collection of cameras…it would be perfect but a lot more worrisome as the net value of my backpacks would significantly increase. This increase would fuel a little more stress when I leaving my valuables in a room with anywhere between 1 to 11 other backpackers. There could also be additional unnecessary thoughts when moving from place to place, especially now, since next to my hostel there is group of six 15 year olds that seem to enjoy robbing backpackers every couple of days.

Traveling would be much more convenient if I was back to one camera…but then, taking photos is one of my favorite things to do with my time. Perhaps one day I will do something with the over 65,000 photos (more or less) I have taken on this trip.

Yes, I believe that I was a long time ago, in my past life…Japanese.

Mullet Men and donuts

September 17, 2011: If I could only get enough courage to grow a stylish mullet…I would seamlessly blend into this cracker dominant westernized city. Though the color of my skin camouflages me, it is what I do and the noises that exit my mouth that makes me stand out.

The weather has been warming up enough here so that I can finally enjoy the beaches while only supporting a polyester t-shirt and a 100 weight polar fleece that accompanies my thick 300 weight mountaineering fleece.

I seem to have indivertibly become a sand collector while people/dog watching. Sand has an amazing method to make its way back to my hostel or friends house by any means possible. From hiding in my shoes, head stubble to jumping in any and all cracks and holes – it makes it almost impossible to fulfill the tree huggers’ motto “Take only photographs, leave only footprints.” Can the Sierra Club or some other grass roots organization make a clause, stating that taking sand from a public beach is permissible if not purposely done?

A few week ago, in a miniature cement parking lot between the strip of high-rise apartments and sand, I observed a reenactment of the film Mad Max starring the Uruguayan mullets with their taped/glued up motorbikes and black matte cars. One man was showing his inability to not be able do a complete donut in the parking lot as individuals volunteered their friends, loved ones, parents and children to become buffers to prevent any cars from being scratched if it happens to plow into another.

Perhaps the mullet man in the car should consider selling some of that hair from the back of his mullet to some organization that makes wigs for cancer patients or cross dressers so he could put some needed money into the performance of his engine so he can get all the way around, completing the donut. An exhaust system wouldn’t be a bad idea either, to lower the output of decibels so that he doesn’t overpower the sound of men who play dress up on their Harley Davidson’s or kids on their obnoxiously loud mopeds.

Please note: Mad Max car photo pulled from cartown.com

Am I an addict or just a casual user?

September 14, 2011: Being here in Uruguay for way way too long…I somehow lost an addiction and found another. What addiction did I so happen to conquer? I kick my pop addiction…soda pop to some, gaseosa to those who don’t know how to speak English or who never tried. I am so over the carbonated beverages but now, I am loving the herb. The great thing about this herb is that it doesn’t require me to get a bogus doctor's note stating that I have cancer, MS or a bad case of PMS. I don’t even have to visit Coolio or any street corner Bob Marley look alike nor support a tie-dye shirt with the herb pasted proudly to the front.

So what is the herb? Mate. Mate…spelt, M-A-T-E. The following is pulled straight from Wikipedia taking out a little and adding a little of my own wording: “The infusion called mate is prepared by steeping dry leaves (and twigs) of the mate plant in hot water. Drinking mate with friends or random strangers off the street with facial herpes from a shared hollow gourd (also called a guampa or mate in Spanish) with a metal shiny straw (a bombilla in Spanish) is a common social practice in Argentina, Uruguay and other places you won’t remember. It is done among people of all ages, sexes and social classes including the mangy backpackers that might be passing through. ”

Wikipedia also kind of - sort of states, “The flavor of brewed mate is strongly vegetal, herbal, and grassy, reminiscent of some varieties of green tea, dirt and a hint of 3 day old socks.” Okay…no more quoting or semi quoting.

I am now officially on the “Mate Bandwagon” becoming an active participant in this mate custom, consuming this green herb by the kilo from an unsanitary filthy community straw and if not more filthy gourd being used as a cup. Try to share a straw at home and that person will more than likely let you finish the beverage or replace the straw for a fresh one without a tad of guilt.

To join in on this cultural experience I had to make some adjustments to how I feel about…germs. Starting off slow, I am now at almost Olympic qualification speed and accuracy as I scan the lips of all consumers for any possible contagious illnesses or facial herpes when the mate is passed around a circle as people take hits from the chrome straw.

If I spot a potential threat on my short term or long term health…I am ready at a nanoseconds notice to release a lie with no guilt that I either don’t like mate or that I am not feeling very well, quickly following it up with a crunched “I don’t like it” face or a “turn your head to the left” cough. Even if I chose to be less…communal, it is not possible to pull out my own chrome straw or to bring my own cup and ask them to pour you some. The consumption of this leafy substance is more socially complicated...but, what is there in life that is not complicated?

I am already bald and not 40…what more can I ask for?

September 1, 2011: My 39th birthday turned out to be a success. I am already bald and I am not 40…what more can I ask for? I received enough birthday greeting to outnumber the average number of junk mail I get every day in my hotmail account and spent plenty of hours on Skype with family and friends.

It is amazing how technology can make you not feel so far away. Those computer geniuses down in Silicon Valley even help me enjoy a piece of cake in Germany that I was able to blow out over Skype…sort of blow it. With my virtual cake and the piece my friend gave me here in Montevideo, I was able to rack up an ample amount of wishes today…I just now hope that at least 1 of the 4 comes true.

I hate looking forward to being a year older but next year will be my 40th birthday. It concerns me because I hear people at this age are susceptible to having a mid-life crisis. Worse case scenario…I guess in my case, a mid-life crisis means coming home and getting a job – it doesn’t sound all that bad - laughing.

“Two and a Half Inches” starring Anthony Supertramp

August 31, 2011: Sometimes...I can’t believe what I find myself doing during my travels. The other day, my friend suggested that I go to the casting to be in an episode of the sitcom Two and a Half Men that was being filmed in Uruguay. Thinking that they must need some cheap English speaking extras, I thought…why not, it is a cheap free experience and the only time that I will waste is that of the casting company if I don’t happen to get a part…any part.

My appointment with the casting company seemed to be at an awkward time. Walking down this dark poorly lit abandon looking street at around 8:12 in the evening; I was thinking that this must be some sort of scam where I will have to pay an upfront fee to join an agency to get work as an actor. Or, even worse - or even better, depending on how you look at it and how you feel about sexual diseases...I was thinking what are the odds were that this was actually a “bait and switch” scam where I come in with the intension to be filmed in a sitcom and then find myself a few hours later starring in a skin flick called “Two and a Half Inches“ being distributed in the backrooms of the sketchy DVD shops throughout the world with a XXX label along the binding.

Pushing the button on the intercom so that I could make it up to the second floor of the building…I waited. Some noise gushed out of the device on the wall but I did not understand much as the woman spoke Spanish at crack-like speeds. Stating that I needed to speak to Natalia, I heard a buzz, granting me access inside.

Walking up the long set of stairs into an empty hallway…I stood there…not know where to go. A book sat there with some paper so I signed in and look over an agreement that was placed next to it - thankfully it was in…Spanish. The writing was not a font size of 1 or 2, did not have big complicated words, nor was it a large agreement, so I concluded that it must have been a waiver.
After reviewing this harmless paper, I was given an internal shot of anxiety. This is where I discovered that this wasn’t the casting for being an extra in a sitcom, having to say a line or two or three. There was a break in communication somewhere since this was for a commercial for Two and a Half Men in which required only one man and one woman. Now that I knew I was not going to be able to hide behind a bunch of waiters, bartenders and office temps who inspire to be actors, I was hesitant on even going into the next room.

“What am I doing?” I once again thought. I decided to quickly mentally translate my English thoughts into Spanish on how I was confused about what they were casting for so I could quickly leave and thank them for their time.

Being called into the room, there was the videographer and a super tall thin model looking actress bent over taking off her high slut shoes as she was putting on a smaller more practical version of slut shoes. Glancing over to my right I noticed the white room where the lighting and video camera was set up. Since this area did not contain a bed, I safely concluded that this was a legitimist studio.

The Spanish words that I previously thought of to quickly end my actor career before it even had a chance to begin, sat at the tip of my tongue…but never managed to fall completely out as I found myself following the directions of the videographer placing myself in the white box – internally laughing to myself, not believing that I am standing here under all of these lights doing this.

During the next 30 minutes I was suppose to act…I was suppose to act like a bad actor applying for a job to take over Charlie Sheen job on Two and a Half Men. From having to perform impromptu themes such as picking up women, telling a joke, letting out fake obnoxious laughs, doing a serious impersonation and then finishing with a silly one - pulling off my version of a chicken with style – my specialty.

Since acting like a bad actor was what they were looking for…I couldn’t have been more perfect for the part because I am not an actor. If I claimed to be one…I would unfortunately be a really really bad actor like a Steven Stiegel or Sylvester Stallone without the muscle mass. I have never performed any type of Hollywood style acting till my futile attempts today - except for the rare occasions that it is necessary for me to produce some fake external tears and to pull off those well needed occasional lies throughout my lifetime.

Not expecting to hear anything back from the studio, I was shocked that yesterday I was called and how they wanted to make sure I didn’t leave the country, needing me to stay here for the next few days. What?! Yes, I made the final casting. I must have been really good at being a bad actor…really good.

My 39th birthday was today and I seemed to spend most part of the day inside my hostel during the typical South American business hours so that I could answer any important calls. After the casting company called me to know what my cloth sizes were, I thought that just maybe…just maybe I would soon have to explain to immigration on how acting is not really “working” since I am visiting this country on a tourist visa…technically making it unable for me to legally work here in Uruguay.

As the day came to the end, I saw that my finger were still crossed, but still not so tightly crossed. I must not have been bad enough of an actor to be chosen for the part…but, I now have a better understanding of a small part that is involved in making a commercial and how individuals might be drawn to questionable day jobs with the hope to someday be on television. I was unable to take a ride today, but attempting to jump on the wagon was exciting.