I might like you more if you were dead

(photo pulled from www.somormujo.net)

August 23, 2011: Why is it when someone is dead…you like them more? In the past two weeks I have listened to Amy Winehouse more now than the past few years. It seems to be playing everywhere in South America...from my room in my hostel to the cafes, taxis and restaurants that are not tourist based establishments.

I would expect this type of music coming from the Planet Hollywoods, Hard Rock Cafes and at good ole Ronald McDonalds, but from a man who doesn't speak a taste of English making food in the street in his steel capsule? There seems to be a pattern...somewhat the same pattern when I was in Colombia in 2009 when Michael Jackson died.

Well, as of August 20th, 2011…I came to discover that I now like Amy Winehouse. I guess I am a little late even though I had her music stored deep in the depths of my iPod since according to iTunes, December 19th, 2009. In this time frame, her voice visited me only once through my cheap black Sony ear buds - and that was just 1 of the 11 songs on her Back to Black album.

(Photo pulled from www.cerealbits.com)

People liking individuals more when they are dead does not just apply to musicians. This it goes for: artists, ex-girlfriends, actors, saints, suicide bombers, loved ones, pets and Jesus. Items such as cars, jobs, apartments, cities and cereals such as Mr. T cereal can also be safely added to this list…they also seem to be missed more deeply when they are no longer in your life or available.

So, I might like you now and others may not…but who knows, perhaps if you were dead, we would all like you just a little bit more.

I can now see why a dog and single people complement each other

August 22, 2011: Arriving in Punta del Este, an international beach resort in Uruguay’s winter, I checked into my cold moist, mold coated 6 bed dorm. While I was in the lobby, I sadly ran into one of the most unhappy looking antisocial groups of Brazilians, for the second time. I don’t quite know if they ever smiled in their entire lives by seeing how highly underdeveloped their facial muscles were…not the slightest twitch when I said hello - a grunt would have been satisfactory. At least a grunt would have explained they might have come from somewhere in the depth of the Amazon.

Even Toilet Paper Girl surprisingly sat expressionless, saying nothing. You would think that she would have felt obligated to at least respond to my hello after saving her a pile of embarrassment in the hostel in Montevideo as she was walking out of the restroom…trailing a long piece of toilet paper – just catching her as she was about to walk out the door as I ran down the hall. If she wasn’t a beautiful face painted clown I would say that she was just shy or a tongue amputee…but sadly, I think she had a healthy tongue and was leaning toward the other end of the personality spectrum.

Doing some self photos of myself in front a buried giant on the beach…I had a bit too much time on my hands and began to think a tad too much about, “Stuff”. Not even 5 or so seconds after, a golden dog on crack came springing up to me with his tall going back and forth as fast as a windshield wiper stuck on high. He became my yapping happy friend for the day as I walked along the pleasant developed beaches. This dog’s tail nor did he himself show the slightest sign of exhaustion as he fetched a large pinecone without hesitation, not knowing the feeling of boredom.

Throughout my walk, I can see how some professional baseball players only throw for a few innings. Wanting to stop…the smile on the dogs face forced me into other innings. I was contemplating about throwing with my opposite arm to pull off an impressive girly throw but decided against it - just in case someone was watching from inside one of the deserted summer homes or condos lining the beach.

When it was time to leave the trailless sand shoreline and to enter the concrete maze of guidance…I tried to ignore the dog so that he would return back to somewhere. But…he didn’t, making me nervous as the cars horns would belch when would imitate a chicken dodging traffic, to those close encounters with mean dogs and those others that just wanted to take a deep breath of his butt. Whenever I thought I lost him, I would see him running along the side of me to mark some shrubbery or post with his bottomless bladder.

I can at times enjoy the company of other people’s dogs…but, I never really wanted one for my own to follow and pick up their steaming dog piles with a plastic bag – except for in the winter, where it becomes a small temporary hand warmer. But, today I could how a steamy pile on the sidewalk or the beach might be worth it…even in the summer.