This is not a team, but a family (some say cult), that you belong to forever. ... We do not cater to superstars, but prefer the gritty determination of journeymen who bring their lunch pail to work every week, chase every ball and dig in corners like a Michael Vick pit bull. Unless there is an issue concerning the health of my players or inside info on the opposition, you probably don't need to talk to me. ...
America's youth is becoming fat, lazy and non-competitive because competition is viewed as "bad". I argue that competition is good and is important to the evolution of our species and our survival in what has become an increasingly competitive global economy and dangerous world. ...
"So I don't get to hear from my dear high school friend for years, then am excited to find her on the face book contraption, then all I get is a picture of a scary rug? What is the world coming to?
In other words, how are you doing?
... I dream of starting my own blueberry farm. I am much calmer, happier and more clear sighted than when I was in high school, but still a dreamer. Also, you probably noticed, I changed my last name for that of a high desert plant.
I hope this note finds you in good spirit. It would be great to hear some about the adult you; I miss communicating with you. Do you have a snail mail address?"
Setting the colors and patterns of my walk to work down the railroad tracks through urban San José to urbane Swedish indie, and in the process flattering Lauren's artistic genius, possibly to the point of plagiarism:
Starring: graffiti tags in Japanese, the Alaska-shaped bough, my jelly-clad foot 30 feet up on railroad tracks over the road, et al.
(The track is "Young Folks" an older one by Peter Bjorn and John, who, incidentally, have a new album out this week. And no, there is no comma, Oxford or otherwise, in that name.)
Earlier this year, I did a story on a career Tico law enforcement officer who was a student of the School of the Americas in early 1980, and is now speaking out against Costa Rica's decision to continue to send Ticos to the school's modern reincarnation, WHINSEC, to train. For the story, he let me borrow his old training manuals and study guides from his courses. Most of them were boring: lessons on field skills, leadership qualities, etc.
But the following was one of the few gems of a passage: These guidelines are given in terms of the ideal way to do something, and cannot be achieved in this way all the time. In fact, for various reasons, times in which the ideal is achieved are rare. consequently, we have to distinguish between people's ideal and actual behavior. There are many reasons for which there is "failure" in the battle to follow the code of ethics: to work at a job that has a big salary but little personal satisfaction; to say all races are equal but then not permit your children to play with a child of a different skin color; and to buy furniture for the whole house now without carefully planning monthly payments; these are only some examples of codes of ethics in conflict. There is a difference between the ideal behavior according to the code of ethics and the actual behavior that takes places. Even when the ideals of a code of ethics are achieved rarely, those in charge must try to reach for those ideals that ensure efficient leadership qualities, and lastly, the survival of their soldiers.
Estos lineamientos se indican en terminos de la forma ideal de hacer algo y como tal no se pueden lograr todo el tiempo. De hecho, por diversas razones, son raras las veces en que se lograra el ideal. En consecuencia, tenemos que distinguir entre el ideal y el comportamiento real de la personas. Hay muchas razones por las cuales se "fracasa" en la batalla por cumplir con el codigo de etica: dedicarse a un trabajo por un gran sueldo y poca satisfaccion personal; decirle a todos que las razas son iguales, pero no permitirle a sus hijos jugar con un nino de un color de piel diferente; y comprar muebles para toda la casa ahora, y sin embargo no planear cuidadosamente los pagos mensuales, son solo algunos ejemplos de codigos de etica en conflicto. Hay una diferencia entre el comportamiento ideal segun lo expresa el codigo de etica y el comportamiento real que tiene lugar. Aun cuando los ideales de un codigo de etica se logran con muy poca frecuencia, los jefes deben tratar de alcanzar aquellos ideales que aseguren un don de mando eficiente y en ultima instancia, quizas, la supervivencia de sus soldados.
Yes, racial prejudice and poorly planned furniture purchases were equivalent ethical decisions. in the '80s. Nostaligia is nice and lowers your blood pressure and all, but I am so relieved we've progressed since this.
A friend of a friend is the Mexico correspondent for a German news network, in Juárez right now on assignment and sent this little report. You will note he did not write in Spanglideutsch. The second paragraph from the end is endearing if you've ever seen or can imagine a Western European try to reconcile themselves to Latin America. (English is below.)
*
Estoy desde hace una semana en el centro de Juárez, según los medios la ciudad más sangriente, más mortal y más desesperada.
Y encuentro una ciudad en paz, o tal vez en paz premortal, pero nada. Ni balaceras ni muertos ni violencia, ni drogas ni un carro mal estacionado. A partir de las 8 pm., tampoco hay gente en las calles. Patrullan 10 000 tropas en toda la ciudad, armados hasta los dientes - y ya. Se acabó la violencia, simplemente, desde febrero, cuando el presidente mandó los soldatos.
El escandalo verdadero son los medios de comunicacion. Porque siguen sacando historias de los cuales gota el sangre. Me topo con corresponsales de Australia, de Alemania, del CNN (con guardaespaldas! los Juarenses se rien), de Brazil etc. .... y escriben historias como si fueran en una zona de guerra.
Claro estoy en el mismo dilema. Me pagaron un viaje para reportar sobre los asesinatos, las drogas, la migración, la corrupcion. Pues nada. Entonces escribiré sobre los medios de comunicacion. De como se fabrican mentiras.
Juárez era el lugar mas violento. Pero ya no lo es. Si vas al barrio de la cueva (las cuevas?) en San JOsé será más peligroso que aqui en México.
Y ademas: México es un pais hermoso, con una cultura y una variedad sorprendente. Ahora ando otro día por Juárez, la gente se comporta como una mezcla de Gringos y Méxicanos. Siempre puntuales, bastante ordenados, y al mismo tiempo sonriente, relajado y abierto.
El lunes voy de regreso a Guanajuato, donde vivo con mi familia, y el próximo festival cultural. Entonces: Me siento MUY BIEN en México y mucho más seguro que en Costa Rica. Sin embargo, el sabado en el partido de futbol apoyo a los Ticos, como no.
*
I've been here in Juárez center for a week, which is, according to the media, the bloodiest, deadliest, and most hopeless city.
I've found a city at peace, or maybe a nascent peace, but nothing. No shootouts, no deaths, no violence, no drugs, not even a badly parked car. After 8 pm, there aren't even people in the streets. Ten thousand troops patrol the whole city, armed to the teeth, and that's it. The violence simply ended in February when the president sent the soldiers.
The real scandal is the media, because they keep doing stories on anything that bleeds. I've run into correspondents from Australia, Germany, CNN (with bodyguards! the Juarenses laugh), Brazil, etc. ... and they all write stories as if they were in a war zone. Of course, I have the same problem. They paid for me to come here and report on murders, drugs, migration, corruption. But there's nothing. So, I wrote on the media and how they are fabricating lies. Juárez was the most violent place, but it's not anymore. It would be more dangerous to go to the La Cueva neighborhood in San José than here in Mexico.
What's more, Mexico is a beautiful country, with an amazing culture and variety. I'm now staying an extra day in Juárez, because the people act like a mix of gringos and Mexicans. They're always on time, very ordered, but at the same time smiling, relaxed, and open. Monday I go back to Guanajuato, where I live with my family, for the next cultural festival. All in all, I feel GREAT in Mexico and much safer than in Costa Rica. That being said, I'll be cheering for the Ticos this Saturday in the soccer game, how could I not?
... when you got to be special person for a whole week, and when, on your "Things About Me" questionnaire that hung on a posterboard along with pictures spanning all of your seven years in our classroom for that glorious week, under the item "Things I Do Best!" you listed 1. Play the piano, 2. Read, and 3. Be alone. "Holly, you can't put 'Be Alone,'" said your mother. "But, Mom," you said, "It's true!"
Like rheumatoid arthritis, depression turns your own body against itself. It chews not on your cartilage, but on your brain cells and your sense of reality. It’s as seductive as a wife-beater, shutting out other voices to turn itself into your only friend. The only one who tells the truth about the bleakness of the world. All your energy goes towards getting through whatever stands in your way – struggling, slogging, pushing, through work and small talk and getting food – whatever it is you have to get through until you can be alone again with the voice who can be trusted.
And the last thing it feels like is an illness. No, this monumental, world-swallowing suckage sits outside you: it comes from the project, the job, the love affair, the city, the family, or the decade. For me, these low cycles have always led me to abrupt life changes. It’s a kind of shock therapy: uprooting jobs, careers, relationships, and countries. Those shifts feed the craving for anonymity and reinvention, and they leave behind the shame of a condition that breeds shame.
If you asked me why I move to a different continent every year, I'd tell you it's because I couldn't stay where I was. Why couldn't I stay? I would give you a list of legitimate external motivations for each move, but reading this, I realize the whispering portents of depression were probably playing a role before I really acknowledged they were. Of course, one could also argue that those external tensions upended the internal ones. Either way.
I appreciate so much having been able to live abroad, but, too, the idea of being condemned to the life of the inveterate nomad breaks my heart. Shocks the moves indeed were, but therapy? Ha. I had more than a few people tell me the move/change/blah here would be good, while in my head, though, I'd be snarling, How on earth is this going to help? Don't you see how this only exacerbates all the feeling of precariousness and arbitrariness? No one needs you anywhere because no one anywhere needs you.
And still to see that sentence written there pains me to think of all those times I lay in my bed or sat on my floor, rocking back and forth, shaking as that damn thought terrified me, and how utterly defenseless I was to convince myself of something I knew in theory to be untrue, and yet could not eradicate from my heart or head. But mercifully it doesn't hold sway over me now, and I can correctly identify it as a lie.
Some of the details she describes above hit home, others not quite. But I posted it up there because I love how she so categorically dismisses the idea that being sad is just some thing we accept. Some people will tell you it's just a part of life, although more often I think those people just want an excuse for their own malaise, to indulge their indie street cred, or worse still, have some artistic/writing material, because if you do it prettily enough, giving up is noble, as if faint hearts ever won fair maidens or something like that. (This is why businesspeople aren't (often) artists: They're far too bold to succumb to some silly ironic conviction that success is only found in tragedy. I respect them very much for this.) And I do know being sad is an inherent part of things, but it's not one I want to resign myself to. This is not how I want to be. And it won't be.
If anything brought me out of last year, it has been finally being able to identify that infernal mantra above as a lie; I don't trust depression's intentions anymore. Not that that means it goes away, and batting down that vertiginous existential reeling still takes its daily toll, on my energies, my memory, my patience. But as long as I can dismiss the lie's insistence, which I do thanks in almost exclusive part to support from you all, it's ok.
And by 'ok,' I don't mean in the nonchalant sense, but in the sense of "not dramatic." A steady sort of ok. A state that gets challenged and threatened daily, but one that holds.
This article is everything everyone already knows about Costa Rica, and epitomizes everything I so dislike about how people approach Costa Rica, or tourism in general, like these countries just their playgrounds. "Any way you want it," indeed. Just go traipsing around, stay in hotels that sport some logo they know will appease your ecoconscience, have your tour guide (the only Tico you'll meet) explain to you in English what pura vida means over an Imperial, and then write a letter to the newspaper about how all the trash or other Issue X is such an unsightly blight on the otherwise attractive country.
What does a copy editor do all day? you ask. This:
This page reminds me of getting a Prob & Stat test back fom the Major, "This was just not your guys' test, huh? Don't get me wrong: I had a great time. My favorite color pen is red, man! I went through a whole BOX of them this time!"
I think this is my record number of proofs for one page. You can click the image to peruse all the minutiae, or don't and be glad that's exactly what you don't get paid to do. But copy editing does suit me in its own way. Granted, about 80% of these never should have even made it on the page, which is lame because it means it will take that many more revisions until the page is all good, but so it goes. So, I just put my head down, turn my music up, and keep sharpening and resharpening my pencil.
As tedious as proofing can be, I'm really glad I'm not editing the content here, because most of the letters this week are so opaquely asinine they make me want to eat tacks.
From: Frances Sent: Sunday, February 08, 2009 1:58 PM To: Tico Times Subject: KATE'S ARTICLE Kate’s article was most wonderful, cutting through all the confusion of diets. Would it be possible to know more exactly what is her daily menu in the context of cutting out carbohydrates?
Could she answer this directly, or how do you suggest I reach her?
Thank you very much.
Frances I forward this to the freelancer, Kate. (Standard procedure.) ----- Original Message ----- From: Kate To: Holly Sent: Thursday, February 26, 2009 12:34 PM Subject: Re: KATE'S ARTICLE
Dear Francis, [...] Kate I forward this to Frances.
----- Original Message -----
From: Frances To: Holly
Sent: Thursday, February 26, 2009 4:40 PM
Subject: Re: KATE'S ARTICLE
Dear Kate,
[...]
Saludos, Frances
I forward to Frances, then reply to them both.
From: Holly To: Kate; Frances Sent: Thursday, February 26, 2009 5:00:16 PM Subject: correos
I've been forwarding your emails to the other, but now you two can correspond directly with each other. Thanks! Holly
Three weeks later:
From: Kate To: Holly Sent: Wednesday, March 18, 2009 2:11 PM Subject: Re: correos
Dear Francis,
Again, I apologise for the delay. I have had a terrible flu.
As for what I eat: I began by eating only chicken, fish, eggs, textured soy meat, veggies, yogurt, almonds, and cheese I don`t like red meat). Then I found my Atkins carbohydrate counter and discovered lots more that I could eat. For example, I discovered that eggplant had very few carbs, and I started making eggplant parmesan all the time. I also discovered that fresh coconut had few carbs, so that is one of my treats. Lately, since I`ve been sick, I have been eating creamed vegetable soups. I often buy surimi (fake crab) and do a cheese melt over it. I also make a lot of quiche. Instead of Splenda for sweetener, I use stevia (They sell it in Mas por Menos, at least here in Cartago). I have read a lot of negative reports on Splenda. Basically, it really depends on the tastes of the person. The important thing is to understand which fooods are carbohydrate and to eat just as much as you want to of protein, fiber, and fat. If you make yourself go hungry, it will lower your metabolism.
I hope this helps. Let me know if you have any more questions.
Dug, you sure you don't want to get in on one of those drug tests, too? Or at least one that tests your ability to construct prose in coherent English before submitting letters to the editor. Laugh out loud.
----- Original Message -----
From: Doug
Subject: China town
The Chineez probably heard about the crime and wanted to build with an exact amount of material instead of 3 times as much due to theft...........then you have the Semana´Santa adventure coming up.Arias ought to cut a deal. Drug test the Ticos and hire ALL Ticos and if caught stealing give them 5 years GUARANTEED behind bars.They probably couldnt find enough under 50 years old and willing to take the tests and sign the agreement to fill the openings LOL.
I am a subscriber to your newspaper. I am the owner through Costa Rica-formed corporations of two small parcels of land above the La Paz Waterfall Gardens and off the highway to Cinchona. According to a map in your paper, my land was at the epicenter of the earthquake.
Is there anyone at your paper that I could call to discuss what is happening, is the main road open, etc.
... i’m sorry about my grammer and vocabulary. I’m just a retired fisherman, but i had to say somethng. this place is to cool to me to not make a comment. i doubt if if this gets printed, i suck at writting. but, by chance, could you make it look like i don’t write so badly. the spirit is there, but that’s always not enough i guess. ps. keep up up the good work you all.! We got you covered, dude. And nice job in using "badly" where 93% of people would have used "bad."
Chronology is not one of my strong suits, as I've said before. But the great thing is, it's also not always necessary.
(Read: Holly just got around to imovie/vimeo and this is the most recent footage of anything she has. They're also some cute videos. But don't expect me to go FinalCutPro on you any time soon.)
Christmas is one of the best times to be part of the extended family. There's not actually a bad time, but Christmas Day is when the awesomeness is most heavily concentrated. The routine has not changed since I was 4 and there were 15 of us. Now, the whole clan is at 32 and will be at 33 (at least) by December. The morning of, everyone gets to Gammy & Granddad's and stays corralled in the kitchen while the big people eat scones, chat, and try to keep track of the new little people who weren't around last time we were here and are now running around asking how soon until we can run into the den.
And this is a literal "run." We have taken pictures every year, probably since before I was around, of the moment when we open the door to the kitchen and let the little guys sprint from the kitchen, through the dining room, to the big, open garden room, where the presents (whose number expands geometrically with all the new gift-giving combinations the new spouses and babies each year provide) sprawl on the platform under the mammoth two-story tall Christmas tree. Of course, usually the kids have been prowling the gifts for the last few weeks each time they've come to Gammy & Granddad's and know with GPS-specificity where each of their gifts is located, so the running is to see if anybody got one of the big, day-of gifts, like the bicycle and other things like that that would otherwise require an obscene amount of giftwrap. I don't remember the first year I was holding the kids back and not one of the ones being held back because both roles are equally enjoyable.
We then proceed to the den, where we open presents one-by-one, youngest to oldest. These rules are never broken. It takes a few hours, and nobody ever gets bored, although everyone is quick to make sure you don't dally, because they have to wait for you to give your thank-you hug to your giver and then make sure they have the attention of their giver before they can tear into the gift. Inevitably, whoever is around the age of 6 or 7 (just old enough to be able to read the names, young enough to still be enthralled by the hunt) will be the go-to Present Finder for the group, too. This year, it was Andrew, who kept coming back to me, "Cousin Holly*, do you have a gift to open?" "No, bud, I'm out." "OK, stay there. I'll find one for you."
(*"Cousin" to differentiate me from Grandma Holly and their (hopefully) future Chinese sister, Holly.)
While the footage might be older, the shots of the ever-expanding dinner and side tables (and Gammy surveying it all) might be some of the last ones since this year was the first year ever we did not all eat together but split into two different groups. On the one hand, this was a sad end of an era, but on the other, it meant I FINALLY GOT TO MOVE UP TO A GROWNUPS TABLE. True, we only had one table at our house, but it still was better to at least engage in conversation with my brothers, sister, parents, aunt, uncle, and grandparents, instead of watching the former, along with their other pairs of male cousins, hurl jibes at each other. Not that that isn't entertaining. Josh also remarked how, the next day when we got together for dinner out in Colbert, we all had a perfectly pleasant evening together and no one was having a drink, which would have been more than permissible, and I think there has been a bottle of wine from year to year, but it's just not habit. Besides this, the only other really critical detail about family dinner not captured in a photo here is the massive amounts of ice cream.
Later in the video, Andrew and I also did a 10 K cross-country ski race in February together. And I was not selective with the pictures I put in this: The kid really smiled THE ENTIRE TIME, and the closest he ever got to a complaint in 90 minutes on the course was, "Wow, this course is long." He is the happiest kid I have ever known. He also was a mailbox for Halloween that year.
Last year, he, his three siblings, and I spent a lot of time together and did the following: held a scavenger hunt in the dollar store (with two friends), explored down by the creek in the snow, played soccer, read stories (in many, many versions, loud v. soft, fast v. slow, e.g.), played multiple rounds of "abandoned babies," did school lessons, cooked dinner together, etc. Betsy discovered one of the best questions to ask Cousin Holly is, "Where are these earrings from?" and, anytime I'm wearing large discs, she asks if those are the ones I found hanging on the bush. She took some of the pictures in the later series in the bathroom and of me and Andrew when we were playing outside. She was giving him directions, too, in the vein of, "OK, now be really crazy like a monkey." And while the three of us were doing this, Adam was probably off exploring, and Katie was curled up inside reading for hours on end, i.e. exactly what I was doing when I was her age.
Then, the five of us also performed the marathon photobooth session required of all new owners of any Apple laptop:
(And yes, the song is in that terrible limbo between novel and nostalgic, but the thought of queuing all these frames to some other tune is not one I can entertain.)
And last, here's a tribute to Betsy, my Pacific Northwest version of Capucine:
In the first clip, I'm pretty sure she sings about someone who is "dead because she died [from falling off the table]" at the end, and I am trying to get her to say "girl," which she pronounces "gyearl," at the end of the second clip. She and I had some good times last year. In truth, all her siblings were equally filmable in their time, but she happened to be at that precise age when I had a camera to catch it.
One of my favorite Betsy moments last year, not captured on film, she and I were snuggling when she burrowed her nose into my shoulder. She, who has just discovered superlatives, pulled her head up, looked at me, and said with a big grin, "You smell the prettiest." "Oh ... that's really sweet, Betsy, thanks. [Pause] So what do I smell like?" "Hmmm ... donuts."
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