Fish Are Friends

Alright, so the gang has been moved in and living comfortably in their new home for a while now.  I moved the two goldfish I already owned, I adopted my sister's goldfish, and I bought two new additions to the family.  Thankfully, everybody's getting along.  These are my kids:

This is Geisel.  He's named after Dr. Seuss, whose real name was Theodore Geisel.  He's a calico Ryukin.

As soon as I put everybody in the tank, Geisel swam straight into the volcano.  Before he did that, I had not even considered the possibility that any of the fish would do that.

He didn't come out for a solid ten minutes.  I figure he's either the dumbest fish in the tank, or the smartest.

This is Angelo, a Common goldfish.  I've had him for more than a year now, and compared to the bowl he was living in, he probably thinks he's in the ocean.  He also is probably very confused by the corners of the tank, since corners were never something he had to contend with before.

This is Cc.  He's the one that lived on my desk at work over the summer.

Cc and Angelo, after staring at one another from each of their bowls for months, finally got to meet.  It was heartwarming.

This is Dot.  He's another Common, and the smallest of the bunch.  He, like Angelo, probably thinks this is the ocean, based on the care my sister provided (or didn't).  We're all just glad he's alive.

This is Calvin (my cat's name is Hobbes).  He's a Black Moor.  He's the largest of the bunch, and the least efficient swimmer.  Watching him try to actually get anywhere is rather amusing, as he wiggles his whole body back and forth, as if he knows he has a tail but he's not sure what it's for.  He's the friendliest though, and always the first one to swim to the front of the tank when I walk up.

The whole gang (yes, there are five fish in this picture).

Aaaannd this is what the whole thing looks like.  I'm proud of it; I think it came together really nicely.

I really love my fish.  Sometimes I catch myself carrying on a (one-sided) conversation with them, and I question my sanity.  But whenever I walk into my room, regardless of the mood I'm in or how the day has gone, I smile.  Once I even smiled when I woke up in the morning, which was weird.

P.s.

All these photos were taken with my new camera, a Canon Rebel T3i!!  I love it.  More photos from that thing soon.  But if you saw my previous fish-photo-fails, then you can appreciate how much better these are.

Up in Flames

Oh, the irony!

Let's get something straight.  Kindles are not books. Books have pages. Real ones. Made of paper. Each one is different, an individual facet of the book's personality. Some of them might be crinkled or folded, the covers are probably worn and torn a little. The spine or binding is almost certainly destroyed, depending on how gentle a reader you are, but when you look at that book, you remember reading it, or lending it to your friend, or finding it under your bed. You remember the story, because that story is the only story inside that book. And when you open the cover and flip through the pages, the smell hits you and whether it's a new book or old book smell, or whether it just smells like mildew, it's the best smell in the world.

What does a kindle smell like? Plastic.

Kindles are cold, heartless, lousy impersonations of books. They lack personality and individuality. I know that the words are the same no matter how you read them. The experience is not. Haven't we let technology encroach upon enough of our lives? I am especially disappointed with the success of this invention because I had faith in my fellow readers. I imagined us standing strong, defying Kindles and all of their disrespect because we would never sacrifice the experience of reading a book. A real book. We, I thought, would halt this attack on our reader's integrity.

But I've been abandoned. I stand, seemingly alone against this massacre of books. Borders is bankrupt. The one near my house has closed and been replaced by a glorified flea market. I will not buy a kindle.

Ray Bradbury couldn't have been more right.  No, we're not literally lighting up books and watching them burn, but I mean come on; it's called a Kindle for Pete's sake!  And it gets better.  Do you know what the latest installment of this irreverent little machine has been dubbed?  The Kindle Fire.  

The Kindle FIRE.

If the comparison felt forced before, it sure doesn't now.  Bradbury himself said, "You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture.  Just get people to stop reading them."  Well, Bradbury, people are not reading books anymore.  They're reading screens.

So if I am solitary in my resistance, so be it.  I shall not be moved.

Divergence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

In high school, I didn’t worry much about boys.  For three years, my heart belonged to my one love, Math.  Freshman year we were best friends—I loved Geometry.  By sophomore year we were going steady, I had two semesters back-to-back.  Junior year, our relationship reached a peak.  AP Calculus opened my eyes and mind to all kinds of new concepts and processes and I was head over heels.  Nothing could come between us.  But as is often the case, things went downhill after that.  We didn’t see each other all summer, and senior year I didn’t even have a math class.  We both agreed that perhaps we just needed some space and started seeing other people.  I was the editor of the school newspaper.  I learned Spanish, played saxophone, participated in two art shows, and Math wasn’t really a part of my life.  I never even spoke to his best friend, Science.  From time to time, I still found myself daydreaming about him and my doodles in various notebooks sometimes strayed back to my forgotten love.  For the most part, though, we had gone our separate ways.

I did see him twice, briefly, each time I took the SAT.  But it wasn’t really the Math I had loved so deeply the year before, it was a easier-going, lighthearted friend, and although we got along fine, it wasn’t enough to rekindle the fire we’d shared.  They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I’m not sure.  I pursued other loves, never forgetting that I was good at math, and perhaps thinking I could simply return to him when I was done flitting about—when I started college for engineering.

When we did meet again in August, our reunion was not a happy one.  I had changed; he had changed.  I found that going so long apart meant I didn’t really know him anymore, and no matter how hard I fought, he wasn’t going to become the Math I’d known and loved more than a year ago in high school.  I didn’t want to work for a relationship that had come so easily to me before.  But I didn’t want to lose it, because although being with him was painful, it reminded me of the connection we’d shared.

I was having an identity crisis of sorts, because our relationship had been a vital part of who I was.  Even in elementary and middle school, we would flirt vociferously, letting others gaze in envy at our obvious compatibility.  Now, he was refusing to take me back, and I was refusing to accept that.  So we argued and fought and yelled and went long periods without speaking.  But we also shared moments of love, like when I scored an A on the third test of the semester.  We were growing together again, and it wasn’t easy, but it was happening.

Finally, on the last day of the semester, something magical happened.  We had just learned about Lagrange multipliers (an explanation which I will spare you), and been charged with solving the example problem.  I looked at the problem, drew a logical conclusion based on fundamental understandings, and raised my hand.  The teacher said that I could have been right, but he wasn’t going to go through the rest of the problem because it was too complicated.  But I had found another way to solve it—a way that made sense.  I was right, and I was going to make him understand.  So I stayed after class and made my case.  He applauded me, and said that what I had done was exactly what Lagrange multipliers were all about.  I had butterflies in my stomach, and they carried me all the way across campus after that.  I had done it—it took all semester, but my lost love was mine once again.  I took the final for that course yesterday, and I feel good about it.  It was challenging, of course, but in the best possible way.  I would even dare to say I enjoyed it.  What I really enjoy, though, is having my old friend back.

C(A)PJ: Day 3

Okay, sorry this one has taken me forever to put up.  There are a couple of reasons but the biggest one is because I've been a lazy bum. D:  Anyway,  I'd like to point out that I've shortened the title into this cool new abbreviation complete with parentheses.  I'd also like to add a couple of disclaimers:  First, I know the writing in these posts is not my best.  That's because I'm pulling it straight from the journal and have actually had to resist the instinct to rephrase and/or edit things because I'm trying to remain true to the original as much as possible.  Also, some of the Spanish I've quoted myself as using is not exactly right and I just want to say that I know that now, though the Peruvians understood me just fine most of the time.  Anyway, enjoy Day 3!

Sunrise on the river

There are birds in this picture. I promise.

This morning we woke up before the sun did and got dressed in the light of cell phones because, despite yesterday’s valiant struggle, we couldn’t get the candle to stand up.  Then we hopped on a boat and rode two hours up the river to a huge and beautiful clay lick to see macaws.  It was a lot farther away than I’d expected, so I didn’t really get good pictures.  At breakfast, however, we got up close and personal with a blue and yellow macaw who’s apparently like a pet at the lodge.  She walked around our table, then climbed into my sister’s lap!

Pepa the macaw.

We went swimming at Cascadas del Gato, the Cat Cascades, which was awesome.  My brother squealed like a little girl because the water was cold.  

Twice I have had to ask the housekeeper (who doesn’t speak English) for extra toallas—towels—because we’re going through them so fast.  She’s been really sweet about it, though.  I mean, she’s been answering me with so much Spanish so fast that I’m hardly catching any of it, so I suppose she could be saying nasty things about me, but if so, she’s doing a wonderful job hiding it.

Tree (in case you couldn't tell).

The plants in the jungle are amazing.  We took a botanical tour to get to the zip line, and learned about ironwood trees, kapok trees, and trees with red ants inside them that the natives tie people to as punishment to watch them die.  The more I learn about these “indigenous peoples,” the more I really hope we don’t meet any.

It’s raining now, which means we got back just in time.  The zipline was totally awesome.  At the top of the platform (I was the last one), I asked the guy next to me, “Éste es seguro, ¿sí?”—This is safe, right? And he said, “Sí.”  Still, I followed up with, “¿Nadie muere?”—Nobody dies?  To which he laughed and said “No.” 

It was extremely cool.  We all practiced our Spanish on the way back, maybe to ignore the fact that it was getting progressively darker and there was no sign of the lodge.  We made it back alive, though.  The lights just came on, so I’m not huddled next to the candle trying to write anymore.  It’s only 5:40, but it is already almost dark.  The climate is so warm here that I keep forgetting it’s winter. 

Crazy jungle vines and such.

Before dinner we went on the boat looking for caimans.  We saw a few, but it was so dark that all we could really see were the reflections of their eyes in the light.  Mostly we just saw more capybara.  They have officially ceased to be exciting.  Oh well.  Dinner was awesome, as all the meals here have been.  We really got to know the two Canadian girls better, talking about our adventures and vacations.  We have also learned that the plural of “moose” is in fact “moose” and not “meese.”  I suggested “moosi” and they said they were going to start using that, instead.  I feel accomplished.

The Complete (Abridged) Peru Journal: Day 2

This was a big day! A lot of writing; I tried to cut it down to only the highlights. Lots of pictures, too.

StarPerú puddle-jumper

I’m on a boat.  Really.  We’re headed down the Madre de Dios River on our way to the lodge where we’re going to stay in the jungle.  I think, riding down this magnificent river with impossible amounts of foliage on both sides, after eating lunch off a banana leaf, it has finally sunk in that I’m actually in Peru.  It’s awesome.

Today started at four again, although to be fair, I didn’t roll out of bed until forty-five minutes or so later.  Our flight (one hour via a StarPerú puddle-jumper) stopped in Cuzco before taking us all the way to Puerto Maldonado (which is proving very difficult to pronounce, for whatever reason).

Favorite Airplane

Our tour guide Esteban met us at the airport—if such a term can be used—with another sign.  We waited about fifteen minutes for the rest of our tour group, who came in on the next flight.  I ran across the parking lot to spend part of that time taking pictures of this awesome plane.  It was very old and really small, and it made for some pretty fantastic photos.  “Favorite Plane” wasn’t a category I’d ever given much thought to, but now I’ve got one.  According to Esteban, it carried Mormon missionaries to the country, which was both a good and bad thing for the natives.  We then took a fortyish-minute bus ride down the scariest dirt road I’ve ever seen, across several bridges reminiscent of a Busch Gardens safari ride where the bridge gives out and you have to be “rescued.”  None of these bridges gave out, miraculously.  What were really interesting were all of the unfinished bridges we saw along the way.  Apparently builders got big ideas, started the bridges, then decided to take the money and abandon the project.  I said that when I became an engineer, I would come back and finish all the bridges.

Notice the guy with the cooler

We’ve been warned about naked natives who live deep in the jungle and will shoot you with arrows for fear of disease if you get too close.  That’s one thing Pepto Bismol won’t protect against, I guess.

We have one flashlight among the five of us for this jungle night walk, and discovered that we may not have the Deet.  But it might be in my suitcase.  Let’s hope!

Well, the good news is we found the Deet.  The bad news is now I smell like bug spray.  Grosstastic.  We haven’t been shot by natives, which I supposed also qualifies as good news.  We keep passing empty canoes on the banks, though, each of which presumably held passengers at one point.  Every time we pass one I inform everyone that they were shot by natives.  It’s not completely accurate, I know, but the notion that they may also have been eaten by piranhas is probably too much for our group...

We’re at the hotel now.  We didn’t get shot by natives.  There’s no air conditioning, but there is toilet paper.  Earlier today, at a stop on the river where we got out passports stamped, I had to use some of my Charmin-On-the-Go.

The entrance to the lodge and some boats

Our cabin has a great view of the river.  I’m out on the porch now because the light inside is already too low.  We have candles, but we’ve been warned to blow them out once we go to bed lest we burn the wooden cabin down.  We also have mosquito nets for our beds, which I find more worrying than comforting, to be perfectly honest.

The night walk was fun for the first half.  We saw a tarantula, which freaked everyone out.  And tons of vines in all crazy shapes and huge trees.  It was just like in the movies, just a lot darker.  I got bitten by two mysterious Amazonian insects, the second of which was a normal-looking ant.  He may also have been the first.  I hope so.

It's gonna eat me!

We were asked to conserve water in the shower, which wasn’t difficult because the two choices are “off” and “freezing.”  I do feel better now, though.  Guess what time tomorrow starts?  Four! Again.

The Complete (Abridged) Peru Journal: Day 1

So a while ago, I said I would upload parts (maybe even all) of my travel journal from Peru.  It's taken me a shamefully long time, but I'm finally going to do that.  I have more to share than I thought I was going to (and photos!), so I'm going to do it one day at a time.  I'll also try to skip the boring parts.  I may upload the whole thing somewhere else eventually, for those of you who are interested, but for now, here's the abridged Day  1:

Note:  The ellipsis (. . .) represents an interruption in journaling, not an omission of original content.

Today, we arrived in Lima.  It only took us three flights to get here, starting with home to Miami yesterday, then a 7:20ish flight from Miami to Bogotá, Colombia this morning, which seems like forever and a continent ago.  In Bogotá's airport, I spoke more Spanish than I think I ever have, and am continually learning that two semesters of Spanish may not be sufficient.  Add to that the fact that I've also been elected the family currency converter, and I feel like the expectations are piling up faster than I can juggle them.  I managed to ask for and purchase some authentic Colombian candy, but when I asked for the time, I couldn't understand the answer.  Go figure.

Anyway, we are now in Lima, in a very nice hotel—the Ferré.  A guide named Carlos and Roberto, the driver, brought us here.  Carlos is very friendly; Roberto didn’t talk much.  Carlos was holding up a sign with our name on it for us when we got through customs, which was pretty cool.  He recommended that we eat dinner at this “underground” mall on the waterfront, so that should be interesting at least.  I’ve also managed to find out that the drinking age here is 18, so we’ll see how that goes…

The view from the restaurant

Back now.  I didn’t drink anything haha!  I mean, I had pretty much the greatest cappuccino after dinner. (We ate at some touristy place near the water with a fantastic view and a waiter whose English and my Spanish were evenly matched.)  It was surprisingly good.  The guy at the front (not the host, but the restaurant’s spokesperson, however self-appointed) assured us that we didn’t have to worry about the water, the ice, the vegetables, etc.  That stuff is sketchy here in Peru.  For example, we have to brush our teeth with bottled water (of which we just bought five from a scary convenience store from a guy who spoke no English.  Also, we’re taking Pepto Bismol four times a day to avoid traveler’s diarrhea, in addition to the numerous vaccines [click] we’ve already gotten and the Malerone we’re all taking daily to avoid Malaria.  This is a fun place.   I’ve also got a new job—I’m the tip calculator now, too.  Yippee.

The mall

We went shopping a little, because although our bodies think it’s past midnight based on the time change (just an hour, but still) and the time we got up, it wasn’t nine yet and the mall was still open.  We went into this place called “Sol Alpaca,” where everything is made out of Alpaca wool, which is cool.  The thing is, I took two semesters of Spanish to prepare for this trip, but it’s been more than a year since I’ve had a math class, which was clearly a mistake.  I did buy a rather fantastic scarf, though.  I love the colors and it wasn’t ridiculously expensive.  I think it came to about sixty bucks, USD.  It was 169 soles, which is the Peruvian currency.  I can’t believe I’m in South America!  Tomorrow we wake up at four again to catch a one-hour flight into the jungle.  My grandma says she’s not going; we all know better.  I have to take a shower, but I can’t get the water in my mouth.  I can get it all over my body, just not in my mouth.  I hope I’ll have an opportunity to journal every day, but no promises!

If you need a dining set taken someplace, call this guy

P.S. This is my 50th post!!! Yippee!!

Fair Weather Foodie

The weather played autumn for a couple of days here recently, and although the temperature is now back up to a healthy late-summer 70-or-so, the chilly weekend reminded me of how much I love fall.  And here, one of the best things about it  is the State Fair.  The many attractions at this annual event include a plethora of livestock in varying degrees of cuteness (e.g. baby goats = 10, cows = 1), several species of unnaturally large vegetables, ferris wheels, carnival games, mythological creatures (snake woman, etc.), and a whole slew of pick-you-up-and-spin-you-until-you-lose-your-turkey-leg rides.

But the best part is the food.

Every year, I must gain at least ten pounds from all the marathon eating I do while the fair is in town.  One of the reasons I went five times last year was because you cannot physically cram all of the necessary delicacies into your body in one night.  It isn't possible. Trust me.

Here I've compiled a list of all the foods I have to eat in order to call my State Fair experience complete, aforementioned rides, livestock, and mythological creatures notwithstanding.

The Krispy Kreme Donut Burger
Weighing it at an incredible 1500 calories, this glazed-and-greasy monstrosity is not for the faint of heart, although it will probably give you heart trouble.

Turkey Leg
These are impossible to miss, perhaps because a thick cloud of smoke surrounds every stand that sells them.  Or maybe it's the miles of people lined up waiting for a chance to bury their faces in poultry.  Either way, you can smell them from anywhere.  Just follow your nose!

Pig Lickers
Chocolate covered bacon.  'Nuff said.

Deep-Fried _______
Insert sugary goodness here.  It doesn't matter what it is.  From Twinkies to Snickers to Coca-Cola, find whatever they've figured out how to batter and fry this year and try it.  I avoid the deep-fried butter, though.  That crosses a line.

Strawberry Shortcake
Iconic not for the way it tastes, but for the giant inflatable strawberry crowning the stand.  You can also buy pig lickers here.  Don't ask.

Ribeye Steak Sandwich
This is usually the first thing my family eats, due to its convenient location near the entrance.  Best enjoyed with Texas Pete hot sauce.

Ice Cream
From the local university.  They milk the cows themselves, but the ice cream is made in a lab.  Still, by the time you've waited in line for the stuff, the flavors you have to pick from are "What aren't you out of?"  Mmmm, my favorite.

Corn on the Cob
The idea with this one is to cover it with so much unidentified seasoning that the food itself becomes unrecognizable as a vegetable.  If watching them pull it out of the boiling vat of butter didn't do that already.

Polish and/or Italian Sausage
If you know what the difference is, congratulations! No one cares.  They're both good, but you have to eat them before sausage juice dissolves the bun.  One way to find these stands is to follow the trail of dropped onions and peppers that slide off the thing no matter how hard you try to hold onto them.

Frozen Cheesecake
It's literally a brick of cheesecake on a stick.  Preferably covered in chocolate.  How can you say 'no' to that?

Cotton Candy
The way we do it, this one must be purchased on the last day, and enjoyed while watching the fireworks.  So you can walk around all week and stare at the many varieties of pink and blue (and sometimes yellow) clouds of sugar, but I learned at a young age that it simply wasn't going to happen until the end of the fair.

Al's French Fries
Similar to the corn on the cob, the object here is to bury the actual fries underneath several geological layers of ketchup and vinegar.  Then play, Try to Find a Way to Grab a Fry Without Getting Ketchup or Vinegar on Your Fingers.  That's a long title; I'll work on it.

If at the end of the week your arteries are the size of Polish (Italian?) sausages and your heart is begging for mercy, you've done it correctly.  Huzzah! Or as we like to say, 'Gitterdone!'

Magic Shoe Laces

As a general rule, I don't have self-esteem issues.  For instance, I think I'm a reasonably attractive person.  Still, I think my best features are definitely my shoelaces.  They're magical.  They're like the traveling pants except the only traveling they do is when they're on my feet.

The first time I experienced the magic was the day after I purchased them.  I was sitting in LaGuardia airport with my sister, waiting to catch a flight back home after an awesome weekend with our aunt and uncle in New York City.  (I'd also like to mention that I rocked some striped knee socks the day before and earned the nickname "Pippi," which I took as a compliment.  My uncle had, just a few moments before, been harassing me about my style choices when somebody walked by and said, "Hey I'm feelin' yo socks."  I won that argument.  Alas, the socks, while they are awesome, are not magical.  But I digress.)

Anyway, my sister and I are sitting in the food court in the terminal, when this British guy with longish hair and a guitar swung casually over his shoulder waltzes over to me and says, "Excuse me, could I just have a look at your laces?"  I think I said "yes," but it might have been "Yurrr."  I also managed to form enough sentences to tell him I'd gotten them at the Converse store on Broadway.

I've worn them several times since then, with no spectacular results (because I don't count getting stares as I walk by, though I do enjoy them).  I'd begun to doubt the magic of the shoelaces.  But today it happened again.  This guy wasn't British, unfortunately, but he was way cuter than the British guy and he was carrying a skateboard, which is like +3 cool points at least.  I was masterfully multitasking: eating lunch, studying calculus, and listening to my iPod all at the same time.  This guy walks straight up to me anyway and sits down at the table.  My table.

"Hello, what's your name?"

I pull my earbuds out of my head.  "Raz."

"I'm Tyler."

"Hi."

"Are you single?"

I pause to pick my jaw up off the table.  "Uh, what?  I... yes?"

"Maybe?"

"No I am.  I just... why?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to do lunch or something...I came over here because I wanted to tell you how much I love your shoelaces.  I have a thing for cool shoelaces."

"Oh, thanks!  Actually, I'm waiting for someone.  You seem like a really nice guy, though."

It occurred to me that he might have been a total creep.  But if he liked my shoelaces enough to ask me out, how bad could he be?  At any rate, I respected his straightforwardness.  I wanted to return the compliment;  he had really gorgeous blue eyes.  But responding to "I like your shoelaces" with "I like your eyes" seemed like crossing a line.

He finished with, "Maybe I'll see you around, Raz."  Maybe you will, Tyler.  And maybe I'll be wearing magic shoelaces.

Tough As Nails

Painting my nails is not something I do. Maybe that's because of the ineptitude of my left hand to do anything other than shave my right armpit; I don't know. I can ocassionally be threatened into painting my toenails, but my fingernails have not been painted in years. So the nail salon on the day before graduation was very much not my idea.

For a significant amount of time after I learned about these plans to beautify me, I was firmly resolved not to go.  Every once in a while I get deluded into thinking I'm actually in charge of my own life.  Then I tried bargaining.  I said I would go without a fuss if I could get black nail polish.  I'm not goth, but mourning the death of my free will would have called for such gloomy glamour.  The answer was no.  I therefore felt justified in protesting vociferously all the way there.

When we got there, I decided if I couldn't have black, I would pick something blue.  And it was going to be the absolute darkest shade of blue I could find.  There was a large collection of nail polish on the wall near the entrance, containing approximately fifty thousand shades of red, twenty-five thousand shades of purple, and three and a half shades of blue, and a rather curious assortment of colors I don't even think I've ever seen before.  I ran through several and actually briefly considered an electric green color that resembled toxic waste before settling for a very normal-looking navy.

I won't lie; the massage chair was nice.  The feeling of luxury ended when my feet were removed from the agreeable little gurgling tub and sanded down violently until they were smooth.  It was mildly concerning whenever the lady would disappear and then return with a misterious pink goo and rub it all over my legs and feet, which happened more than once. And as much as I enjoy having my feet tickled while listening to the plotting of my demise in a language I don't understand, I do actually use the bottoms of my feet occasionally and would have preferred to keep them.

I was also apparently not supposed to pick the same color for my fingers and toes, because the lady seemed really confused that she only had one bottle of polish to work with.  While my toenails--or what was left of them--were drying, I was given a little dish to put my fingers in, and then it was fingernail time.  She clipped them, along with most of the surrounding skin, and then painted them navy.  Never have I felt like I have such inadequate extremities.  My mother and sister certainly did not require the amount of work I did.  And I guess I was in the massage chair for too long, because every ten minutes or so it would cut off.  It wasn't hard to press the button to restart it while I was having feet pruned, but with a fresh coat of poison on my hands, it was a good bit more difficult.

When I was finally done, before I could be relocated to the drying station, my feet were slathered with something resembling vaseline and then shoved in my new flip flops.  My new flip flops!  I mean, I guess I waived rights to my feet but my shoes?!  They didn't need to be moisturized!

I wound up having to leave before my nails were completely dry because the appointment had taken much longer than anticipated and I had graduation rehearsal to get to.  I guess I was prettier, mostly I just felt like I had a lot less skin than I started with.

Machu Picchu

I'm in Lima, on the final leg of an incredible journey across Peru! Just two days ago, I was at Machu Picchu. My mother and I woke up really early (I'm talking 3 a.m. here, folks) two mornings ago and hiked Waynapicchu. That's the big mountain behind Machu Picchu. We climbed what were basically the remains of the Inca staircase all the way to the top. The Inca were amazing. And completely nuts.

I've been keeping a detailed travel journal, and I will upload parts of it later. Right now, though, I'm just going to upload a bunch of Machu Picchu photos, because this Peruvian keyboard is giving me a hard time.




Some things get lost in translation... A lot of the menus were very entertaining. "Breakface" was one of the more comical errors. Not sure I want to order anything off this section!

The Inca had this really cool system of fountains that still runs through Machu Picchu. I fell in love with it. The water trickling across the stone was simply beautiful. I took at least half a dozen pictures, but they all look pretty much like this one.

This is a flower that was growing on the side of one of the ruins at the top of Wayna Pichu. I had to lie down to get a picture over the edge so as not to freak out my ledge-wary mother. She kept fussing at me whenever I got too close to an edge. Most of them weren't even really ledges--they had terraces three feet below them, but she would never get close enough to find that out.

This picture took forever to get. The sun took its sweet time coming up over the peak of the mountain that was very inconveniently located. "Sunrise at Machu Picchu," an appealing enough idea, doesn't really happen. The whole place is surrounded by mountains, so it's daylight by the time the sun finally makes an appearance. No fancy colors, nothing. Lame. But this was cool, because it was only a couple of days after the solstice, when the sun shines through the trapezoidal window and makes a rectangle on this rock in the Temple of the Sun.

And finally... llamas! They were pretty much all over the place, hanging out in the shade (because it was hot!) and eating the grass that was the hardest to reach. Always greener, right? The funny thing was they pretty much used the tourist walkways to get wherever they were headed. They even climbed the stairs! That really impressed me. We tried to take pictures with them, but none of them were terribly photogenic, and all of them were more interested in lunch than posing for a picture. So the best you can do is kind of stand near them and hople they pull their heads out of the bush for long enough to take a picture or two.

Haunting High School

I feel like a ghost. Not in an ethereal, float-and-walk-through-walls way. It's more figurative than that. Yesterday I took my last exam of high school. Now I'm done. I am no longer a high school student. I have moved on.

But graduation isn't until Saturday.

I don't believe in ghosts, but I feel like this is sort of the same idea. I am no longer among high school students, yet neither am I a high school graduate. I'm in this awkward inbetween place that will only last for a little while, but I still feel like I'm just sort of floating from high school to graduation without a floor beneath my feet. It's weird.

It's great to be out of high school, of course. And I am really looking forward to graduation (especially now that I've been informed that my family is going to drag me--against my will, mind you--to the nail salon on Friday to get "mani-pedi's." What a juvenile term. I told my mother I would go without a fight if she would let me get black fingernails. She said no. But I digress.)

So I'm floating along, enjoying being off school but not feeling like summer has started yet. My brother's not home because, although high schoolers have exam week off unless you're taking a test, for elementary school it's just a normal week. So my sister and I have the house to ourselves for most of the day. And I'll admit, it doesn't totally feel like summer without my brother making noise in one room or another. It's too...quiet.

So until the ceremony Saturday during which I will pass on from this life to the next (college omg), I will continue to feel like a ghost. The ghost of a high school student. I can't believe I'm not one anymore. That's all I've known for the past four years. Now it's ended, and no one asked me if I was ready. I was; but still, no one asked me.

What's For Breakfast?

Yum. I love imitation blueberries.

Amelia Bearhart

I dressed my teddy bear up like Amelia Earhart to get extra credit in history class. I sewed her hat myself, and no those are not Speedo swim goggles... They are legit aviator goggles. My friend nicknamed her Amelia Bearhart, which is pretty ingenious.

The Happiest Place on Earth

Recently, my family and I went on a five day vacation (I use this term loosely) to Disney World. Honestly, it was fun. Although the constant reminders to "Have a magical day" got monotonous after a while, something about all that magic makes it easier to believe it really is Mickey Mouse standing in front of you than a stranger in a suit. At the same time, I couldn't help but feel like I'd outgrown it, compared to the last time I'd been there, ten years ago.

My primary grievance was the thrill level of the vast majority of rides. You'd think between four theme parks you'd be able to find more than two decent roller coasters. My favorite ride was "Rock 'n' Roller Coaster," but that's probably because it was the only roller coaster in all of Disney World that turned upside-down. "Expedition Everest" was the other one that managed to lift my stomach up a little. Those rides were fun. But that was about it.

In just about every other ride at Disney World, you wait in line for an hour or so (unless you "fastpass" it, which puts the wait at about twenty minutes), climb into some sort of vehicle (boat, truck, spaceship, etc.), ride around on a track, watch little animatronic animals and people, get air blown in your face by some sort of jet I could never spot, and if you're lucky you might get squirted with water or shaken around a little. A maddening number of rides also try to educate you. Someone ought to let them know that it's summer and everyone in their right mind has switched their brains over to hibernate mode until mid-August. Still, I fear I may have absorbed a fact or two about eco-friendly farming or the progress of household technology.

Worse than that was riding the rides I'd loved as a seven-year-old. I'd been content to ride "Goofy's Barnstormer" over and over, and inside "It's a Small World" I was about as happy as I knew how to be. My butt no longer fits properly in "Goofy's Barnstormer" and the robotic French dancers seemed to have lost their rhythm. Now, I'm pretty sure it's the same place it was ten years ago, but now the epithet "The Happiest Place on Earth" sounds more like a misnomer. But the six year old at the neighboring table in Chef Mickey's Character Breakfast would probably disagree.

Flowery Things

I took these around our garden while out planting and watering and such.

Cypress Trees

These are some of the many pictures I took at the cypress swamp yesterday. I was feeling a little artsy and put my camera in sepia mode for a while. :)