This week Lobo and I both got sick from eating or drinking something, I am not sure what because I am not eating any of his dog food and I don’t give him to much “people food.” I suppose getting sick with a buddy can be a good bonding experience. The problem is that when the two people getting sick are of different species it can be a little hard to compromise on the most comfortable set up. For example, Lobo does not use a toilet and I almost exclusively use a toilet for going to the bathroom. This became a problem when he wanted to go outside so he could be sick and I wanted to lie around in the house all day to be sick. The compromise was that I stumbled around the neighborhood with him for 5 minutes every hour or so and he limited his vomiting in the house to 3 times. I think that vomit karma had come into play again because a university student from the states passed by my house taking surveys of water quality and she asked my if I had suffered from diarrhea or vomiting in the past month and I told her yes, when really it had been more like two months. Within 10 hours of giving her slightly false information I was cursed with the pain of intestinal parasites, as I lay awake all night in agony I took consolation in the fact that at least now I wasn’t a liar. On a slightly related note, the neighbor’s rooster was retrieved from the latrine without problems.
Also, the other night I went down to the park to try and enjoy a little Spanish Karaoke with a friend of mine, which is pretty fun because you can make up the words in English and nobody knows if you are wrong. At one point several months back I sang the first two lines of “Hey Jude” for 90% of the song and thoroughly impressed the patrons of the little pub in Constanza. Interestingly enough, immediately after I sang “Nights in White Satin” almost dead on and was cut off from karaoke by the crowd I was with. I guess the Moody Blues hasn’t quite hit the Constanza region yet, or anywhere. Anyway, the place ended up not offering Karaoke anymore because they lost some cable that they needed to hook up to the TV, I was upset by Constanza’s loss of its only Karaoke bar and went to the park to lament. When we got there, we saw there was a candle light vigil being held in someone’s memory. I thought to myself, with my new knowledge of catholocism: “those Catholics sure love their candles.” We watched the ceremony from about 50 yards away but it was hard to tell what exactly was going on because the crowd was so huge. At one point the mayor showed up with his entourage and made a few comments to the crowd. At this point I knew it was a big deal, and I began to get offended that people kept playing “Thriller” and “Billie Jean” from their car stereos, the music was overwhelming the procession and I was starting to get a little tired of hearing “Michelle” (yeah, the call him Michelle not Michael) Jackson on the radio all the time. It made me realize how little respect people had for the dead, until I got a closer look of the whole show and discovered (because a man in the center was holding a giant framed portrait) that the whole candle light vigil was dedicated to Michael Jackson. I looked around and realized that everyone was dressed in suave Michael Jackson-esque suits and white gloves (on the left hand only of course), and I was forced to ask myself “Where the hell am I?” There were probably 150 people in the park and after about 10 minutes of realizing the circumstances of the event the parade started. People began dancing as if they were in Thriller following a truck that was blasting Michael Jackson tunes. So Thursday night at 9 PM there was quite a procession in memory of MJ. I had to laugh, sit back and enjoy some pop from the eighties.