Ooooh, Mexico, I Never Really been

so I decided to go. And I'm glad I went, what a magical place. You start off with a beautiful setting. It's on a large bay surrounded by green mountains. It's also a very artistic town with great statues throughout. There are even works of art made in the sand (tips appreciated).





In Puerto Vallarta there is music everywhere. The mariachi groups that go from restaurant to restaurant our excellent. One night, a group walked in and one guy had a harp on wheel and the bass player had a little amplifer and battery on little wheels that he pulled along. They played several songs for a family. I think it must have been a special occasion for them.

On another night, I was walking on the board walk along the beach and was just floored by a classical guitarist singing a sad love song in Spanish. It was excuisite.








One of my favorite things I did while there was take a mountain bike tour up into the mountains. Our guide was Alonzo. You don't have to go very far to get away from tourist part of town and into the real Mexico. The cobble stone streets must have been designed by a shock absorbor salesman. He probably retired a rich man.

We went to a secluded spring-fed stream for a cool dip after a hot, dusty ride. Back in town, he took us to a local stand, the kind you would have been too scared to try, and we had cevichi. It's a blend of fish and rice on top of a cripy tortia shell. Deliciano! We also tried the local drinks that you wouldn't normally try. I'm glad I did. We sat in chairs in the shade next to the stand and talked to all the locals coming by to eat lunch. If someone would put up the same little stand in dowtown KC serving the exact same thing he'd make a lot of money.

Alonzo grew up in that neighborhood. The house that Elizabeth Taylor owned is right there. It's the picture with the pink bridge. Richard Burton lived in the house on the other side of the street connected by the bridge. If I close my eyes, I can just see them meeting on the bridge on a warm night...









The moring ride was just the start of one of the most special days I have ever had. after our ride, we hung out at the beach by our hotel for a few hours. It was so relaxing just to rest up on the lounge chair and watch the locals play a sprited game of soccor on the beach. Sometimes the game would take them out into the water. It seemed like they could just go on for hours non stop. They love their soccer there.

We had a long, leasurly dinner at The Vista. It's an open air, French restaurant high up on a hill with a spectacular view of the city and the bay. We watched the sunset every night. Every restarant had excellent food.

After dinner, we walked back through the town looking for adventure. We bought a bottle of good tequilla and drank it while we walked along the streets looking for a bar with a good band. We finally found one that had an open-air balcony that overlooked the beach. The young band played all classic rock and they were fantastic musicians and singers. At one point we got admonished for some "dirty dancing".

The next day was spent at a luxurious pool, recovering from the night before. When I closed my eyes, the sounds of night still rang in my ears...

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Easter, Same thing, just Different

There is a certain rhythm to life, a regular progression to the world. Around the first of March, the first crocus pop up, small and purple a harbinger of spring. Then the hardy daffodils take the stage, followed by the tulips. Then the redbuds bloom with the dogwoods right on their tails. When a favorite bleeding heart of mine blossoms at my Mom's house, then I know it's time for Easter.




My had been a little depressed lately. She wasn't sure if she was going to have Easter dinner at her house this year. The back porch was a mess she said. She is a bit of a pack rat and a collector of junk. The porch did look pretty bad. There were a couple of things weighing heavily on the 89-year-old woman. For one, Daniel, the grand child she had pretty much raised from the age of 10 had moved out to a house in small town 30-miles away a month ago. His dad got his 1-year sobriety pin a few weeks ago, and they were making a new life out there.

Secondly, my sister the drunk had moved in with her before Christmas making her life a pure hell. She had no place else to go. You might check an earlier posting titled "You know You're a redneck, when" That's when she fell off a ledge underneath a railway bridge a last February when she was in a drunken stupor. Unfortunately, she lived. She had a broken back and was in intensive care for 10-days. I guess she's Fortunately, she was in jail right now for outstanding warrants, giving us a little reprieve. While she was in the hootch, Mom cleaned her room and found 39 bottles of cheap vodka.



Yes, nature turns in a very steady pattern , with changes to the routine taking aeons, but, the human rhythms can very from year to year, albeit, subtly. My sisters and I came together and made the tradititional Easter Dinner happen.

Like usual, it was a beautiful, warm and sunny day. Like usual, I started the day with love making, coffee, and the Sunday paper in bed. A half-hour before church, I started stuffing plastic eggs with the change I've accumulated. 10:30, time to head to Maywood Baptist Church for Easter service. Had to get there early because the congregation has grown so much in recent years.

Yes, I attend church regularly... every Easter, like clockwork. I was even baptized on Easter in this church in 1990. I'd go more often, but, at $10 a pop, it gets a little expensive. The church has gone through it's share of changes since my baptism. The congregation was much older then. The average age is much younger, now. The music has changed drastically, back then, it was a piano and an organ. The choir wore white robes. The music director was more classical. Now days, they have a full band, two percusionist, two guitarist, three horns, piano, and a synthaizer. If there was more room on the stage, I'm sure they'd throw in guy with a kazoo.

The numbers are much more livlier, with singers hopping up and down and a lot of arm waving in the air (like they just don't care). I have to admit, they sound very polished and profesional. They appear to be doing the job of filling the pews, and the coffers. I'm sure the older crowd, what's left of them, don't care that much for it, but, they're on fixed budgets anyway.

They are also much more high tech, with a large video screen in the back ground. They displayed the words to the songs and also worked in scenes from the Mel Gibson Passion of the Christ movie. One thing that remains the same though, and that's Brother Spradlings sermons. He comes on a half-hour into service and delivers a very intelectual message (kind of out of place for Independence). I love his sermons. They are very thought provoking and delivered very well.

In the end, he asks anyone in the congregation to come forward while the choir & band play the finishing number, to just talk with him or to accept Christ. A tall Gothic-looking chick in a short skirt and stripped knee high socks goes up to speak with him. Probably saying "My mom just doesn't understand me." Duh!

Then a man and his wife (actually, I think they were just living together) to accept Christ and become the newest member of the church. He had tattoos on his neck and completly covering both forearms. I assume the rest of him was painted as well. Yes, the congregation was changing.



12:00, A quick exit and it was back home to get out of the church clothes and into some shorts. Time for a beer and then time to hide the Easter. 12:30, time to hide the Easter eggs. I went to filling them with money when my Susey's kids starting ttanistioning to high school. This kept them interested in the hunt. I would always put a $10 in one and a $5 in another. The hunt would be very spirited and fun. There'd be additional prizes for who got the most eggs.

Sue's kids are in their 20's, now, but, there is a new flock taking over. Two of my other neices had kids, Anthony, who is cute as hell is about 2-1/2, and the latest one is "Little David". Actually, his name is Alexander, and she calls him Xander, for short. No, way in hell



1:00, time to eat. Honey baked ham, asparagus, and a lamb-shaped cake with cocanut icing. Food good. 1:15, the egg hunt begins. We have a big yard, I never mow until after Easter, so there are a lot of places to hide. This goes on for a while. When I was a kid, they always had the hunt in the living room. One time, years latter, I pulled out an encylopidia and a choclate egg rolles out. A chocalate relic of the past.

1:30, we count up the Easter booty. Daniel found over $20 worth. I hid the $5 egg up in a tree and gave them the clue that they had to use something to get to it (the ladder). When they spotted it there was a mad scramble. Some were throwing things trying to knock it down while Daniel struggled with the heavy ladder. It was hillarius.

2:00, time for the "obligatory nap". This signifies the end of another, traditional, Easter celebration. Mom looked very happy. It was all worth it.
So, mom's grand kids are have moved past the easter egg hunting stage. But now, her great grand kids have taken over. The tradition continues... just different.

Viva La Mexico!

There were mass demenstations held on Monay all accross America. Thank God! It's about time someone took a stand against something and that includes me. Maybe if we (me included) would have put the same emotion into banding together and making a point, we wouldn't be in the God foresaken mess in Iraq. Never again, will we be caught with our pants down. Just like Matisyahoo says "Young man, take control in your hands, slam your fist on the table and make your demands!"

I'm all for the loosening of immigration laws because I love Latina Women. They're HOT! Maybe if I was in construction and had to deal with the increased compitition, it would be different, but I'm not. Most of them will work minial jobs, and send most of the money back home to support their families in Guatimala or wherever. I've got no problem with that.

Now, the legal rape of our High Tech, high paying jobs going to green card carrying Indians and Pakistanis, that's another story. I'd be the first to march with a sign downtown to put an end to that. Ha! I'd be the only one, because none of my computer geek comrades have any backbone. Stand up to the man, and you might find yourself standing in the unemployment line. With no Unity, you have nothing.









Friday : I ran 6-miles at 8:20 pace
Saturday: 2-hours of mountain biking at Landahl Park
Sunday: rode the road bike hard for 20-miles
Monday: Legs were dead, so I rested
Tuesday: 4.5-miles
Wednesday: VO2 Max intervals, 4 X 800m @ 3:00 with 2-min rest, 1.5 mile warm up, 1.5-mile warm down

In Memory of Muffy

Today was Muffy's last day on earth. She was my mom's dog for 15 years. Since I live next door to my my mom, she was just like my pet as well. It's kind of like my neices and nephews, I get the enjoyment without having to feed them or pick up their poop.

Muffy had a very distinctive personality, very stuburn with a loud bark. She would follow my Mom around the house constantly, often to the consternation of my Mom when she got in her way.

One of Muffy's favorite pasttimes was chasing squirles. When she was younger, she was quite good at it and would put the fear of God into many a furry rodent. She slowed down the last few years but, every once in a while, she would catch one off guard and take a nip out of it'tail before it reached the safety of a tree. You could just see the smile on her face after the chase.

I was taking her out on one of our regular walks a few years ago and we came across a big Great Dane, new to the neighborhood, that was being held on a leash by it's owner. Of course, Muffy started barking at it defiantly. She feared no dog. The owner of the great dane braced herself, but to no avail. In no time at all the dane was dragging her owner, who was prone on the ground, making a charge at Muffy. Muffy took a defensive stance, she was not going to run from a fight, even if the dog out wieghed her by more that 175 pounds.

The great dane put it's massive jaws on the top of Muffy's back, until all you could see was Muff's head on one end, and her back feet hanging out of the other side of the dane's mouth. The dane's owner and I were frantically trying to get control of the dogs. I could see that the dane's intentions were not bad. He just wanted to play. He could have killed Muffy in one bite if he had wanted to. Of course, Muffy was fighting like the Tasmanian Devil.

The dane's owner finally regained control and we quickly continued on our way, with Muffy throwing a few indignant barks over her shoulder.

Muffy, you were a good dog, and we'll miss you. Please, leave a message about your favorite pet who has passed on.

Making a Stand, against The Man

This is a follow up of the FBI incident from last week. That's where I got in trouble with the FBI for taking pictures of ground hogs near their building. If you remember, I had my name taken, and put on The List.

Well, I made up my mind that I was going to take a stand. Nobody is going to tell me where I can, and can't take pictures. The FBI sits off in a corner, all by it's self. It's high on a hill right next to a Highway. There is a bridge that runs across the highway and it has a wide walkway. The bridge is a good 200 yards long and leads into a very cool neighborhood of old houses. It's a very artsy, liberal area with a large Hispanic population. Many of the old houses have been beautifully renovated by older couples. Yuppies are starting to move in on the action, buying up the premium locations along the cliff with the most spectacular views. It's still a very Liberal area, though. There are many yards that still have "Kerry for President" signs displayed. A couple of weeks ago, someone stuck a poster on the fence along the bridge that read "IMPEACH BUSCH".



On this fence on the bridge, there are metal panels, about 18 inches wide and four feet tall. They are spaced about 20-feet apart the entire length of the bridge. In 2002 a high school art teacher brought her students to the bridge and each one painted a panel. What a brave and defiant thing to do. She's probably languishing is some Turkish prison right now. I wonder how many of the students are now dodging bullets in Iraq. Join the Army Reserves! Get training! See the world! Get your legs blown off by a roadside bomb!

I'm surprised some Young Republican group hasn't made their way there with some white wash and some paint rollers. Before that happened, I was going to record their artistic, defiant expression. But, mainly, I was going to show The Man that NOBODY TELLS ME WHERE I CAN, AND CAN'T TAKE PICTURES!




I walked past the brown, ominous, FBI building with it's black wrought iron gate with my camera in my hand. I'm sure they watched me as I walked past. I go there almost daily to observe my colony of ground hogs which live in the grassy embankment that runs between the dark castle and the highway. It had one of those black bubbles that house a security camera on the wall. It reminded me of the Eye of Saurmen from Lord of the Rings. I could feel The Eye's gaze upon me.

I decided to start at the far end of the bridge and work my way back toward The Dark Castle. I took the a picture of the first panel. No problems. I was resolute in my endeavor. We had to show them they can't push around the man. This is still America and we still had certain rights and freedoms, even if our every move is watched and recorded. I took a few steps over to the next panel. Click. Captured.



Each picture I took, brought a little closer to The Compound. I could feel the eye watching me a little more intently now. I wondered, would The-man-in-the-black-car drive up and give me another stern talking to? Or would a van pull up to me from behind, a swat team pouring out with their weapons leveled. A hood put over my head as they quickly threw me into the back, before any witnesses saw, and took down to the deep, inner-reaches of the Castle.

Another few steps, click, and onto the next one.




I could feel the eye boring into me now. My apprehension was growing with each step, my breathing, getting shallower, my heart was beginning to quicken.

Another few steps, click, and onto the next one.



I had covered over half the distance across the bridge. I imagine most of the entire staff in the building was standing at the darkened windows staring out at me and wondering "Who is that lunatic? What is he trying to prove?"

"That I'M A MAN!" I thought to myself. My hands were noticeably shaking at this point. I was afraid the pictures would come out blury. Normally, I go out of my way to avoid confrontation. On my trip to Florida recently, there was a group of German teenagers outside our hotel room talking and laughing late in the night. I couldn't sleep. Did I go out to ask them be quite? No, I sent my girlfriend. And they were quite. Well, today I was making a stand.

Another few, shaky steps, click, and slowly onto the next one.




I was getting very close to the building now, just a few more panels to go. Any minute, I thought, the gates will open up and I would be pounced on. At the very least, The-man-in-the-black-car would drive up and give me a good ass chewing.

I could feel the cross-hairs of the sniper's rifle zeroed in on my forehead. One more panel left, right next to the Property. I lifted the camera. I felt that pressing the shutter button would unleash the sniper's bullet. In super slow motion, I could see my head thrown back from the impact. My arms strewn towards the heavens, my camera launched high into the air, spinning, the sun gleaming off it's metal finish. I fell onto my back with a thud, and lay on the cobble-stoned walk-way, staring up to the sky. Father, forgive them...



But the bullet never came. I stood there for a brief moment, I could not believe what I had just done. I turned and walked back toward my office, my knees still wobbling, but head held high.

Somewhere, within the building, The-man-behind-the-eye said to himself, "Yes, you move along little man, Mr. David Schrik, Social Security # 654-34-blah-blah, with a birth mark on your left cheek, an your silly little blog. Go on back to work. One of these days you are going to step out of line, and I AM GOING TO COME DOWN ON YOU WITH AN IRON FIST!"