Ziplines, Leprosy, and Drunk Three-year-olds.

In the United States, I was told more than once that La Universidad Autonoma de Guadalajara is comparable to the Duke of the United States: a very ritzy, hard to gain entry into, expensive, full of rich kids and geniuses, etc. I informed many people that this was the case. However, things here at the UAG (the oo-ah-hay), appear quite different. In a conversation with my professor here, I was told that it used to be one of the best schools in the Republic, with fantastic programs in law (derecho), medicine (medicina), education (educacion), engineering (inginieria), and virtually everything else. Since those days, programs have become outdated, and much of the prestige has left the school. The medical school is still one of the best in the country, and there are a piles of foreigners including Americans that come to the UAG to make themselves doctors, but in other areas, the percentage of geniuses has been replaced with country-club kids, because the school is still incredibly expensive. Everybody here wears really nice cloths, drives to school in there new cars, all that garbage. El departmento de intercambio (sound it out) is a different story, but we extranjeros (foreigners) still get to enjoy the flow of wealth through our host school. One sunny afternoon, there was a virtual carnival in the courtyard of the school, and all was free. So instead of returning home for lunch we rode ziplines from the 5th floor of academic buildings, raced eachother inside of 12-foot-tall bubbles, and jumped 30ft into the air on bungie-trampolines. The entire time, we could feel the education washing over us and the academia flowing through our vains.

One of the delayed tragedies of the Puerto Vallarta Trip (besides the aguamala, the bite of which can again be seen here; those white spots are the poison rushing into my body) was Richard's intense sunburn. He basically looked like a Hiroshima survivor or a lepor, go with whichever is less offensive to you. A week before we departed for the gran PV, I talked Richard into cutting his hair down to the length of mine, thereby exposing his tender, Northern-European head to more unforgiving Mexican sun. This didn't bode well on the playas of PV, and Richard was left in prolonged agony, and Korey and I were left being struck by giant flakes of scorched skin which flew from Richard's tormented scalp. To reduce the hazard of flying, disgusting objects, we borrowed a really stiff brush from Paco and exfoliated the hell out of Richard's noggen. This video here captures the emotion of the situation pretty well, with only minimal vulgarity or disturbing images. Unfortunately, there is no Spanish to be learned here. I apologize to Brittany Ockenfels, who has (through family members) expressed disgust with my choice to write this blog in the language of the motherland. My sympathies go out to Brittany, but the purposes of the blog are to entertain the folks back home and to let them know I'm still alive, only one of which would be accomplished by a blog in a language which only she and my brother could understand. With that, here is the video.

Yesterday, Korey moved in with the same family as Richard and I. This was a pretty big step for our friendship, but Richard and I decided it would be cool to not have to walk 25 minutes over to Korey's house all the time, and she doesn't shower in the morning, so it wouldn't really break our balls that much. Korey relocated because the ruling authority at her previous house, Maggie, was a nazi (not in a political sense, but it describes her attitude and level of hospitality well.) The family was fairly wealthy, but informed Korey that she shouldn't endulge in the many luxuries of their suburbanite life because it wasn't really Korey's house; she was just on vacation. It didn't matter that she paid $400 a month to live there. The rest of the family is very friendly and fun, but the said person really ruined it for everbody. She is possibly the most un-Mexican Mexican I have met here in Mexico. So Korey bounced.
To celebrate this relocation to a better place/ escape from evil, and to just generally express to our family how much we appreciate them being so fantastic, Richard, Korey, and I cooked some glorious American cuisine for everybody. Richard made this macaroni and cheese caserole that made one's pupils dilate and drool pour from the lower lip (because of sabor (flavor) not any added substances), I prepared some Magnolia Street-style shishkabobs on the grill that gave me an excellent opportunity to employ the wisdom handed down from Clayton Sheldon to my brother and to me from him (the deliciousness of these 'shkabobs, as well, left people in various states of euphoria), and Korey made fruit-pizza for dessert. The original plan for the fruit pizza was to have a sugar-cookie crust, but by the grace of God (probably the Catholic one), sugar cookie materials aren't sold in Mexico (and neither is lemon juice, oddly, which left me crushing lots of lemons to make the marinade), and Korey was forced to make the fruit pizza with a brownie crust. This fruit pizza was nothing short of heavenly, and even after everybody overate on the caserole and 'shkabobs, all found room for two or three helpings of dessert.
There were a number of setbacks along the way to feast-heaven. First, we slept in really late, so we didnt' really even go shopping until like, 1pm, and we were supposed to eat at 3pm. Then, we went to the supermarket, and they didnt' have everything that Korey needed, so Korey and Richard went to another supermarket to find that, and I carried the mountain of groceries that we had already bought back to the house (over a mile). En camino (on the way) to the house, all the bags broke, and I was forced to remove my shirt to carry them the rest of the way (75%). It made me wish I lifted more weights. Oh well. The people of Guadalajara were disgusted. What more, it took a while to get the grill lit. I blame the poor quality of the carbon we were using. It was a third the price of the rest, what could I expect? But after a 40-minute effort by Paco, Paco, and Stu, we got the thing lit. During this endeavor, I noticed in a newspaper we were using to create flames a strange advertisement. The peculiarity is pictured here. Or at least, it WOULD be pictured here if computer malfunctions hadn't ruined that for everybody. So instead, here is a picture of me and Korey being disgusted with the computer. A rough translation of the advertisement: "hospital for sale." Everything else went smooth.

While we feasted, 3-year-old Prescot Espino found his way into a cup of wine. What follows is the conversation surrounding the kid with the cup of wine, in the form of a screenplay:
Abuela (gma): "No, Prescott, tiene vino." (no, prescott, there is wine in this)
Prescott: "Me gusta el vino." (I like wine).
All: "Jajajajaja!" (hahahahaha).
(italicized), Prescott drinks the entire cup of wine and proceeds to stumble around and have mood swings.

Pictured here is the very cheery Prescott, on his way to la cuidad borracha (drunktown).








Until next time, keep it real, and eat your vegitables.

PEACE
stu