Thoughts on the Dominican Republic

The first thing I noticed after leaving the resort in Punta Cana was that, after catching an overpriced taxi from the airport to the bus station, and after embarking on a local bus that would "eventually" get me to Santo Domingo, was the seats that were always taken first (and therefore the 'best' seats) were the seats at the very front.  This contrasts with buses in Canada, where people space themselves out throughout the bus as much as possible.

According to my Lonely Planet travel guide, skin color gives an informal hierarchy where the lighter your skin, the more important you must be.  That didn't make me think they were metaphorically spitting on their king when I was snubbed by the locals.  Rather, I'm pretty sure it altogether had to do with my complete incomprehension of the spanish language, and in particular the extraordinary thickness of their accent.  This isn't to say I know not a word, for No habla Espanol is a nearly complete sentence.  I can speak some key words, and my comprehension is available, at times when I'm sober and people speak in one word sentences.  What I constantly found myself tripping over is when I feel like I've finally got my point across in a series of gorrilla-like grunts and gestures, and I feel like I can stride across that finish line of accomplishment, only to find the shoelaces of accent and talking speed have been tied together (and not in the good way).  I'm much happier not trying to speak the language at all, and consider myself a bit of a master of body language these days.  The Dominicans sour dispositions toward me only stings for as long as they and I are in the same room together.

The second thing I learned since stepping foot off the resort, which by the way is only full of "rich" white fatties and dispirited Uncle Toms - is that "friend" roughly translates into Dominican as "Whitey who will give me all your money."  Not to say that there weren't nice people, because I met plenty.  But they just don't seem as motivated as the tieves, hustlers, pimps and junk salesment to pick up the English language.  I was consistantly amazed by how few spoke English - it seems that an infinite amount of money (provided you place yourself in frequently Gringo'ed areas) can be made, and one can live a relatively easy life in an otherwise poverty stricken banana republic.  As it stands, the realm of English speaking Dominicans remains the realm of of every thug and lowlife eager for free pesos.  Take my last night there, for example, in a rapidly expanding town of Bavaro, about a half hour drive from the Punta Cana airport.  Punta Cana remains an anomoly in the Dominican weather system, knowing only blue sky and sunshine while the rest of the island chokes on floodwaters, floating islands of garbage, and backed up sewage systems.  Why until recently this has not been one of the more densely populated areas is beyond me.  But still much of it remains scrubland just waiting to be laid to torch.  More recently, however, every inch of its pristine white sands and sexy, picturesque beaches (that seem more real to me on a postcard than to be buried ankle deep into) is quickly being converted into overpriced resorts.  I can only assume the vision is of shipping more an more pasty North American and Europeans in, presumably with the end goal of creating some sort of island out of dollar bills that the owners of these resorts can build their own resort out of solid gold and spend their time on.

And it seems to be working.  Inside the Punta Cana airport, an assortment of gringos form long ribbons of flesh waiting to re-embark back to their country, or pour fourth from the arrivals section in waves, waiting to be whisked away to their relatively expensive home in the tropics for anywhere from 20 to 40 dollars american per trip.  I'm of mixed feelings of these resorts; after my experience I'm more than a litte bitter from "No habla Inglais" and a multitude of broken english variants of "give me money", and I can understand someone wanting to simultaneously get away and also not be confronted by these problems on vacation.
But this subsequently feeds back into the Domincan people a sense of elitiesm, that white people are collectively too good to be around them, and spending money in exclusive locations that they will only see if they are a meager employee of these institutions.  This happens instead of tourists spending money in the many, many local towns sprinkled throughout the Dominican (and always on the major roads).  This perceived elitiesm further frustrates the average Dominican, fuelled by American TV station dreams showing many, many nice things they will never be able to afford - and goes on to make them even more bitter towards the turistas that dare step off the resort property and try to interact with the population, despite the language barriers.  Which in turns embitters the visitors, choosing to isolate themselves on resorts moreso in a cycle that continues to continue.
(all my pics can be found at http://s111.photobucket.com/albums/n146/emaika/Dominican_Republic/)

Good news everyone! Brad Pitt's gonna be okay!!!!

i know everyone who gives two shits about pop culture has been wondering the same thing about their favorite popular celebrities (or perhaps even the ones they love to hate) that i have:

whats going to happen to this poor, oppressed peoples once the financial hardships of depression, recession, or maybe some new kind of ion sets in.

well it wasn't easy, but after struggling through some research related hardships of my own, i came up with some answers.  as it turns out, hollywood was barely affected by the great depression of 1929, compared to EVERY OTHER INDUSTRY.  for some ungodly reason, americans maintained their movie going habits and chose to watch escapist movies about 'fantasy' and 'hope' and 'love' rather than face reality with a few extra trusty cans of beans in their side pockets.  hollywood knew what people wanted MORE AMERICAN DREAM crammed down their throats with an extra helping of patriotism and optimism (for lube).

thats why i plan to take full advantage of this, should stephen harper get re-elected and careen our figurative economic b-52 on the 'same steady path' towards wall streets awaiting AA guns.  thats right, i'm going to use my ultra ghetto budget skills to set up a stage at my own house and perform plays using paper mache and sock puppets.  maybe i'll dream up some never thought of before screenplay and then sell it to hollywood later after they realize my mad cashing-in-on-the-depression skillz.  or i may just do some hipster puppetry remakes like resevoir dogs or boondock saints.  better yet, i'll just rip off movies they already made in 1929 and the early 30's before hollywood gets a chance to, then sell their fat asses back to them.  all this misery and sufferings gonna make me some mad green.

Only the beginning...

Something I haven't wanted to do for a while now has been to write on my blog about the impending economic crisis, what is going to happen, and how David Icke may or may not have known about it. Then, after a week of my not posting on my blog, I realized it may be on my mind for some years to come. Unfortunately, I may not have 2 hot wires to snap together to connect to the internet to continue writing, but if that happens, you DEFINITELY will not have a different set of wires to read it. That and most likely you will add to the increasing number of google searches for "Where is there food in " or "Where is there jobs in ".

Most of my life is about having a catostrophic view of life, the world, and virtually everything that anyone with power does in this world. You could call me cynical or jaded, but I'm just another animal, man, doing my animal things like I do best. You could call me the metaphorical polar bear in the zoo with the compulsive head sway. Some would question the bear and ask him "What are you doing? Stop swaying, dammit!!!" but I'm just gonna say "The bear lived his whole life in a zoo, and he doesn't speak any fucking english, so cut him some slack plz."

So now that your mouth is a-water with prospects of me talking about North American Unions and Neo Great Depressions, I suppose I can hold the information from you no longer. I've built up the suspense as big as it can go without the inevitable drop in attension span. Here's something that may not occur to you, and certainly hasn't occurred to those FAT CATS on WALL STREET:

What's going to happen to all our celebrities? Nobody will be able to afford cameras, television cable, movies, or gossip magazines. an entire branch of the WORLD economic secter will cease to exist, at least in our soon to be impoverished nations. What will the Brad Pitts and the Angelina Jolie's and the Jennifer Anison's do without having paparazzi (who i presume will be too impoverished from malnutrition to lift their pencil in question) hanging off their every move.

Also, celebrity money will be worthless too, so they won't be able to buy the latest fashions, and whatever else celebrities spend their money on. I realize your mind has just been blown, so before I bombard you any further, I will let what has already been said give time to penetrate to the WHATWHY part of your brain, and I will begin to at least attempt to answer this monolithic problem in my next installment.

Imma go home and practice dancing after i write this

If you know me you might know that I've been spending far too much time reading a lot about Michael Jackson, in my attempt to capture his essence and cram it into a ganster rap song. We're not here today to talk about my mania, or the irony of my obsession over pop culture, but instead we're going to talk about one of my other obsessions: dancing. You see in Michael Jackson's video/movie career, a common theme develops.

The guy, like all guys, has problems. But he solves his problems by DANCING and making his enemies his allies by dancing with him and producing some badass complicated coriography in the process. He however maintains total control, being the head dancer and still way better dancer than his adversaries, they merely following his lead the best way they can. Sometimes they exaust themselves by dancing without proper pre dance stretching, but most of the time after they dance a little while they just realize what a great guy he is and how can they kill a guy after he adds some boss moves to their repitoire. This isn't just an isolated zombie related incident, I mean the guy solves problems in outer space and everywhere with this One Size Fits All solution.

So I couldn't help but think of how much like real life this was. If my boss were to fire me for not doing my job properly, if I were an amazing dancer, I'd just be like

"Oh yeah, my performace has been somewhat atrocious Mr. Chu, but what do ya think of this?"

And then proceed to bust out in an uprock routine where I show him and whoever else happens to be in the room all sides of my feet before going into some downrock power moves before a one handed air freeze finale.

I guarentee you he'd forget all about what I did wrong and think only of the last experience he had with me, my amazing dance moves. Then he would offer me a raise and possibly try to stuff dollar bills down my pants, which I would accept out of politeness.

I'm a fan of quoting Johnny Cash, one line in particular "Get rhythm when you get the blues". I can guarentee you that in 1993 through 2006 amidst all the pedophelia accusations Michael was getting, that he was glad he was such a great dancer, because when you're nervous about showing up in court the next day or a 25 minute strip search, sometimes you just need to dance the stress away.

Dirty Meat

I had to buy pizza for lunch today since I forgot my money at home, and I have no FOOD at home, so I had to go home to get money for food. Since it takes me my full lunch hour to get home and back to work, I could only get something to eat that was:
-on the way between my home and work
-something i could eat while walking
I know what you're thinking and, its true I do come up with some wicked problem solving ability when I'm in a pinch. Not eating is also not an option since I get REAL cranky when I haven't eaten for a while.
So I go to the pizza place on the way whose pizza drastically resembles pizza you probably bought ate and loved as a kid: greasy, crunchy, not particularly good, but not Sarpinos (ZING) and as usual I get whatever is freshest, which at this particular wrinkle in time, was meat lovers. I would say I am a meat lover, even though what passes for meat in our society does not mean ACTUAL meat. So i'm eating this greasy chunk that may or may not have been some type of slug, and I have a flashback to Canada day.

Canada day was a pretty good time. It wasn't an amazing time, since I like most other Canadians had to work the next day. But I did get to go see the freemason lodge during their open house (which in Victoria at least is every Canada day between 10am and 3pm) and hung out at various points in town with my homies. But what stands out at this Canada day was our trip to John's Place.

John's Place is what I can only call the most overrated breakfast place in Victoria. While most breakfast places in Victoria are both overcrowded on weekends and overpriced, this one in particular also has some of the worst food I have ever eaten in a breakfast place that wasn't fast food. I had eaten lunch and dinner at this place before, and I was actually impressed with the food at that particular time. So I followed the logic that "hey, the dinners are good, if this is a breakfast place, the breakfasts must be GREAT". I was never more wronger in my life.

I ordered the eggs benedict, because I love eggs benedict but am far too lazy to make my own hollandaise sauce. So when I go out to breakfast, I can generally justify dropping $12 on some eggs benny because that is the only opportunity I have to eat them. What do I get? oh the eggs benedict are there, the hollandaise is present, and the english muffins are as english as english muffins can be, but here they have a friggin sausage mcmuffin chunk of bloated grease fat RUINING EVERYTHING. I have never wished I had thrown up in a restaurant more than the day I ate that meal. And I only ate it because of the starving people in Africa. I hope they appreciated it.

Who is that ravishing...oh. Could you put your hat back on?

I am not normally a fan of hats.  They have their place, like ski hills and other cold, windy climes, but in general, my head enjoys breathing.  Kind of the same reason I keep my hair fairly short.  If I even have my bucket helmet on for an extended period of time, it sends my follicle cells and sebaceous glands screaming for oxygen.  

The damp, clumpy mess that it leaves behind is also not attractive and hides my otherwise awesomely awesome hair style.  How any guy with a baseball hat attracts any women at all leaves me in sheer amazement of how low people's standards will drop for someone with conversation skills.


But what I do like are what I can only describe as sausage hats.  While not really looking like a sausage, they do look like what I imagine a super large sausage that had a cross section taken out of it would look like.  The cross section would then be hollowed out in one side, and a low hanging rim affixed.  The ones I see are usually dark colors, green grey or black, and do they make girls look CUTE.  I never thought I would be a sucker for a hat, but even an average looking girl look like an Electra-house sex kitten mouse fox. 
The thing that makes me sad, however is the fact that its a current trend, and for a brief twist of time, a good one.  I can only hope, but not expect that what follows it will be better, even though this may not be in actuality possible.

John A. is not my homeboy, because he's nowhere to be found

This picture shows it all. Lady Liberty can find no ten dollar bills. Today I made two seperate purchases today, less than $10 in total value, and I of course paid in yuppy food stamps ($20 bills). Both times, I was given 2 5's, never a ten. I thought about it a bit more, and its true - tens are an endangered species. Is it just a mathematical anomoly, or some sort of Riplian coincidence?

This is the part where you expect me to do math about average purchases and what people tend to pay with, showing you that $5 bills are the only one worth carrying (you don't have to carry 20's because every schmuck pays with a 20 and so you end up having piles of these very quickly if you run any type of reputable business). I'm not going to do that though, because, really, most people pay with >>DEBIT CARDS<<

I hate debit cards. Sure, in the 1990's it was all the rage, people oohing and aaahing as they run the metallic stripe down the slider like some sort of flattened skinny penis. I guess people who didn't have credit cards wanted to know what it was like to 'pay in plastic' and next thing you know, we will soon be using magnetic chips implanted in our arms and eyeball scanners with built in GPS devices and enough explosives to terminate your heartbeat. But maybe now I'm being the romantic one. I guess the point I'm trying to make is, if you run a business, try to find some way to get a lot of 5's, because it seems like getting change after 5pm in the evenings and quite often on weekends is a pain in the ass.

And what the fuck are you supposed to do if someone is trying to give you money (ie buy something) and you can't change their bills? I guess you should have thought of that before your (insert witty type of shop) shop.