The Rave

Notorious for it’s high amount of drug use per square acre, Raves are not normally my thing.  For one, I don’t do drugs; and two, I don’t necessarily like techno and electronic music.  Sure, I will listen to a few techno songs if the situation is right (techno themed party at my apartment in college), but just the thought of listening to that music in a concert setting for several hours on end with the strobing lights and constant aroma of weed and red bull doesn’t quite fit on my “top ten things left to do” list.  However, in the spirit of always trying new things, or in other words, as my friends would call it – being whipped – I said I would accompany my girlfriend and some friends to this all-night rager.

Quite literally, an all-nighter, the rave lasted from 6pm to 6am Sunday morning.  My friends and I got there around 11pm, were patted down for weapons, drugs, and paraphernalia, then walked for 15 minutes down a dirt road (no cars allowed at this point) in darkness.  The only light we encountered was that of vendors trying to sell us glow-sticks, lighters, cigarets, and beer.  I took a few pictures and the flash revealed two brick walls on both sides of the road, leading us to the entrance.  While walking with the rest of the crowd, not unlike entering a Chiefs game on Sunday morning, people were high-fiving, chugging beers, taking one-hitters out of balloons – the normal stuff.  I met three guys from New Zealand while walking in.  They seemed friendly until they started screaming “F*ck America”.  Okaaaaayyyyy, I’m going to get away from these dudes… Lucia, let’s go.

Not long after walking in I realized that my perfectly un-bloodshot eyes revealed my “first timer” status among the rave-goers.  This meant that my place in the bathroom lines was not honored – people would freely cut in front of me then turn around and give me a “what the hell are you looking at” look.  Also, I didn’t know how to behave at a rave.  Was I supposed to dance?  and if so, how?  I saw a lot of people wearing sunglasses.  I saw a lot of people just laying on the ground by themselves – I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing that.  So, I instinctually did what I thought was right – looked cool while barely bobbing my head up and down.

I must say that not everyone at this thing was as messed up as I’m describing.  My friends and I were perfectly content drinking a few beers and red bulls… and there were many many many people just like us.  It wasn’t all that bad.  But, it was like going to the doctor for a physical – the majority of the time everything is great… you’re answering all the questions, you’re getting your blood pressure and heart rate checked, but it’s those few seconds in which you have to turn your head to the side and cough that are stained into your memory.  Those few awkward seconds, of what is normally a ten minute event, is what you remember most after walking out of your doctor’s office (at least for guys).

The rave is huge.  There are three stages going on at the same time in different locations.  The stages consist of a huge mixing/turn table at the front and a huge screen (or screens) behind the DJ for whatever the hell they want to put on there – mostly bright lights and weird photos shown at creepily fast speeds – like album cover type stuff (David Bowe had some messed up album covers… check my parent’s coffee table for the Greatest Album Covers Book).  Of course it only took a few minutes for me to run into one of my students.  And in total, I ran into about 15 of them throughout the night – try letting yourself go at a concert of any kind, rave or no rave, and see if you can act normal knowing that your students may be watching you.

So, without further delay, I want to introduce the first video that I took.  This is of the main stage.  If you’re wondering how the different techno songs sound, just watch this video and you’ll know what it’s like to be at a rave for 6 hours.  If you listen carefully at the beginning you will hear my lovely girlfriend say, “Se parece bueno!”.

This next video is also of the main stage, but I tried to give a panoramic shot of the crowd and the surroundings.  You’ll notice on this video that the beat of the song goes from a very consistent lull sound to a hard beat with a lot of bass.  This was the story of the night… in five minute intervals giving the audience a soft consistent beat to a gradual build-up until the climactic hard bass sounds that gets everyone excited.  Repeat that for 6 hours.  (just after the 10 second mark is when it’s bright enough to see the crowd… then again at the 1:15 mark you can see the crowd).

I also got some good photos.  Unfortunately, many of the photos are inappropriate to be shown on this blog, but if you have enough interest then please send me an email and I will gladly send them to you.

By the end of the night (we left at 5am) I was exhausted, deaf, and was experiencing second-hand high from all the smoke.  The walk back to the entrance was not so dark… the sun was just starting to come up.  The narrow dirt road didn’t seem as bleak as before and I didn’t run into any New Zealanders this time.  The taxi ride home took us along the beach and for a second I thought, “oh, we can see the sun rise”, but then I remembered that the sun rises from the east and Peru’s beach is on the west.  Yep, I need to go to bed.

The dirt road leading to the entrance

Some guy we met while waiting in line to purchase beers

Taking a cigarette break

Need your help

In an effort to keep my English class somewhat interesting I don’t hesitate to do some weird activities and/or games.  From blind-folding the students and unleashing them through the halls of the school to having a whole class period where everyone stands on top of their desks, I love getting the opportunity for my students to question my motives.  Of course, whenever one of them asks me, “Brian, why are we doing this?”  the sarcastic bastard inside me can’t help but say, “Because I enjoy seeing you guys suffer.”

Like most high school students, the boys at Santa Maria have been trained to come into class, take notes, learn, memorize, and then regurgitate all over the test (not literally).  Sometimes I feel like they would rather sit there and listen to a boring lecture than to do something more stimulating – most of them follow this modo, or creed (or credo): less work for their brain, the better for them… even if the lecture puts them to sleep (sleeping, for some students, is a daily goal).

One project that worked really well was the Bobby G experiment.

Bobby G - Courtesy of KYDJ.net

I showed the students a picture of Bobby G trying to bend a metal bar in the back of an apartment complex… or what looked like an abandoned alley.  I didn’t tell them who he was or what he was doing, they had to create some kind of story for the picture.  The Bobby G picture naturally evokes creative thoughts simply because he’s such a bizarre personality in such a bizarre picture.  They had to give me Bobby G’s origins and how he got into this metal-bar-bending-predicament.  The more descriptive and creative, the better their grade was.  This was a great way to get them thinking creatively about their writing.  I can’t tell you how many essays I’ve read this year that say “…and then he went to the game, then to dinner with his family, but his mom didn’t make him the food he wanted, so he went to his room to eat doritos, but he got in trouble because his parents were yelling at him because he left the table without permission but he was mad because mom didn’t make the dinner he liked so he did what he thought was right…”  - just one continuous stream of consciousness.  Don’t worry about sentences, don’t worry about organization – writing an essay for some of them should be as easy as talking to their friends on instant messenger, and many times, that’s exactly how it sounds (with “like” being used not to compare something to another, but as a filler).

Anyway, I personally believe that for students learning a second language like these guys, reading in English will only take them so far.  When they start writing and speaking is when they truly make the necessary improvements from an average English speaker to an advanced, proficient communicator.  I’ve found this to be true for me to learn Spanish – I can read Spanish all day long and understand it, and sure, reading will help me improve my proficiency if I do it consistently, but when I make the effort to create my own words and sentences is when I’m truly challenging myself.

Additionally , in general, my students are very visual learners.  They are part of a generation that receives their information in tiny, quick snippets of information.  But, I think what’s more important than that, people in general have short attention spans.  If you’re teaching a class like me, then you’ll lose your students if you present them with a long “list” of things to remember day after day.

If you were in my class which slide would you be more interested in – the first or second?

Slide number 1…

…or slide number 2…

The second slide was taken from one of my lectures about communication – “Comprehensive Perspectives in Communication: looking at the world from a different angle”.  Out of the two slides which one gets you more interested in what I have to say next?

So, here is your chance to participate if you choose.  I would like to do one more writing assignment similar to the Bobby G experiment.  So far, using my advanced internet searching abilities, I’ve found one picture that I feel is worthy of this assignment (I posted it below).  So, if you have a picture that is just too interesting to pass up please send it to me.  I would love to see your ideas… because based on the responses and emails I get from my blog posts I know that most of you are very creative people.  Reply to this post or send me an email – bjmyp6@gmail.com

Here is the next possible candidate for the essay (Nat Geo pic)

Also… just so you know what ideas might come from the picture… the Bobby G picture resulted in some pretty interesting themes.  here are a few:

- James: The retired boxer trying to regain his fame by performing obscure feats of strength.
- Sockman: Nemesis of Spiderman… honeymooning as a co-author of comic books staring Gene Simmons and Barack Obama. He also published an autobiography, “Under the Sock”, an instant best seller.

- Ronnie Vinnucci: Graduate of the class of ‘93 at Richmond High. Repeated both Junior and Senior years, inspired by his boss at the laundry-mat, Mr Lee, Ronnie became a world renowned wrestler.

- Mr. Mustache: He has an obsession with smelly socks and bendable bars.
- Jose: A beer-loving gambling addict.
- Carlos: The Brazilian Street Fighter
- Peter Sanchez: President of a multi-national head band enterprise.
- Timothy Davies: A recently fired business-man who walks in on his wife cheating on him, starts smoking weed, starts jogging regularly, starts growing mustaches, and starts beating up dudes down at the boondocks.
- Joe Stevenson: A homeboy who liked to exercise all day and all night (very similar to Bobby G)

Surf School Transportation

Saw this incredible gem of a ride as I was running along the beach a couple weeks ago.  I’m definitely thinking about taking surf lessons from whomever owns this vehicle, if anything, just to meet this guy.

WWbJD?

At the end of my previous post I mentioned that I would answer two questions:

- Is the depiction of a “black Jesus” supposed to look so white?

- Lima was celebrating Oktoberfest on that same Saturday night… why the hell would I choose to go to church over Oktoberfest?  http://www.oktoberfest-peru.com/

I’ll try to tackle the first question… the first half of this post will be mostly story-telling, but the second half gets a bit more religiously racy, if that’s possible.  You’ve been warned.

So, getting back into the mood from Saturday night… I went to Mass at 9pm on Saturday night with Lucia’s parents.  Yep, just with my girlfriend’s parents.  That’s what I do on my Saturday nights – don’t get jealous.  After Mass Lucia’s dad told me to hang out in the back of the church until we went into the ‘waiting room’.  I know this will come as a shocker, but I had no idea what was going on, so I patiently waited for the next step, whatever it was going to be.

Well, the door to the waiting room opened and two larger men, possibly the Catholic church’s version of club bouncers, came out from the waiting room and gave the signal for people to enter.  Lucia’s parent’s gestured for me to follow them into the room, but because of the massive crowd around the door, I was not able to enter the room with them.  So, they got into the waiting room (still, at that point in the night, I had no idea what we will be waiting for) and they waited for me to enter.  I got to the door, along with several other people, and the bouncer was actually screening people at the door.  Some people weren’t allowed through the door, while others were ushered in just by a quick “okay, you go ahead” sign from the bouncers.

As the bouncers were arguing with those that were denied entrance, I started to get nervous – I thought… Uh oh, obviously the bouncers don’t know me, so this might be trouble.  I think not knowing what or why I was doing this made me even more nervous.  It would be one thing if I was trying to get into a bar and the bouncer said, “Sorry, bud, but we’re full.”, hell, I’ll just go to another bar.  But this is different in the sense that who knows what is behind that door in the ‘waiting room’, and what would I do if I got denied?  Go to another church with a mural of Black Jesus?  I don’t think so.

I walked up to the door, the bouncers took one look at me, and said “Sigue”.  That was easy.  I walked through with no problems and met Lucia’s parents.  We walked to a fairly large room, sat down in one of the 20 pews and… well… waited.  The room was almost 100% dark except for a light shining on a very large statue of Christ on the cross.  It was a little eery, and intimidating.  There were about 150 or 200 of us quietly waiting.  After asking around I found out that the church needed to be cleared and cleaned before the ceremony could start, so we were supposed to wait there until it was ready.  I also asked why some people weren’t allowed into the waiting room, and I couldn’t get a straight answer.  Someone said, “We’re lucky, I guess.”  and another person said, “We’ve been coming for years now.”  I was like, great, congratulations, but that still doesn’t explain why I’m in here and others are not.

The one thing that was glaringly obvious to me was that almost no one in the room looked like a native Peruvian… with the stereotypical Peruvian characteristics –  stout facial features, mostly dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair.  The guy at the door took one look at me and let me in.  And, in retrospect, the people he was not letting into the room looked very different from me.

If you are not aware, Peru does have a variety of races here, all living amongst each other.  And, unfortunately, racial differences are almost always in direct relation to social and economic classes.  And now, thinking back to that Saturday night, regrettably, I was the beneficiary of that social/racial relationship. (if you can call it a benefit).  In terms of skin color, the majority of people in the waiting room had more in common with me than with the people waiting outside.

But, if you look at my photos from my last post, you’ll notice that a lot of the people in the photos look Peruvian… or what I would perceive as the stereotypical South American, latino look.  Yes.  After waiting in the holding area for a few minutes, the men of the brotherhood were let in, accompanied by their families… and those men, as well as their families, are typical Peruvian looking people.  So, now that the brotherhood had entered the waiting area the mix of races and classes had started to even out a bit.  We prayed the rosary and then filed back into the church for the beginning of the ceremony.

However, before going back into the church, I noticed a bit of tension between the two groups.  There was only enough room for about half the people to sit down for the rosary, and logically, the half that was let in first got first pick at the seats, and the second half was left standing for the entirety of the rosary.  If you’ve never prayed the rosary, I can tell you it’s not just something you can do on a bathroom break.  (at least a normal bathroom break… my buddy, Matt, had some epic stints with the toilet while we were in Guatemala a couple years ago).  You need a solid 20, or 30 minutes depending on the group.  We had a few altercations with people saving seats, people not giving up their seats to people who needed it more, and people with general disdain for those people that were let in first.  It wasn’t a good way to start out the rosary.

So, slowly I figured out why I, the guy who found out about this event only a week ago, was let into this sacred place and why other people, more passionate and definitely more deserving, were denied entrance.  And only as we were walking out of the church, after the ceremony, and had to wade through the hundreds of Peruvians waiting outside the door did I truly realize the significance of being told, “No, you may not enter” as the ‘gringo’ is being waived through.

(Disclaimer: religion and race are sensitive subjects.  This story is a combination of my observations and my opinion.  And while writing this, I can’t help but feel like I just won a baseball game solely due to an umpire’s bad call – “Yeah, it’s too bad it had to end like that… it’s unfair.  My heart goes out to the players on the losing end, but we won, so our focus must be on the next game.”  I definitely feel regret and disappointment that I didn’t do a bit more research before attending this event.  I feel very lucky to have experienced what I did, but at the same time I would have much rather been outside waiting like everyone else… who knows, that may have provided for a more entertaining experience.)

Lucia and I

Students at Santa Maria

The Brotherhood

This brings me to the depiction of Jesus question… why is it that Jesus looks so white?  I thought it was supposed to be an African looking Jesus?  The slave that painted the original mural was a direct descendant of Africa, the house in which the mural was found was a home built to accommodate (or in more literal terms, hold) African slaves, and the mural was painted as the crucifixion of a black Jesus.

2 copies: One in the foreground and one in the background

I’m not going to get too deep into what Jesus’ skin color was, but in reality it’s not important.  Jesus was human.  The African slave was human.  There.  That’s the only physical characterization you need (at least in my opinion) when talking about Jesus’ appearance.  Obviously, I don’t know for a fact, but I can speculate that he painted Jesus how he personally felt would have the greatest impact on himself and his fellow slaves… and I’m actually very happy to hear that he painted him black.  Whatever gave that guy any comfort outside of his … uh… I don’t know… “being a slave”… then I’m all for it.

Unfortunately, there’s not a solid answer as to why, over the course of the last 300 years, the original depiction of the black Jesus was changed to a very caucasian looking Jesus.  I can only suspect that it has something to do with the reason why I was let into the waiting room and other passionate, justly deserved Catholics were not.

El Señor de los Milagros

Last night, about ten minutes to midnight, I was trying to think about the circumstances that led me to being ‘felt-up’ by a strange old man in a Catholic church in downtown Lima…

(Nope, too dirty… let me try this introduction again.)

As the old man looked me in the eyes, firmly grabbing my shoulders, he asked me “Tienes fuerza, no?”.  Literally translated, it means, “You have strength, no?”, but in these circumstances, he was trying to tell me, “Son, you’re not strong enough.”

I was in downtown Lima, in a Catholic church, and yes, it was very late on a Saturday night.  I had been waiting for almost three hours to take part in La procesión del Señor de los Milagros, and it was game-time for Professor Brayan.

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“The Lord of Miracles” procession is THE catholic event of the year in Peru.  It is known for being one of the largest processions in the world, with millions of Catholics convening in downtown Lima for a three day procession.

After asking around and doing a little online research, the history of the procession is pretty interesting.  I will attempt to summarize it as short as possible.  In 1650, on the wall of an adobe home here in Lima, an African slave painted a mural of a black Jesus on the cross.  5 years after the mural was completed, an earthquake struck Lima destroying much of the city and killing thousands.  In the small town in which this mural was painted, Pachacamilla, the only thing still standing after the earthquake was this wall with the mural.  From there, the legend grew.  In 1670, the caretaker of the wall suffered from a malignant brain tumor, until he prayed to the wall asking for a miracle.  His prayer was answered and the tumor miraculously disappeared.

(the validity of the malignant tumor is still in question in my book… I’m not a doctor, but what kind of technology do you need to have to identify whether or not a tumor is malignant?  Doc:  ”Yep, I’m afraid it might be malignant.  Schedule a cat-scan with my nurse for next Thursday.”  The nurse responds with, “Doctor, it’s 1670… any other options?”)

In 1671, due to some political controversy, the bishop ordered the mural to be painted over, thus destroying it.  Well, every man that attempted to paint over the mural was overcome with some higher power and couldn’t do it.  Upon hearing about this failed attempt to destroy the wall, some church officials went down to the wall to see what all the fuss was about… saw how beautiful the painting was, and immediately redacted their original order.  A chapel was then built around the wall to help protect and keep it sacred.

In October of 1687 another earthquake hit Lima… and the chapel that held the mural was destroyed, but again, the mural stood strong and didn’t crumble.  This was the final sign that couldn’t be denied and the Peruvian people decided to honor and celebrate the event by making a duplicate copy of the wall and carrying it through the streets of Lima.  So, every year for the last 322 years a procession has been held in Lima in honor of The Lord of Miracles.

The Brotherhood

In the modern day processions, 2 tons of metal, steel, and gold are placed on the shoulders of about 24 men (the men are called The Brotherhood) as they carry this replica wall around Lima.  Every once in a while the men stop to let the general public have a go at trying to carry this thing, which, considering the strict policy of the brotherhood, carrying the ‘Anda’ as they call it is considered a great honor for any Catholic Peruvian.

—————————–

The creepy old man is still staring at me waiting for an answer.  ”Tienes fuerza?”  I don’t really know what to answer the guy.  It is the opening ceremony of the procession and I have an opportunity to carry the Anda, possibly a first for gringos everywhere.  My first thought is – I know I look skinny, frail, and weak, but my core is really well built and I have a strict policy of “always lift with your legs”.

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This ‘creepy old man’, as I’ve dubbed him, was recruiting men from the general public to carry the Anda… well, I say ‘recruiting’, but in reality there’s about 100 guys around him at all times asking to help carry the thing.  I just happened to be around him, not particularly enthusiastic about the thought of carrying 2 tons on my shoulders, but I was lucky enough for him to ask me if I wanted to do it.

8 men from the Brotherhood carrying one side of the Anda

But, like this whole ceremony, he was intimidating me – I could see the faith and passion in these people’s faces as they stared in awe of this mural, just waiting for a chance to get near it, touch it, and quite possibly carry it.  Compared to the Peruvian men and women around me, spiritually speaking, I was not on the same level as they were.  I believe in God, I’m a practicing church-going Catholic, but my faith is not based on a replica painting in a church in downtown Lima.  No offense to the millions of people that attend this event… if this wall gives them hope in God, their faith, or even miracles then I really believe that’s great for them.  However, I just learned of this thing last week and there’s some people that plan their whole year around this procession… so like I said, we’re not on the same level.  In the end, I realized the significance of this event so if someone asked me if I wanted to carry the thing… sure, por su puesto.

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Finally, I answer the man with a reassuring, Si, and he gives me the okay to carry it.  I get into position, which is squeezed in between two men who are not necessarily that much shorter than me, but when we’re talking about carrying two tons of a black Jesus on just our shoulders, they might as well be 3 feet tall.  I can tell you that the taller person will always bear the most weight when carrying 2 tons of Jesus on your shoulders.  So, sure, they’re not that much shorter, but a few inches is a lot of extra weight to bear for my supposedly ’strong core’.

I get into position, kneel down to the floor to prepare for lifting… the bell rings which signifies a group lift of Jesus, and we come up (using our legs of course, straight backs) and the immediate pain I feel in my left shoulder and my knees is alarming.  The guy behind me quickly tells me to try to bend my knees so that the Anda is low enough for it to lean on his shoulder, so I bend my knees a bit and get temporarily relieved that the pressure is not as bad as I initially thought.  But, about 10 seconds later we start to walk forward and that’s when I get into a little trouble.  The weight of the Anda and it’s corresponding pain is starting to show on my face, so people walking along side of it are trying to give me words of advice.  They’re telling me to spread my feet farther apart instead of bending my knees, that way I can deal with the weight better.  It worked, until we start walking forward and I couldn’t keep my balance with my legs spread so far apart.

Then, that’s when it happened.  The old guy who was initially questioning my strength walked around on my side to check on me.  As soon as I saw him looking at me I knew what was going to happen.  I got flashbacks of the one and only time I was cut from a sports team in my life – Junior year basketball tryouts.  Just as Coach Nesbaum told me then, this Peruvian told me again… “You’re out.”  …well, maybe not exactly the same.  He pulled me out of the procession and replaced me with an appropriately-heighted man.  My 20 seconds of black-Jesus-carrying-glory was over just like that.

The old man tried to console me by saying that it wasn’t that I was too weak, I was just too tall.  I told him in my best Spanish to stop patronizing me and that despite my despaired look, I was not about to suffer a hernia.  Of course, I don’t know the Spanish word for “patronizing”, nor “despaired”, so I really don’t know what I told him.

(With the Anda behind me) After they kicked me out of the procession, you could find me walking around with this look on my face.

To be continued mañana…

Questions to be answered:

- Is the depiction of a “black Jesus” supposed to look so white?

- Lima was celebrating Oktoberfest on that same Saturday night… why the hell would I choose to go to church over Oktoberfest?  http://www.oktoberfest-peru.com/

More Pictures…

Inside the church. The Anda is the well lit image to the right.

The Brotherhood

Here in South America… this is life.

Last Saturday night, all over the world, soccer fans sat down to watch an international game of their choice – qualifying games for the 2010 FIFA World Cup.  Among others; USA played Honduras, Portugal played Hungary, Spain played Armenia, Liechtenstein played Azerbaijan (¿Quién?), and Peru played Argentina.

Opposed to going out and enjoying the game with my fellow Peruvian brethren, my inner nerd convinced me to stay home and keep track of most of the games online (specifically the US game) while watching Argentina pick apart Peru’s pitiful last place team – a position that, unfortunately, Peru’s national soccer team has occupied going on 20 years now.

I sat on my little love seat sofa with my laptop on my lap and the Peru/Argentina game on the TV.  My internet connection isn’t the best, but I managed to get a good refresh of the USA stats every five minutes or so.  As far as the Peru/Argentina game – it was pretty tense, actually.  To my surprise, Peru went into halftime with the score tied 0-0.  The first half stats were entertaining (to a soccer fan anyway) – Argentina had 75% of the possession and Peru had zero shots on goal and zero corner kicks.  Really, I think the Argentinean goalie may have touched the ball once on a pass back from his own teammate.  Despite the lopsided Argentinean advantage, Peru was still in the game coming out of halftime.

The second half was very similar to the first.  Argentina was still dominating.  The weather started to get bad… rain, and lots of it.  I think it was around the 70th minute that Argentina finally scored its first goal.  And, as the rain started to get worse, and the game was drawing to an end, Peru started to attack.  Literally, in the 90th minute (the last minute of regulation time) Peru made a strong surge and went down the field and scored.  I was no longer paying attention to the TV when they scored… I was trying to refresh my internet page to get updates on the US game.  But when I heard the TV announcer shout “GOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!” I knew what happened.  At the same moment, the whole city of Lima (or at least my small block in Miraflores) erupted in cheers.  I could hear people outside my building, down my street at the local bars, going crazy.  Cars were honking, people were high-fiving and hugging each other – a sight that I have never ever seen.  It was kind of cool to hear all that noise… the natural love of soccer in South America is rivaled by, well, nothing.  It is life.

But… there’s always a ‘but’.  Well, this wasn’t the Miracle on Ice… it wasn’t Villanova over Georgetown… and no, it wasn’t Screech finally getting his revenge when he famously ripped Zack’s shirt off here… nope, this was Peru versus Argentina.  And that means that only a few moments after Peru scored the tying goal, Argentina scored.  And soon after that, the game was over.  Damn.  Argentina 2, Peru 1.  Well, it was fun while it lasted, even for a short moment.

However, I didn’t mention one very important event that took place in the 30 seconds between the time that Argentina scored the winning goal and the end of the game.  Argentina’s famous coach, Diego Maradona, celebrated in a way that I’ve never seen a coach celebrate.  After watching the winning goal go in, Maradona, finds the nearest place to do his best Pete Rose impression.  He dives head first in celebratory delight onto the field, then follows the dive by a huge fist pump.  Maradona, considered one of the best soccer players to ever live, is a notorious cocaine addict.  He’s had his issues with drugs for the past 20 years, but that didn’t stop Argentina from putting him in the head coaching position… and now, he’s loving every minute of it.

Here is where it starts

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Weeeeee

Here is the youtube video of all the goals, including Peru’s miraculous goal and Maradona’s celebratory slide – Here .  Can you imagine any other coach doing this?  Argentina is one of the greatest soccer nations in the history of the sport.  Can you imagine the Yankees manager doing this?  Phil Jackson?  Bill Parcels?  I mean, the game wasn’t even over yet!  Granted, there wasn’t much time left, but really… come on man.  As far as coaching goes, has there been any other sports moment with such blatant disregard for sportsmanship?  I guess in my American-tainted eyes, I see it as unsportsmanlike, but this is South America… this is soccer in South America.  This is life…. oh wait, my internet page just refreshed!  Okay, the US beat Honduras.  Air high five!

You just wouldn’t understand,

-Brian

Off to college?

Where do I begin with this picture?

Here we have a picture of one of my students, Edmundo, taken about three weeks ago.  This is an odd picture and not because Edmundo is miraculously studying for the first time all year, but because of a couple bizarre circumstances that led us to this point.

The setting:  Where the hell are we?  Why is my English class scattered around in what looks like a science lab?  Well, the politically correct answer would be that the school administration asked me to have my class in the science lab while they were using my classroom to have meetings… meetings for the upcoming school carnival.  The truth is that a couple Mondays ago I went to open my classroom to find that (1)the lock was changed so my key didn’t work, and (2) the classroom was completely empty – no desks, no computer, nothing.  First, I thought in the possibility that I could be fired… and being that I’ve never been fired before (specifically from a job in Peru) this could be a sinister way for them to send me a message.  But, on second thought, they probably just forgot to tell me that they were using it for something.  So, it turns out, yes, they will be using my classroom for storage for the upcoming carnival, and, no, I’m not fired.  For two weeks I was moved to various classrooms throughout the school, and on the day this picture was taken, we were lucky enough to have the science lab.  An email, phone call, or warning would have been nice.

The students:  Edmundo came into school on this day feeling very happy.  He just found out that he got accepted to the University of his choice.  In Santa Maria (and I’m guessing at other schools around Lima) when you get into a University your friends gang up on you to cut/shave/maim your hair in any and every way possible as a sort-of congratulatory gesture.  On this day, Edmundo’s friends did just that – congratulated him with a pair of scissors.  You’ll also notice that all of the other students already have their heads shaved.  Well, they were lucky enough to have been accepted to college a bit earlier than Edmundo.  Really, the funny part about it is that the bastards cut each other’s hair during class.  In this particular case, the students pass the pair of scissors to whomever is lucky enough to be sitting behind Edmundo in class and surprise-attack him.  By the way, there is a rule against doing that in school… I guess wielding scissors around someone’s head while they are trying to avoid being cut can get a bit dangerous.

*Side note: Colleges and Universities are completely different here in Peru.  Apparently, colleges are for manual labor careers, and universities are more of what I think of as an undergraduate learning institution.  So, when I tell my students, “Hey, congratulations for getting into college!”, I usually get a puzzled look and a response of “College?  No, Brian, I got into University.”  Okay, my bad.

**Second Side Note: I teach an SAT preparation course after school and I have about 6 students that are planning on going to college in the US.  When I asked them which schools they’re thinking about going, the most common answer is “Somewhere in California”.  Okay, sounds like they’ve been doing their research!  In addition to teaching this preparation course, I wanted to bestow my grand knowledge of college on these young men, specifically trying to tell them that Cal-Berkeley or Stanford (the only two schools that my students know about in California) are not the only schools in California… or I don’t know, maybe tell them that I went to a not-so-well-known school in Southwest Missouri and I, along with thousands of other coeds, absolutely loved the 4 years (and an additional summer) that I spent there.  Now, this is where I need your help – Since the readers of my blog are the most scholarly and intellectual readers on the internet, do you have anything that you would suggest I communicate to these young, vulnerable minds?  Please, I welcome all the advice I can get.

-Brayan

New Blog

Welcome to the new layout of LIVINGinPERU.  I chose to move to a new site for several reasons – this site is much easier for me to use, it is more aesthetically appealing, and the readers can make comments without having to be a member or log in to anything.  Much easier for everyone.

Please make sure that you bookmark this page or add this page to your favorites.  For those of you that always read my emails and never visited the blog, well, sorry, but no more emails.  I guess if you were annoyed by my emails then you can be grateful now that I’m not sending them anymore.  For the first couple posts I’ll be sure to put a reminder on the former blog, which, will send you another email reminding you to visit the new blog.  Of course, if you are tech-savvy enough then you can set up a blog reader function so that you receive an email every time I update my blog.

Also, my former blog will continue to stay online just in case anyone wants to reminisce, or really make fun of me.  There is also an “Archive” tab at the very top of this page where you can see all of my former posts.

Thanks for reading my stuff.  I hope you enjoy the new layout.

Sincerely,

-Brian J. Meagher

Neighborhood News

My apartment sits in a busy part of Lima – Miraflores.  Considering that Miraflores is a fairly popular place to live (Peruvians living among tourists and gringos), there always seems to be something happening.  Whether it is an organized parade or just a party on the roof of the building across the way, I am always sure to have the ipod and headphones nearby just in case I can’t sleep with all the noise.

A few weeks ago there was a parade going through the local park, Parque Kennedy.  It was an all day celebration sponsored by a huge grocer here in Peru – Wong.  The end of the day was celebrated with a fireworks show that made every car alarm go off within a one mile radius.  It sounded like a war zone.  I was sitting in my apartment when the fireworks started going off and they felt like they were right outside my door.  So I walked up to the roof and took a couple pictures and videos.  Here is one of the videos…  the park is about 4 blocks away.

In other, unrelated news…

Just outside my apartment is a nice pedestrian pathway in between one of the busiest roads in Miraflores, Pardo.  Last week the city put up about 100 paintings/drawings to raise awareness for the environment; specifically about preserving the earth’s trees.  Here are a few pictures of the paintings that are posted on the street.

The walkway with the paintings illuminated