Being such a fan of the holiday (bet you couldn't tell), I would be remiss to not write a little something in dedication to the wonderful day of every year that is Halloween. And since I'm going to a retreat tomorrow for the whole weekend (you'll probably hear about that), I'll type to you on Halloween Eve. Or, Hallow's Eve Eve.
I love Halloween. I love the pumpkin carving, the movies, trick or treating, dressing up, the candy, even the weather. Who can say no to going out as the Phantom of the Opera on a crisp fall New England night with your best friends, knocking on doors, and asking for candy? I really can't understand the hatred surrounding it here. I mean, sure, you might not think its origins are of the most savory nature, I get that. But I just want to have fun with my buds, enjoy a smorgasbord of sweets, and then watch scary movies until the sugar highs pass and we all collapse from exhaustion. I don't want to go outside and dress like a demon and prance around all night.
It just frustrates me, that's all. The kids growing up here are just kinda trained to hate it, and I wish that for once they could just like have a Halloween party at school so people could realize that it just might not be the most heathen thing to do on a Friday night.
But, no matter what anyone says, I will still wake up to my The Nightmare Before Christmas alarm clock, I will still wear orange, black tomorrow, I will still eat my horded American M&M's, I will still drink energy drinks, and I will still watch "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown", "The Nightmare Before Christmas", Beetlejuice", "Ghostbusters", and "Cloverfield" in one sitting. If, by next year, I do anything less to celebrate, please, by all means, slap me across the face. But, in 2008, it's gonna be a good Halloween indeed.
-Will
P.S.- HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
"There's children throwing snowballs, instead of throwing heads. They're busy making toys and absolutely no one's dead!"
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Poutine, Buses, and Rugby: or, Some final thoughts on Quebec
Something has struck me recently, while I was exploring facebook in all of its majesty. I have more facebook friends from Quebec than I do from Massachusetts. Quite a bit more, actually. While trying to grasp this new and strange fact, I had yet another eureka moment. I miss Quebec.
I know, most of you sit reading this with a dropped jaw and coffee spilling out of it this very moment. Surely for all my whining and complaining of the place, I would say "good riddance" and wash my hands of it forever. But, looking back, the bad parts kind of fade away, in comparison to the much more memorable good parts. While, in reality, they might have been few and far between, it's hard to look back on a place and remember all the monotonous days in between. For every 30 average days with nothing to do at night, there might be one fun class, great rugby game, or entertaining night out that covers it and makes it look better. I could go into great detail about the best of times and the worst of times, but you have much better things to do.
But, really, isn't that just what happens everywhere? "The grass is always greener..."- you know the rest. Until about February, I couldn't stand the place, but by the end, I would be lying if I said I wasn't very sad to leave. I made some great friends and countless acquaintances in my short 10 months there. The last day of school nearly had me in tears, and it was weird, this year, to think that another year of school is starting there, just like before. Now, I wouldn't choose it over Franklin, but compared to here? You'd better believe I'd pick the same American-hating, poutine-eating province I've ridiculed time and time again. It had root beer, TV, decent internet speeds, multiple gaming stores, and 3 malls within 15 minute driving distance. What was I complaining about?!
But really, its pretty much the same as here. I get there, I hate it, I hate it a little less, I make some friends, and Bam! Before you know it, I'm missing it after just 10 months. It'll be just like that here, right? That's what I keep telling myself.
-Will
"I believe it's just a rare, psychological phenomenon"
I know, most of you sit reading this with a dropped jaw and coffee spilling out of it this very moment. Surely for all my whining and complaining of the place, I would say "good riddance" and wash my hands of it forever. But, looking back, the bad parts kind of fade away, in comparison to the much more memorable good parts. While, in reality, they might have been few and far between, it's hard to look back on a place and remember all the monotonous days in between. For every 30 average days with nothing to do at night, there might be one fun class, great rugby game, or entertaining night out that covers it and makes it look better. I could go into great detail about the best of times and the worst of times, but you have much better things to do.
But, really, isn't that just what happens everywhere? "The grass is always greener..."- you know the rest. Until about February, I couldn't stand the place, but by the end, I would be lying if I said I wasn't very sad to leave. I made some great friends and countless acquaintances in my short 10 months there. The last day of school nearly had me in tears, and it was weird, this year, to think that another year of school is starting there, just like before. Now, I wouldn't choose it over Franklin, but compared to here? You'd better believe I'd pick the same American-hating, poutine-eating province I've ridiculed time and time again. It had root beer, TV, decent internet speeds, multiple gaming stores, and 3 malls within 15 minute driving distance. What was I complaining about?!
But really, its pretty much the same as here. I get there, I hate it, I hate it a little less, I make some friends, and Bam! Before you know it, I'm missing it after just 10 months. It'll be just like that here, right? That's what I keep telling myself.
-Will
"I believe it's just a rare, psychological phenomenon"
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Assimilation
There's this strange air about DA, and it's not just the smog that permeates the city regularly. It's the kind of thing that, the second I step past the large, grey metal gates just seems to hang over the campus like a looming raincloud. I can't quite put a finger on it, but I can say that I don't like it at all. It's this kind of everyone's-the-same-and-its-only-a-matter-of-time type of feeling that chokes and suffocates every seemingly entertaining experience I have at the place. I won't even try to describe how the same everybody seems, but what really really gets me is the fact that everyone around me seems to believe that it's just a matter of time until I become a token missionary kid, who says they're from America but has only been there twice in their life. Who believes Halloween is the most heathen thing to come out of Ireland since leprechauns. Who owns more than 5 different shirts from various events at their own school. Who loves soccer. Who plays soccer. Who thinks that softball is "mostly a guy sport." Etc.,etc.,etc.
Even my own parents kind of think I've somehow grown out of Halloween, as if the fact that we live on the other side of the world now means that I'll give up one of my favorite holidays that I've been avidly celebrating for over a decade. That's a long time! Name a website that's over a decade old. I've loved dressing up as a superhero and reaping the rewards of the yearly candy rounds just as much, if not more, than the next guy, so now that we've moved I'm just going to stop?
And as I was reminiscing aloud about New England falls one day, a hobby of mine, someone sitting next to me asked if I was homesick. "Well, yeah" fell out of my mouth, mainly because I was too momentarily taken aback over the dumbest question ever asked of me to come up with a witty remark like the ones I regularly spew. His response, paraphrased of course, was basically that I had to forget about Massachusetts and started thinking Africa thoughts. "You're living here, but you're not really living here," was a remark I personally found very... ironic, if that's the right word.
Because, to me, it sure as heck doesn't feel like I'm still living in Franklin.
-Will
"As a kid, Halloween was amazing. You dress like a superhero, you bang on your neighbors' door, and they give you candy. I do that today and my neighbor wants me arrested."
Even my own parents kind of think I've somehow grown out of Halloween, as if the fact that we live on the other side of the world now means that I'll give up one of my favorite holidays that I've been avidly celebrating for over a decade. That's a long time! Name a website that's over a decade old. I've loved dressing up as a superhero and reaping the rewards of the yearly candy rounds just as much, if not more, than the next guy, so now that we've moved I'm just going to stop?
And as I was reminiscing aloud about New England falls one day, a hobby of mine, someone sitting next to me asked if I was homesick. "Well, yeah" fell out of my mouth, mainly because I was too momentarily taken aback over the dumbest question ever asked of me to come up with a witty remark like the ones I regularly spew. His response, paraphrased of course, was basically that I had to forget about Massachusetts and started thinking Africa thoughts. "You're living here, but you're not really living here," was a remark I personally found very... ironic, if that's the right word.
Because, to me, it sure as heck doesn't feel like I'm still living in Franklin.
-Will
"As a kid, Halloween was amazing. You dress like a superhero, you bang on your neighbors' door, and they give you candy. I do that today and my neighbor wants me arrested."
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Zoom Zoom Zoom
Here I am typing away, and the last post was what, 2 days ago? But it's not every night you have 2 siblings sleeping, 2 parents gone, Fanta in your cup, and homework to put off until tomorrow! How I spoil you.
Well, before I go any further, this did not look like it was going to be a good day. I had to wake up at the crack of dawn (that's "crack of dawn" Will time-known to the layperson as 7:30) in order to do a practice of a practice to something that's important. The PSAT. Going strictly against my "only go to school during school hours-or less" rule, I did get up in the wee hours of the morning and drag myself to school. After an agonizing and excruciating 3 hours, I got up from my chair and walked home. It was actually really easy. But that doesn't make for a good story now, does it?
I'd like to take this time to pay homage to the letter E. I have had a love-hate relationship with the little feller since about, say, 8:15 this morning. It's a good-lookin' letter no doubt, and one of the most often used in our language, yet as I opened my test booklet this morning, I was suprised to see a lot more E's than I wanted to. He was at the end of every A B C D option! But, after the initial flood of hatred of the letter's ability to make each question that much harder, I found myself rooting for the poor thing. He's obviously new in town, why not give him a warm welcome? I'd like everyone reading this to stand up and give a hearty shout of "E!" for all around you to hear.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the now E-xhausted (see what I did there??) me has a stomach growling with the intensity of 713 enraged Steve Carells. And dad, saving the day, suggests we go out to eat. Oh, and one other little thing afterwardGO KARTING. I have loved go karting, in my 3 time experience with the activity, and I'd heard good things about the karting joint (what do you call a go karting place?) in Dakar. So, me, dad, Caleb, and a tired from a sleepless night at school Sam head on over to Caesar's for some grub. After several experiences with Dakar eaterys, I've come to a conclusion about Quebec french to Dakar french phrases. "Sans sauce", which means no sauce in Quebec, apparently mean "please put a lot of any kind of sauce on my food and lather it on so it's impossible to get it off of anything on my plate." Make a mental note of that, who knows when it might pop up in a trivia game?
So after my skimpy on chicken-but full on flavor! chicken burger, we drove over to "Karting!" It's a bit pricey, but once I sat in that 2 foot tall car-thing, I knew it was going to be worth every penny of the money that wasn't mine. We took off, and I was lapping the rest of the 3 people on the track in no time. The karts were fast, the windwas flowing through my recently neutered hair, and the drifting was aplenty, and after 2 more sessions, it was time to head home. The place was awesome, I'd give it an A+, there was even a guy who sort of spoke english!!
So, to recap, it was a good day. And now, I get to tackle the monstrous task of rganizing my iTunes library. A fall cleaning, if you will. And I will.
-Will
P.S.- 1000 Will points to anyone who actually stood up and shouted "E". Redeemable at Will stores across the country.
P.S.S.- Dad went on a bit of a killing spree last night and valiantly took down 2 cockroaches, bringing the total to 13!! Way to help the cause, dad!
"A tub birth? That sounds like the tide at Omaha Beach."
Well, before I go any further, this did not look like it was going to be a good day. I had to wake up at the crack of dawn (that's "crack of dawn" Will time-known to the layperson as 7:30) in order to do a practice of a practice to something that's important. The PSAT. Going strictly against my "only go to school during school hours-or less" rule, I did get up in the wee hours of the morning and drag myself to school. After an agonizing and excruciating 3 hours, I got up from my chair and walked home. It was actually really easy. But that doesn't make for a good story now, does it?
I'd like to take this time to pay homage to the letter E. I have had a love-hate relationship with the little feller since about, say, 8:15 this morning. It's a good-lookin' letter no doubt, and one of the most often used in our language, yet as I opened my test booklet this morning, I was suprised to see a lot more E's than I wanted to. He was at the end of every A B C D option! But, after the initial flood of hatred of the letter's ability to make each question that much harder, I found myself rooting for the poor thing. He's obviously new in town, why not give him a warm welcome? I'd like everyone reading this to stand up and give a hearty shout of "E!" for all around you to hear.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the now E-xhausted (see what I did there??) me has a stomach growling with the intensity of 713 enraged Steve Carells. And dad, saving the day, suggests we go out to eat. Oh, and one other little thing afterwardGO KARTING. I have loved go karting, in my 3 time experience with the activity, and I'd heard good things about the karting joint (what do you call a go karting place?) in Dakar. So, me, dad, Caleb, and a tired from a sleepless night at school Sam head on over to Caesar's for some grub. After several experiences with Dakar eaterys, I've come to a conclusion about Quebec french to Dakar french phrases. "Sans sauce", which means no sauce in Quebec, apparently mean "please put a lot of any kind of sauce on my food and lather it on so it's impossible to get it off of anything on my plate." Make a mental note of that, who knows when it might pop up in a trivia game?
So after my skimpy on chicken-but full on flavor! chicken burger, we drove over to "Karting!" It's a bit pricey, but once I sat in that 2 foot tall car-thing, I knew it was going to be worth every penny of the money that wasn't mine. We took off, and I was lapping the rest of the 3 people on the track in no time. The karts were fast, the windwas flowing through my recently neutered hair, and the drifting was aplenty, and after 2 more sessions, it was time to head home. The place was awesome, I'd give it an A+, there was even a guy who sort of spoke english!!
So, to recap, it was a good day. And now, I get to tackle the monstrous task of rganizing my iTunes library. A fall cleaning, if you will. And I will.
-Will
P.S.- 1000 Will points to anyone who actually stood up and shouted "E". Redeemable at Will stores across the country.
P.S.S.- Dad went on a bit of a killing spree last night and valiantly took down 2 cockroaches, bringing the total to 13!! Way to help the cause, dad!
"A tub birth? That sounds like the tide at Omaha Beach."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Out the Door
Usually, I think a story I hear about is really cool, then think about blogging about it for a week or so, and then forget about it (apparently most of my stories aren't worthy enough for the internet. But, against said tradition, I'll take a break from my World of Goo playing and type this latest shenanigan down. I wasn't actually here during any of this-I got a first- and second-hand account.
So, after me, Dad, and the other kids leave to go to school at about 7:50. Mom's at the computer, doin' whatever Moms do on the computer, I guess, and she hears a noise at the door. Thinking its one of our housekeepers, she calls their name. When she doesn't hear a response, she goes out and sees who's there. Looking through the peephole, she see's an African guy, Holding the door shut, with another dude shoving our laptop into his backpack. From now on, guy with laptop= Sly Cooper, and guy holding door= Danny Ocean. As soon as Sly's got it in, they decide to run. Why they both run, and Sly doesn't get halfway down the street (path of sand) before Danny lets mom out is beyond me. If they had watched Ocean's Eleven they would have realized that this was not a good plan.
But off they go. Now here's the part that's kind of awesome. My mom isn't a runner. But kenyans beat us in the Boston marathon on our own turf. Year after year. Now mom says they weren't running that fast, but I'm convinced shes being humble and is actually the daughter of the Flash and hasn't told me yet. She catches up to them and rips Coopie's backpack off. Looting through it, she pulls out our laptop, his backpack still in hand.
Now I'm sure she's pretty ticked off at this point, so she starts yelling the french word "vol" at them. What she meant was "voleur". Voleur mean "thief". Vol, on the other hand, means flight. Again, she said it was an accident, but I'm pretty sure yelling "vol" in french translates to: "GET OUT THE WAY." Meanwhile, our guard sleeps soundly behind a garage door 5 feet away. THANKS MAN. Someone ain't getting a tip this month. Mom also kept the guy's backpack. I might throw it on eBay.
So what's the moral of the story? Steal mom's stuff, she be takin you down. And you can forget about leaving with as much stuff as you came with.
- Will
Author's note: this was actually posted a day after it happened, I couldn't finish in time yesterday night. I'm also happy to annouce the cockroach kill count is now at 11, after I splattered the one that crawled out of the sink as I was brushing my teeth.
"But with Benedict... at the end of this, he'd better not know you're involved, not know your names or think you're dead because he'll kill ya, and then he'll go to work on ya."
So, after me, Dad, and the other kids leave to go to school at about 7:50. Mom's at the computer, doin' whatever Moms do on the computer, I guess, and she hears a noise at the door. Thinking its one of our housekeepers, she calls their name. When she doesn't hear a response, she goes out and sees who's there. Looking through the peephole, she see's an African guy, Holding the door shut, with another dude shoving our laptop into his backpack. From now on, guy with laptop= Sly Cooper, and guy holding door= Danny Ocean. As soon as Sly's got it in, they decide to run. Why they both run, and Sly doesn't get halfway down the street (path of sand) before Danny lets mom out is beyond me. If they had watched Ocean's Eleven they would have realized that this was not a good plan.
But off they go. Now here's the part that's kind of awesome. My mom isn't a runner. But kenyans beat us in the Boston marathon on our own turf. Year after year. Now mom says they weren't running that fast, but I'm convinced shes being humble and is actually the daughter of the Flash and hasn't told me yet. She catches up to them and rips Coopie's backpack off. Looting through it, she pulls out our laptop, his backpack still in hand.
Now I'm sure she's pretty ticked off at this point, so she starts yelling the french word "vol" at them. What she meant was "voleur". Voleur mean "thief". Vol, on the other hand, means flight. Again, she said it was an accident, but I'm pretty sure yelling "vol" in french translates to: "GET OUT THE WAY." Meanwhile, our guard sleeps soundly behind a garage door 5 feet away. THANKS MAN. Someone ain't getting a tip this month. Mom also kept the guy's backpack. I might throw it on eBay.
So what's the moral of the story? Steal mom's stuff, she be takin you down. And you can forget about leaving with as much stuff as you came with.
- Will
Author's note: this was actually posted a day after it happened, I couldn't finish in time yesterday night. I'm also happy to annouce the cockroach kill count is now at 11, after I splattered the one that crawled out of the sink as I was brushing my teeth.
"But with Benedict... at the end of this, he'd better not know you're involved, not know your names or think you're dead because he'll kill ya, and then he'll go to work on ya."
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Topsy Turvy
So, as of a few days ago, we’ve been in Dakar for 2 months. It sure hasn’t gone fast, but I don’t think I could say it was moving too slow, either.
Plenty of things have happened for the family, we’ve “moved in”, then settled in, got a car, started school, Anna just broke her arm, and Caleb has decided after a measly two weeks that Soccer is the superior sport to American Football. But for me, I think I haven’t really gotten past the “settling in” part. Sure, the heat seems a little less unbearable, I’m more used to the constant want of one or more good American hamburger, and the power going off constantly just seems almost a tiny bit normal. But every time I start to think anything along the lines of, “okay, maybe this place won’t suck” or, “I think I hate DA maybe a little wee bit less”, something happens that either disappoints me or pisses me off to the point of exhaustion and frustration. That’s a double -tion, if anyone’s counting.
And the biggest problem is, it’s usually something really unimportant or stupid that always sets me off in the end. Like for instance, Anna deciding to scream and cry that I’m “the worst big brother in the world” while my parents have tea and crumpets and chat with some acquaintances. It’s happened a billion times before, so I really should be used to it, yet the fact that it’s now taking place in Africa just makes it that much worse. Or someone who I have deemed a tolerable person decides to spend all of his free time during two classes explaining how the scuba diving trip that select few got to go on in biology was “so fantastic and so great and let me tell you guys how fun it was and I thought there wouldn’t be any fish but there was and it was beauuutiful and you guys had to sit in class with no power and one fan for the entire classroom creating large stains of sweat all over your t-shirts.” SHUT. UP. I am finding it hard to stand this particular person.
Or maybe it’s something that even I truly think is something worth whining about. Like the power going off at 11 p.m. and not coming on until 10 a.m. the next morning, making sleep nigh impossible and comfort a thing of the past. Such an event just gets the ball rolling for a day like today. One big thing happens, and then after having all the headlines of websites I’m visiting about the presidential candidates read out to me by a fat asian kid behind me, I become a more than a little miffed. And it just keeps happening. For two months! I thought it would stop, that I’d find someone with relative interests and not a severely over-developed pain-in-butt lobe that I might be able to connect with once in a while. That was indeed a fool’s hope.
Word to the wise; if you value your life, do not look over my shoulder when I’m on the computer. Just thought I’d let you know.
-Will
Plenty of things have happened for the family, we’ve “moved in”, then settled in, got a car, started school, Anna just broke her arm, and Caleb has decided after a measly two weeks that Soccer is the superior sport to American Football. But for me, I think I haven’t really gotten past the “settling in” part. Sure, the heat seems a little less unbearable, I’m more used to the constant want of one or more good American hamburger, and the power going off constantly just seems almost a tiny bit normal. But every time I start to think anything along the lines of, “okay, maybe this place won’t suck” or, “I think I hate DA maybe a little wee bit less”, something happens that either disappoints me or pisses me off to the point of exhaustion and frustration. That’s a double -tion, if anyone’s counting.
And the biggest problem is, it’s usually something really unimportant or stupid that always sets me off in the end. Like for instance, Anna deciding to scream and cry that I’m “the worst big brother in the world” while my parents have tea and crumpets and chat with some acquaintances. It’s happened a billion times before, so I really should be used to it, yet the fact that it’s now taking place in Africa just makes it that much worse. Or someone who I have deemed a tolerable person decides to spend all of his free time during two classes explaining how the scuba diving trip that select few got to go on in biology was “so fantastic and so great and let me tell you guys how fun it was and I thought there wouldn’t be any fish but there was and it was beauuutiful and you guys had to sit in class with no power and one fan for the entire classroom creating large stains of sweat all over your t-shirts.” SHUT. UP. I am finding it hard to stand this particular person.
Or maybe it’s something that even I truly think is something worth whining about. Like the power going off at 11 p.m. and not coming on until 10 a.m. the next morning, making sleep nigh impossible and comfort a thing of the past. Such an event just gets the ball rolling for a day like today. One big thing happens, and then after having all the headlines of websites I’m visiting about the presidential candidates read out to me by a fat asian kid behind me, I become a more than a little miffed. And it just keeps happening. For two months! I thought it would stop, that I’d find someone with relative interests and not a severely over-developed pain-in-butt lobe that I might be able to connect with once in a while. That was indeed a fool’s hope.
Word to the wise; if you value your life, do not look over my shoulder when I’m on the computer. Just thought I’d let you know.
-Will
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Pictures of the 'Frika House
I cannot even describe how annoying it is to format this amount of pictures in a single post. This is a job for...ME, cause no one else is here to do it. I'm always open to suggestions and requests for posts, and even through a bout of sore throat I have used this sick day to present you with pictures of the apartment. Also, count the pictures as a celebration of both the 200th site hit and the one month anniversary of the move. Enjoy-
This is literally an entire section of the house I've never been to since we got here a month ago. Our 2nd largest balcony, it's even got a kitchen! (Shown above in its entirety)
We went to the "Altlantic Club" (American Club) on Sunday and I can't describe accurately the joy that in brought within a space that could be classified as a "caption." 3 words- American Double Cheeseburger. And, as if the happiness flowed from the facility, they also had 2 ice cold A&W root beers, which I am convinced are the only ones in all of Dakar, Senegal. They're names are Dave and Buster, and I will treat them like I would my childrens. Until I thirst and rip open their scalps and drink their life essence. And there will be much rejoicing.
You got the Root Beer! Set it to Y, X, or Z to use.
But when the sun sets, it becomes a very beautiful place. Maybe I'll like it here after all...
This is our neighbors' death roof. Watch out for spikes!!
This is the amount of dust that collected on the ping pong table in about 4 days. And you thought Charter was bad, Mr. Boday
This is the upstairs, with the evil spiral staircase, 2 dirt view (the opposite of ocean view) balconies, and our favorite ping pong table.
This is looking out our largest balcony, down the street is Provigo, and past the rotary, DA (Dude Assassinators)
This is literally an entire section of the house I've never been to since we got here a month ago. Our 2nd largest balcony, it's even got a kitchen! (Shown above in its entirety) The play area. Where our Wii proudly reigns and video games are played prosperously.
This is the parentaql units's room, otherwise known as the Sporoom (thats Spore and Room combined). It is also one of two rooms in the house with window air conditioning units, so it's usually where everyone is.
This is a part of my room. The Guitar Hero 3 sleeve, my Nightmare Before Christmas clock, and my DS all reside here in perfect harmony. Perfect, dusty harmony. You can also see a bit of the mosquito net on the right side, and marvel at the vintage Grateful Dead Lithuanian basketball t-shirt, gifted to me by Mr. Callahan. *sniffs* It hangs proudly.
We went to the "Altlantic Club" (American Club) on Sunday and I can't describe accurately the joy that in brought within a space that could be classified as a "caption." 3 words- American Double Cheeseburger. And, as if the happiness flowed from the facility, they also had 2 ice cold A&W root beers, which I am convinced are the only ones in all of Dakar, Senegal. They're names are Dave and Buster, and I will treat them like I would my childrens. Until I thirst and rip open their scalps and drink their life essence. And there will be much rejoicing.You got the Root Beer! Set it to Y, X, or Z to use.But when the sun sets, it becomes a very beautiful place. Maybe I'll like it here after all...
Sometimes I crack myself up.
-Will
"If you do this I will eat your face!"
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Rant Time
Now, before I say anything in this post,I want to establish the fact that it's about the music, not the religion. Carrying on...
This is one of my major beefs with DA (for those of you who don't know, the Deffocation Association). The music. Now I can't say that everyone in the school listens to the exact same music, because I haven't met and searched the iPods of everyone in the school. But, I think I can make the assumption that a large majority of the school listens to: Christian rock. Now, here's the problem. I don't mind a couple bands, some of their music has even found its way onto my iPod, as Aunt Wendy and Uncle Pat can attest to. But the fact of the matter is that 60 percent of the entire christian music industry is bands covering popular hymns and songs. This is like if a little more than half of the bands you know did nothing but play Beatles and Zeppelin covers. If that was the case, then the music industry as we know it would be no more. Yet somehow, in this place and others like it, people purchase entire CDs without a single original song on 'em.
For instance, at the handball game-the rule is that the only music coming out of the speakers is christian. Again, not my preference, but not a problem. But actually, now that I think about it, that was the problem. Because, as you may know, there are three genres of that music. Basic rock, rap, and traditional. And apparently the sound guy/DJ wasn't a fan of Amazing Grace or anything like it, so we got a mixture of rap and half-rock for the whole evening. I heard the song "Indescribable" in 3 different forms. A decent song, in its original format, but I don't really like rap of any kind, let alone the kind with lyrics intended to be sung by a worship team.
And then again, in "Art Basics", the most useless class ever dreamed of. Instead of the usual Jack Johnson, which I always welcome with open ears, she decided to pop in a mix CD, with all our favorite songs we've heard 200 times. "Now sung by different people with slightly different pitches!!"
-Will
"You know Bruce Lee's not really dead, don't you? Yeah, it's in a book. What he did was he faked his own death so that he could work undercover for the Hong Kong police, inflitrating drugs gangs and the Triads. "
This is one of my major beefs with DA (for those of you who don't know, the Deffocation Association). The music. Now I can't say that everyone in the school listens to the exact same music, because I haven't met and searched the iPods of everyone in the school. But, I think I can make the assumption that a large majority of the school listens to: Christian rock. Now, here's the problem. I don't mind a couple bands, some of their music has even found its way onto my iPod, as Aunt Wendy and Uncle Pat can attest to. But the fact of the matter is that 60 percent of the entire christian music industry is bands covering popular hymns and songs. This is like if a little more than half of the bands you know did nothing but play Beatles and Zeppelin covers. If that was the case, then the music industry as we know it would be no more. Yet somehow, in this place and others like it, people purchase entire CDs without a single original song on 'em.
For instance, at the handball game-the rule is that the only music coming out of the speakers is christian. Again, not my preference, but not a problem. But actually, now that I think about it, that was the problem. Because, as you may know, there are three genres of that music. Basic rock, rap, and traditional. And apparently the sound guy/DJ wasn't a fan of Amazing Grace or anything like it, so we got a mixture of rap and half-rock for the whole evening. I heard the song "Indescribable" in 3 different forms. A decent song, in its original format, but I don't really like rap of any kind, let alone the kind with lyrics intended to be sung by a worship team.
And then again, in "Art Basics", the most useless class ever dreamed of. Instead of the usual Jack Johnson, which I always welcome with open ears, she decided to pop in a mix CD, with all our favorite songs we've heard 200 times. "Now sung by different people with slightly different pitches!!"
-Will
"You know Bruce Lee's not really dead, don't you? Yeah, it's in a book. What he did was he faked his own death so that he could work undercover for the Hong Kong police, inflitrating drugs gangs and the Triads. "
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
L'Escale de Maristes- A Restaurant Review
As I stepped into the dinery that is L'Escale de Maristes, I took a moment to breathe air that didn't smell like manure. When I opened my eyes, I had the sense of being at a friendly home, maybe about to feast on one of grandmothers' special dishes. This is probably because I was, in fact, in a house. But before I get ahead of myself, let me explain, to those of you who don't speak french, what the meaning of the name is. I have been led to believe that "escale" means "layover," and the sector of Dakar the restaurant and our apartment shares is called Hann Maristes. So this was essentially "The Layover of Where we Are Right Now"
Now, after the overwhelming feeling that I was breaking into someone's house passed, I took the chance to sit at one of the establishments marvelous plastic lawn chairs, of which there were about 15. This presented a bit of a problem, as I was in a group of 20, but if the Senegalese know anything, it's how to pack large quantities of people into small spaces. I next got the feel of the temperature, which had changed from outsides' blistering heat to a much more stagnant blistering heat.
This was about the time when our waitress, whose name I cannot spell or pronounce, came to take our orders. Chicken or Fish. As usual, it took me a while to decide what I'd choose, there were just so many good options. After much debating, I decided to be a little daring and choose the fish, expecting a small fillet with maybe a dab of seasoning or, dare I hope, barbeque sauce. I suppose I've never really gotten fish at a restaurant that is not called Long John Silver's, but I'm quite sure that it was not served like this.
But again, I'm getting ahead of myself. after I ordered the fish and exchanged pleasantries with several other diners, I realized a TV was sitting right next to me. As a turned it on I was greeted pleasantly by a video of a waterfall while several men shouted different things at the same time. In arabic. "Good," I thought, "my stories are on." I now realize the reason behind the name, for two hours and no food later, it was a whole lot like a layover.
But the food finally came, and I sort of figured out how to get the meat put of an entire fish, before loosing my appetite to the fish's lonely, black eyes. But, it was kinda of tasty, especially the parts without bones in them, and they even had a variation of ketchup to go with my side of the greasy potatoes they called "french fries." Overall, I'd give it a solid 2 stars, and would recommend another fan and a maximum occupancy of more than 17.
How I wish I had picked the chicken.
-Will
"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read."
Now, after the overwhelming feeling that I was breaking into someone's house passed, I took the chance to sit at one of the establishments marvelous plastic lawn chairs, of which there were about 15. This presented a bit of a problem, as I was in a group of 20, but if the Senegalese know anything, it's how to pack large quantities of people into small spaces. I next got the feel of the temperature, which had changed from outsides' blistering heat to a much more stagnant blistering heat.
This was about the time when our waitress, whose name I cannot spell or pronounce, came to take our orders. Chicken or Fish. As usual, it took me a while to decide what I'd choose, there were just so many good options. After much debating, I decided to be a little daring and choose the fish, expecting a small fillet with maybe a dab of seasoning or, dare I hope, barbeque sauce. I suppose I've never really gotten fish at a restaurant that is not called Long John Silver's, but I'm quite sure that it was not served like this.
But again, I'm getting ahead of myself. after I ordered the fish and exchanged pleasantries with several other diners, I realized a TV was sitting right next to me. As a turned it on I was greeted pleasantly by a video of a waterfall while several men shouted different things at the same time. In arabic. "Good," I thought, "my stories are on." I now realize the reason behind the name, for two hours and no food later, it was a whole lot like a layover.
But the food finally came, and I sort of figured out how to get the meat put of an entire fish, before loosing my appetite to the fish's lonely, black eyes. But, it was kinda of tasty, especially the parts without bones in them, and they even had a variation of ketchup to go with my side of the greasy potatoes they called "french fries." Overall, I'd give it a solid 2 stars, and would recommend another fan and a maximum occupancy of more than 17.
How I wish I had picked the chicken.
-Will
"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read."
Friday, August 29, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)