I Am Wendy

"Do you want to do a Wendy's commercial?" my buddy Dennis asked me not so long ago.

He's the guy who directed that genius set of Buckley's ads where people are taste testing Buckley's and foul tasting substances like "Public Bathroom Puddles" and they are unable to tell the difference. (There's a set just online if you can't get enough of them).

I figured it would be a good time. Sleep in a hotel, hang out with an old friend, not compromise my integrity. Really, how bad could it be?

This idea is that I run around like a crazy person at the Michigan v. Ohio State game at The Big House to get people to cheer "Hot, juicy burgers" with me while Dennis hides in the bushes watching it all unfold.

It wasn't too bad, except that there were a hundred thousand drunk Michigan students just looking for a reason to tear apart anyone wearing red or had anything to do with Ohio (the late, great Dave Thomas' home state).




Even with the odds stacked against us, we had fun and had some amazing seats in the front row behind the goal post. Too bad we don't really like football and left around halftime.

One big perk is that we get our meals comped. Detroit is home of American Coney Island, where Dan Dan the Hot Dog Man proudly displays an award for the nation's best chili dogs.


After a quick break at home for Thanksgiving we were off to Cleveland for a Celtics v. Cavaliers game.



Another great time, plus I got to meet the Cavalier girls!

Mountain Clowns Part 2

Here's a photo gallery of our underground adventures in flash or html for more photos.

Mountain Clowns: Part 1

We sit crammed into the BMW mini cooper practicing Japanese lessons racing past cow-filled fields and rusted out trucks. It's the only two door without a flat bed on the horizon. The close quarters don't bother us; we've spent 14 hours in them to get here. The closeness is almost comforting in the strange countryscape.

The day before we had tried to meet some of the locals and were met with the mixture of terror and skepticism one conjures up when seeing four oddly dressed urbanites step out of a clown car in the mountains.




"Mountain Clowns" Jurek calls us. Not far from the truth.



The clowns pulled up to the entrance to Scott's Hollow Caves looking for an escape from the office, the city, the banality of urbanity. We decided to seek it underground.

We were greeted by Mike and Jan, the husband and wife operators of the Scott's Hollow Caves, along with Mike and Alex, the guides that would be leading us through part of the 28 mile subterranean labyrinth.

"Have you ever lost anyone?" I joke.

"Naw," Mike said. Then after a moment of thought, "Well, there was that one time Mike lost someone and we had someone go back to find them. But that's not really lost."

This clown was not laughing...

We get our gear on and go through the procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary except we sign away any liability suits we may file in case of injury or death. My mind flashes back to the lost caver wondering through the absolute darkness resigned to eat cave newts until death wraps her thin fingers around the already emaciated throat sucking the last whisp of...

"Down ya go!"

I snap back. Down?

Mike lifts a piece of plywood to reveal a rusty tube pointing into the ground.

Our companion Rob bravely struts over to the tube and halts. Looking down the hole his eyes go wide, his face pales. I start to sweat. I'm not crazy about heights and I'm than a little claustrophobic. Nothing like a 50 ft tube point into darkness to stimulate both these fears. I go next.

I race down the ladder as quickly as possible kicking myself for not having written my will yet. I reach the bottom rung and put my foot down onto nothing. I missed the clown car. Was this really what I am here for? To scare the shit out of myself? After I reach bottom and untuck my coveralls from my boots just in case.

Once every makes it to the bottom, all fears disappear. With the six lights combing the walls everything is well lit and the beauty of the place overcomes me. We walk comfortably into the darkness.



I'm in great spirits and ask about everything from the effects of water on limestone vs. shale, how many years of caving experience these guys have, types of animals we may encounter, etc.

We are moving at a pretty fast clip. On our first water break our guide Mike mentions that he is actually breaking a sweat and we might try some of the tougher parts of the cave.

"Apparently he has not made it to the stage of hallucination that comes with over-exertion," I think staring at bright lights down an endless crevasse. The day has only begun.

Photos from Mexico

Here's a set of my favorite photographs from my Mexican experiences. I've linked caption to relevant articles or blog entries I've written for those curious.

Also, click here for a sweet photo gallery of these images if you'd like.


A Zapatista woman and her child. The reason I came was to study current conflicts and how local indigenous people participate in reshaping their world.


Some Zapatista women presenting themselves for our research team.


Caving with some Zapatistas after interviews.


Your humble narrator checking out some local crafts near Oaxaca.


One of the last of the Lancandon indians surviving.


Subcomandante Insurgentes Marcos


Comandante David speaking at Tierradentro.
Suite101 article
Blog entry


Preparing for ceremonies in Santiago Atitlan.


Psychedelic Jesus on the cross on Easter in Santiago Atitlan.
Blog entry
Suite101 article


In the markets of San Cristobal.





Traditional back strap weaving. The folks in the background are the group I came with last year and were never forgotten this year.


Rice and beans on the boil. One of my favorite meals.


Typical landscape in the Maya communities of Chiapas.


Between serving beers, this guy was lighting fireworks off from his hand.


Mi peligrosita serving me my first cow brain.


Visiting a women's weaving co-op to teach a little English.


A Mac attack in a the community of Zinacantan .


Getting into the ring at a lucha libre match! Come get some!




Flame river snails in pox! A truly inspired recipe if ever there was one... Not all of my recipes have been quite so out there though.





Lago Tziscao is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been!

A young Chol fella cooling off in the Lagos de Montebello.
Suite101 article
Blog entry

Local indigenous gal from San Juan Chamula.

In a Zapatista community researching paramilitary activity.

Here's to the end. As with a bottle of mezcal, this trip too ended with a bit of a nasty surprise, but also a warm tingly feeling.

Gringo Quesadillas

"No entiendo gringos y fuego." I don't understand gringos and fire.

That was my roommate's comment as I sat huffing campfire smoke trying to whip up a couple chorizo quesadillas. It's not like we don't have a stove.

There is something about fire though that reaches out to a primal core in us. Some theorize that the discovery of fire led to imagination and modern society (going back 30,000 years or so). Campfires are own little way of controlling one of the most destructive forces on the planet. Who knows.

Here's a quick recipe for gringo quesadillas.


Ingredients:
a moderate campfire
a pile of tortillas
chorizo
quesio
parsley (it's more gringo than cilantro)

Process:
1) Burn yourself while making the fire and swear in English.
2) Grill chorizo over fire, losing half of it into the fire. Swear again in English.
3) Lightly oil a few tortillas and grill on one side. Swear again when some of the oil drips into the fire and flares up burning you again.
4) Tell your Mexican roommate to stop laughing.
5) Turn tortillas just after the point they have burned. Another swear here is optional.
6) Cover with cheese and sausage and parsley.
7) Eat and take pleasure in your accomplishment.
8) Look away when your Mexican roommate makes a better quesadilla in a quarter of the time. Swearing again here would be appropriate.