Peruano Soy

Today marks the 186th celebration of the Peruvian State. Yes, children, Peru is pretty old. Though – it is younger than many of its South American brothers. Being the seat of power for the Spanish monarchy in the New World, you would think that they would have some problems breaking off those shackles – but now we are a proud and strong people.

With our powerful Peruvian Paso horses (said to be the greatest success in equine breeding) – we travel our haciendas and chacras. The mountains are full of indigenous people who chew coca and work with dignity Llamas roam free and live on the mountainside – the Peruvian camelids have some of the softest furs in the world. Chicha and Llonque are produced by the population and enjoyed in social settings. The Inca festivals are celebrated and are honored tradition. Quechua is spoken in many regions and is strong within the mountain towns. The city of Caral is now visited by thousands of tourist and was dubbed America’s oldest city. Machu Picchu was named one of the new Seven Wonders of the World. It’s construction was long and hard – and the Inca had his subordinate tribes drag rocks weighing tons to this site far above the Sacred Inca Valley. Lake Titicaca is speculated to be the site where the Inca’s rise and come to power. El Museo de Lima houses artifact from the Pre-Inca era. Pre-Columbian societies are studied for their aptitude with the sciences. Rocks in Cuzco are fitted perfectly and intertwine almost seamlessly. The quipu remains mysterious. Chan Chan and the Huaca de la luna, El Señor de Sipan and las Lineas de Nazca, the Marinera and la Musica Criolla and el cajon are ingrained in the culture. All this is what Peru has embraced today. At 186, the nation has still to grow, but we will remember who we were and who are on this July 28th, 2007.

Que viva la Patria. ¡Arriba Perú, Carajo!

I’m a Twenty-Something

I remember when I was 19 I had a job at the Cornell University Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts….  One day, I was asked to make splashes of paint on cardboard and place it up in a display for “A Raisin in the Sun” starring Yolanda King (Daughter of the great MLK Jr.).  While I splashed paint around, the woman who worked on the set played Jamie Cullum.  It was pretty fanstastic jazzy music.  She said it went well with Mondays.  The CD player offered great background music and then “Twenty Something” came on.

Cullum sings at his piano about being an expert on Shakespeare and how useless this knowledge is.  He goes through a laundry list of options of what he can do (traveling, working, falling in love).  Ultimately, he just wants to be.  He comes to the conclusion, “Love ain’t the answer, nor is work/the truth alludes me so much it hurts/but I’m still having fun and I guess that’s the key/I’m a twenty-something and I’ll keep being me.”

I’ve hit a rut.  I just turned 23 last month (that’s a whole different post).  I’m still living with my parents and today, I think my father may have given me some food poisoning.   He doesn’t believe in expiration date – and to this day – I haven’t learned to ask “How long has this been in the freezer?”  Back to the point, what do I want to do with myself?  Where is it that I want to be?  How exactly can I be myself these days?  I’ve had the fortune of not regressing to my high school ways – though living at home is straining my happiness and the strength of my stomach.

So, how do I find myself?  How did I get to this point?  I’ve made big changes.  I want to make a big move, and there is no safety net now.  When I was 13, I went to high school alone – grammar school friends didn’t make it to my high school.  Then college was the same way.  I moved up to Cornell and began to develop an individual personality.  Now, I’ve finished that phase, but have returned home.  The apartment is much different.  It feels smaller.  My parents are older and honestly – it’s interesting to see age creep on them – slowly but visibly.  This place was home, and now it’s a prison.  This new home/prison is slowly killing my happy memories of the old home.  I can’t be here for too much longer.

I feel I need to move out, but the net isn’t there.  If either college or high school didn’t really work for me – I could always transfer out.  This time – I put it all out there.  My money would be gone and I could effectively ruin myself if I do something rash and stupid.  Turns out being an adult is not just going to the bank and depositing money.  I remember my sister and I would go through the motions of adult life as kids.  We would play office, bank, USPS Office, and so on.   It was fun.  Standing in line at the bank is not as much fun as I thought it was – though the ATM with its touch screen is still enchanting.

Growing up sucks – and is it really time to put away childish things?  I’m sure it happens at different moments in people’s lives.  I think I may be next in line to make the jump – living in sin without the safety pin.

JJRC

I love you, but I’m not IN love with you, alcohol.

Drinking on weekends was not something I partook in during my tenure as a high school student.  Then again, I didn’t even really have friends until my Junior year.  Man, 1998-2000 were the roughest two years of school I’ve ever dealt with.  But, after I graduated high school and moved on to college, I discovered things on the psuedo out-side were different.  The college social scene was lubricated with sweet sweet alcohol.  I went to a kegger my freshman year.  I was too timid to actually get my own booze – I would send a friend to get two cups of gross Milhuakee’s Best.  Then we went to this othe house and continued our merry making (I think I may have had a special cookies in there – I don’t know – but who hands out “fresh” cookies at a party?)

This was the beginning of a torrid love affair with the drinks of the gods.  Alcohol was a new thing to me – and of course I got out of control with it.  December of 2003, at the tender age of 18.5 – I hugged a toilet and held on for dear life.  I swear – I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head.  I thought I had hit rock bottom…. until March 2006 when I was barfing up my friend, booze, in a Harvard yard…. and then in a Harvard bush… and a Harvard baseball diamond…. and in front of the Divinity school… on my way back to my friend’s brother’s apartment.  It’s probably the worse drinking memory I have.  For a span of 3 hours – I remember precious minutes.  The first hurl, trying to climb on a car to take a nap, crawling around because I couldn’t stand, my friend slapping me, falling face first in front of some white building and getting grass/dirt in my mouth – causing more vomiting. 

Now, I’m 23, a year older and hopefully wiser.  The days of constant binge drinking on weekends have been reduced significantly.   I’ve only been crazy drunk about 7 times this year.  Once a month is much better than 10 times a month.  Am I growing up?  I believe I am.  Was I an alocholic for a time?  No – at least not by the definitions given to me by my med school friend.  I’ve mellowed out – and have lost my fondness for the drink.  I now need to find other recreational activities that do not require (but may have) drinking involved.  Eating is the only such activity I have found, and I can’t keep doing that because then I’ll just be mammoth and sober.  (Hey, JJ - what do you want to do? – Umm eat? – You are aware, we’re leaving the restraurant now – right?)

Weekends are a precious commodity these days.  You can’t be wasting them.  (“What did you do this weekend?”  Oh, nothing – I just wasted half of it by forgetting what I did and then having to recollect the night and apologize to my grandma for caling her at 5am to tell her I felt bad she had no teeth….)  I suppose it’s ok to go out and get out of control once in a while – but it’s just not possible every weekend – not to mention New York is one expensive booze town.

So, any good ideas out there for a sober man on a Saturday night?  I don’t have a clue either…

 JJRC