31 August 2007
La Carpio Funeral
By my reckoning, La Carpio isn't an overly dangerous place (I promise it's not, Mom). Like a lot of places in the world, there is potential danger at specific locations (East St. Louis) or if you're doing certain things (trying to steal stuff). But since I've been here I haven't really worried about personal bodily harm. I cruise our several-block area with relative confidence and peace of mind. No prob.
But, that's when it's bright. By night La Carpio wears a cloak of unpredictability. The shadows turn to pitch and the blissful ease sleeps with the sun. And this foreboding is mostly attributed to the gangs who operate during the "hours of bad decisions" as Steve says.
Sometimes people get hurt here. Beatings. Stabbings. Shootings. These things happen. It's in the news. But La Carpio's nightlife has been a shade more lethal this past week. Two people, sadly, have been killed.
And for us gringos, one of these deaths hit closer to home. Cesar, a chico on one of our soccer teams, lost his 28-year-old cousin on Thursday night. His name was Jose Sandoval. He was married with three children. It was in all the local papers. They said the murder happened in the wake of an argument at a local bar. There were multiple shots fired and a life lost. The perpetrator is a known gang member. The victim was not.
See the article here in its original context (graphic footage warning).
But, the family of Cesar came to Steve after the death and asked for transportation to the cemetery. We have a carry-all vehicle, so we openly accepted. And so, with fewer than two weeks in the country, I got my first look at a La Carpio funeral. Below are some photos of the sorrowful event.
Transporting the family. Latinos can be reserved in potentially turbulent emotional situations. I couldn't sense the degree of our vanload's sadness. 
The immediate family held a viewing of the body in a La Carpio home. Like funerals I've been to, adults talked quietly in small groups while kids played reservedly. 
The casket processional moved down the corridor toward the final resting place. The sobs of the victim's mother carried for hundreds of feet. She clutched the casket and collapsed to the ground in anguish. No pictures are necessary to recollect the harrowing scene. My brows raised and my spine chilled. The audible tears of a mother grieving her lost son are not quickly forgotten.
Cesar and his baby brother a few days before the murder. 
Two of our amigos reading about the recent deaths.
_________
In some ways, the people of La Carpio have a better life perspective than most of us. They see all of life through a local lens, a lens that focuses on celebrations of birth alongside tragic last breaths. Cradle to grave. Their spectrum is vivid. And I wonder how I would think about the world differently if I called La Carpio home.
But these events also give way to opportunity. Death has a way of shifting priorities. Of raising life questions. Opening the vaults of our dark hearts and forcing previously-suppressed issues to the forefront. My prayer is that some of La Carpio's patrons would seek truth and security in Christ in these times of uncertainty.
And this uncertainty permeates their lives. Wondering about money, about subsistence, about safety. About a national identity amidst a foreign land. I pray they would rest and identify with Christ, knowing that the work has been done for them. And knowing that in the fierce physical difficulties, there is true spiritual hope.
As humans, we look for ways to validate our existence. We seek avenues to give us status: Grades. Careers. Sex. Marriage. Children. Awards. Intellect. Possessions. Friends. Appearance. Power. Influence. Success. Many others too. And these can be good...and bad, if improperly used.
Sadly, in La Carpio, status and gang membership are fast friends. To an outsider a willful inclusion among their ranks seems foolish. Short-sighted. Not worth it. I've thought this. But La Carpio is their life. Their home. Their fish bowl. We have business casual Friday. They look for things to steal to pay for their next high.
And so my specific prayer is that the youth would not desire the backslapping approval of the gang life and the social weight it caries.
Most people came to La Carpio looking for a better life. One of increased opportunity and promise. A lot of them came from Nicaragua in the 80s during intense political turmoil that saw an 80 percent drop in per capita earnings for the Nicaraguan populace.
But it's hard to imagine the feelings of parents who in coming to La Carpio envisioned fatter times for their families. And then as they watch their kids fall into drugs and theft and violence. I would guess that this is not what the parents envisioned. And I think about the future of this place — the adults, the gangsters. The kids.
There is much to pray about. And much to be sad about. But God has a plan here. He's sovereign. People are broken and hurting and need grace. And they long for hope. And what a permanent hope there is! I pray that even a few could have it here.
30 August 2007
Yo Apoyo A La Sele
Wah? Sorry for the unexplained Spanish... If you're around Costa Rica then you might have seen this phrase on LIVEStrong-type bracelets worn by many of the locals. It means "I support Sele," which is short for Seleccion Nacional. This is the name of the Costa Rican national soccer team. The big shots. The ballers. The proud players of the red, white and blue of Costa Rican patriotic lore. (seems like these colors are familiar...)
And, with a week of living here under my belt, we decided it was high time to see La Sele work their cleated magic. So we did. And we enjoyed a rousing bout against Honduras on Wednesday evening in the crisp San Jose air (as lightning flashed over the mountains in the distance). We found out after getting there that it was the 23-and-younger team playing. Kind of the bench-warmers. But no matter. Honduras led late in the second half, but CR managed a draw after netting a goal with five minutes remaining. Quite exciting for all the 5,000 (or less) people there.
And tickets were only $3 (1,500 Colónes), so we brought a van-full (VF) of kids from La Carpio to watch too. They acted like they were bored 'cause it was the second-string team. But we caught them cheering and getting into it more than once. Kids. So transparent.
But not a bad intro into the professional world of latin-american football. Viva la Sele!
As a side note, it seems a bit strange that my Nicaraguan amigos would cheer so heartily for the Costa Rican team. And since Costa Ricans aren't especially hospitable toward the Nicas. Hard to say... I guess it shows that you end up cheering for the locals. No matter what colors they're wearing...
But, a few pics:
Random concession dude, a superfan, and Roberto and Lapiz. 
Self-portrait.
Roberto, Juancho, Lapiz. I picked up a nifty Sele jersey at the gringo mall. Maybe I've earned the right to wear it? But I like it all the same. 
27 August 2007
Carlos Enrique - aka "Lapiz"
Meet Carlos Enrique. He is tall and skinny, hence the nickname (lapiz means pencil). He is 13 years old. He plays on our younger kids soccer team. Since being here last week he's become a quick favorite. His smile and goofiness are great. He pulls on my leg hair and he nicknamed me Juancho. He and a few others like it when I do a voice beat box to a reggaeton beat while dancing around like a nerd. This is one thing I'm pretty good at. And it's fun.
Today Lapiz told another kid that I'm his new friend (Juancho es mi amigo nuevo). An endearing gesture, and heartfelt I think. And then ten minutes later he asked me to buy him a video game at the local store. The kid knows how to work the system. I told him the game would be bad for his health. He asked me why (Por Que Juan!?). I wanted to say "because it will rot your brain" but I didn't know how. So I said nothing and it was equally effective. Fortunately the kids don't mind when I lapse into lingually-inhibited silent spells. And Lapiz is no exception.
He has a mom who keeps a pretty tight rein on him and he doesn't know who his dad is. He has one sister and no brothers, which in La Carpio, is an exceptionally small family.
But the chico is very bright. He knows lots of English words and phrases and shows potential for higher education. I don't know if this is possible, but it's comforting to hope that some of the kids in La Carpio will make it out into a broader life. Or at least have an opportunity to do so.
So, here's Lapiz. (The photo above was a self-portrait. He borrowed my camera today and snapped some pics)
Getting harassed by older and bigger Leonel. 
Coke float.
Coke (Coca) drinking contest. He can hold his own. 
Learning the ropes of camera use. It took him about five seconds to figure everything out. 
Warm up.
Becoming Spiderman (with help from Roberto).
A video clip Lapiz shot with my camera. Steve, my roommate and fellow gringo, was asking Lapiz if he knew about William Shakespeare and Macbeth (we might be taking some kids to see Macbeth next month in San Jose).
26 August 2007
La Carpio's Main Drag
Typical sights and sounds while driving down the main street of the neighborhood.
25 August 2007
Attempting an Explanation
Well, as is the case at certain times in life, we find ourselves in wholly unpredictable and foreign environments. We move, we get new jobs, we're the new kid, we stick out, we don't speak the language of the locals, etc. And so the task of simply "getting" the new environment is hard. And tricky. It's new and exotic and exciting for sure. But tricky.
And so it is that on my third day here in Costa Rica and La Carpio, there are a multitude of observatory impulses reaching my brain, but only enough brain power to comprehend a fraction. The other impulses are getting stored in my "for later" compartment, alongside Algebra and the Absolute Zero Theory. But hopefully I'll revisit the fresh thoughts more than I have the others. I'm only one man, people...
But I'll say that I don't know where to start in describing this place and people. A good way maybe is to think about how you grew up and how that led to where you are now.
What did you do as a kid? Who were your friends? What did you do on Sunday afternoons and on weeknights? What type of house did you live in? In what country(ies) did you live? What did you eat? What kind of clothes did you wear? How did people treat you considering your ethnicity?
These life experiences in our formative years invariably led to where we are now. We are, largely, a product of our direct environment.
So, with this in mind, consider what your life would be like as a child in La Carpio:
You are Nicaraguan, but you live in Costa Rica so your parents can get more work. You are discriminated against because of your ethnicity. Some worse than others. You and your siblings live in a 300-500 sq. ft. home that might have a concrete floor, or not. Your street outside is probably dirt and mud. There are 50 mutts in the immediate area. But they don't bother anyone really.
You probably go to school for a few hours a day, and your education stops in your earlier teens. You probably have enough to eat, and you love to play outside with your friends, siblings, cousins and random gringos from Oklahoma and Texas. You probably have at least a few cavities and you might be missing some teeth. You LOVE soccer and play it whenever you can. You might be hooked on crack or other fantastically addictive substances. You rarely travel outside your neighborhood, or even your block if you're in a gang.
If you are in a gang, your life is largely unsafe and getting stabbed or shot isn't uncommon for your demographic. You love traveling outside of the neighborhood in a gringo's van. You like rough-housing with your friends. Your days are spent traipsing the block and having a laugh wherever you can. Your life is comparatively less busy than other Western kids', but you probably have a real passion for life and a wonderful ability to live in the present moment that surpasses those of the gringo kids.
You are a kid and you live in La Carpio.
So, perhaps this helps. I'll get more specific later on. Tomorrow I'm going to watch my first match played by the smaller kids' soccer team that we sponsor. I'm thinking action pics. Stay tuned.
around La Carpio:
23 August 2007
Costa Rica at a first glance
A fatigued road-warrior lounges in Houston's airport whilst waiting for departure Costa Rica-side. One hour of sleep tends to make one quite lethargic. Though I slept like a corpse on the planes. 
Where I'll be spending most of my time: San Jose's La Carpio. About 100,000 people. Not in Kansas anymore. 
This is a comparatively good street. No seatbelts required, of course. 
Skateboard ministry. Very popular among the young-uns. And my 30-something roommate. 
Tres Leches. Ingestion time: 1 inhalation.
22 August 2007
Farewell, Oklahoma
The trouble with going on a long trip is that you can’t avoid packing dirty underwear. I like to rank trip lengths in terms of how much underwear you’re bringing.
“Oh, you going on a trip? How long you gonna be gone?”
“Well, not too long. It’s only a five-pair excursion.”
“Hmm…that’s nice.”
And so it is that I find myself on the diving board of a trip that demands FULL deployment of my undergarment arsenal. Whoa. The whole fleet you ask? Yep. I’m taking all the threads I got.
So, when you’re taking the whole of your U-wear lineup on a trip (12 pairs for me, fyi), you can’t avoid packing the dirty underwear. Because that pair you take off the night before leaving? No time for the wash. You just shove them in and roll.
But why do I need so many skivvies? And where am I going? Good questions.
And the answer is that in a few short hours, I’ll be going to Costa Rica to live out the remainder of 2007, and a bit of ’08. I’m going to work at a children’s home and community outreach center in a San Jose slum.
I’ll do a web site for and write stuff about the mission I’ll work for. I will take pictures and do video documentary things too. Some of this I know how to do, some I don’t. But that makes it interesting. And no doubt the locale will be quite different than suburban middle America, no? I’m curious how I’ll be impacted. Please pray for me.
But yes, I’m quite excited. It’s been a trip long in the works, so it’s comforting to see it to fruition. I’M FINALLY GOING. BOOYAH! And the longest I’ve been away from the home ranch is three months, back during basic training, so the venture will mix my life up considerably (in a good way). I’ve lived in Norman for about 18 years at this point, so the new perspective will be a reviving draught of newness. And it will be good for me to miss home and be lonely. Two things I’ve not felt in a real sense.
But, there will be time aplenty for such cross-cultural musings later on. It’s now one hour before I am to awaken and haul ace to the airplane take off place. So I guess I’ll get a few winks before nudging my spurs into Silver's flanks and trotting south, to the old country.
So here’s to new life beginnings, and new stories of untold plots and characters. Overall I’m very blessed to be going. I’m not thankful enough, probably. And it’s definitely worth packing some dirty underwear over. 
Traveling light. A single season-type climate makes the chore of packing quite simple. This is all I'm taking and I couldn't be more thrilled. You don't have to bring many clothes when working in a slum. It's going to be a t-shirt and shorts affair every day as far as I'm concerned. Beautiful.
21 August 2007
Middle-School Art
Squall Listing. water color on green construction paper.
From my 7th grade art class at Norman's Longfellow Middle School. Blue ribbon brushmanship for sure...
20 August 2007
Red River Flooding - June '07
From the air on my way to DFW from the venerable Will Rogers World Airport.
Seattle Skyline Panoramic
360° view from the Space Needle. From my trip in '06. I didn't have the software to stitch it together til now. Click to magnify it.
19 August 2007
Ames, Oklahoma
Saturday morning found the army band traveling northwest from Oklahoma City toward a seemingly unworthy destination. But when we arrived in Ames (pop. 200), the charm of the annual Ames Day Parade overpowered the feeling of metropolitan inconsequence. And the literal two-block parade seemed longer when viewed through a rural lens.
It's good to be in the small places sometimes. I wouldn't pack up my homestead and relocate to a place such as this, but I do like a bushel of elements that the prairie life has to offer. Namely the sense of community and the brotherhood of belonging. The wheaty embraces and the firm and genuine okra handshakes. The fierce friendliness and the desire to help even a stranger beyond what's asked. These are the colors of the country life. At least the country life as I mildly understand it. Two cheers for a deliberate style of life.
So here's a brief look into a communally significant happening among fiercely proud Oklahomans. 
Here we are, rip-roaring down the parade route. At this moment we were probably half-way through our first song — the first song of two. Not a long slog. The trombones are always on the front row. Because we're hott and also so we don't kill anyone with our motoring slides. We can be clumsy...
Enthusiastic Ames patron visually telling me about the fireworks show that would happen in the evening. The pooch's name is Mel Gibson. 
Sweet country goodness! After the parade we were fed handsomely by the local American Legion Post. 
scenes while rolling out of town. 
Country mile.
All in a day's work. Army Strong, Sgt. Rush, Army Strong.
17 August 2007
Milt goes corporate
I trust by now you've all met Milt. And if not, then you will now. Say hello to the man in the picture above. He came into my life a confused and provocatively dressed youth. Full of wonder. See him in his formative years here.
As far as alter egos go, I'd say Milt has been good for me. Just cool enough to make me feel important, but not too popular that it's annoying. No supermarket autograph maulings. No no.
But this summer it occurred to me that what I have in Milt, and namely his stunning threads, is just too special to keep to myself. It would be wrong for me to hoard it. Unethical. So. I did some talking to the sun. And said I didn't like the way he got things done. And I took Milt public and incorporated. Thus, Milton Inc. took to the skies, and along with it, a pictorial brand name that is sweeping the nations.
Some close friends bought into the vision. And the results? I think you'll find them most agreeable. So, I just have one charge for you all. Please, take this jacket. Take it to the corners of the globe and back again. And know that when you put it on, you represent a legacy of cutting-edge genre photography that is steeped in tradition.
I sincerely believe that deep down, there's a little bit of plaid polyester in each of us. And it's screaming to be let out. So please. Open the door. And let it out.
This is my charge. Thank you.
Meet Mildred. She did France this summer. Thanks for sharing, Mildred. Your contribution has been invaluable. Surely you won't be forgotten. 
Mildred also saw Rome. Good show!
And now, I introduce Milt-Yao, a bless'ed brother. Milt-Yao walked The Great Wall this very month. Certainly a bulwark of artistic expression. 
Curiously, Milt-Yao has a special accomplice, Mirabel. I'll let Mr. Yao explain the finer details of their personal contract, but this is certainly an edgy and riveting contribution to the genre. Well done, Mirabel. 
And lastly, I give you an historic setting of Emperor Qin's Terra Cotta Warriors. A photographical masterpiece of such earthy magnitude only a handful have seen! Most humble thanks for what you've given us with this installment, Milt-Yao.
So who's next? The chapters are waiting to be written. And I hope you'll take part too.
Amusing Phrases / Expressions
For no particular reason and in no specific order:
H-E Double Hockey Stick
At Loggerheads
Be there with bells on
Tore up from the floor up
A tisket, A tasket
Oh, Gordon Bennett!
Taken to the woodshed
Knackered
Thrown under the bus
I don't give a Rat's
Jaw Jacking
Kicked to the curb
Minging
Got your Goat
Coming for your children (in the night)
Chatty Kathy
Six Ways from Sunday
Hung out to Dry
Ass over Teakettle
Oh Moses, smell the roses
Do you have any favorites?
16 August 2007
Dog Fight - white vs. black
Right kick.
Toothy assault.
15 August 2007
Granny Smith
From the leafed fruit factory in the back yard.
Hey...Bales!
Saw these straw marshmallows resting quietly near Franklin and east 24th on my way home from OKC and army make-up drill. I had the camera with me so I fancied a few snaps. 
Look carefully and you'll notice an intimidating stance. Just part of the local war on feedgrass terror. A lot of bad cowhands out there...
14 August 2007
Nose Job
Last Monday I had nose surgery. Contrary to some nasty rumors, I assure you the procedure was entirely non-cosmetic in purpose. I got stuck with a needle, everything went black and the doc fixed my deviated septum so I can breathe better.
Despite being laid up for most of last week, icing my schnoz (see picture) and pumping water up my blood-clot strewn sinuses, I have to say I can breathe way better now (and I'm not fully recovered). It's nice to lie down and respirate freely out the nose. I didn't used to do this. And at the break of dawn, there's been no drool upon the pillow. I have to think this is a good improvement.
So here's to cleaning out the bloody-nose clots of life, and straightening septums for the betterment of society. Cause hey, we all deserve a fresh breath of air.
13 August 2007
Sunday Afternoon
Move over, Beckham. 
Older brother can kick while holding a popsicle. 
Free throw. We're multi-talented here. Molly is uninterested on the left. 
Molly greeting Daddy with a kiss. My dad got home today from New Orleans where he's been for the last three months working for The Man. Basically, State Farm is trying to finalize what they owe and what they don't to Hurricane Katrina peeps. My dad sifted through piles of fraudulent claims alongside handfuls of credible ones. He said lawyers in NOLA will roam about speaking in CHURCHES and promise to get people money in court for their property losses. That's so shady.
But anyway, welcome back to the "dry" heat, Pa. Glad to have you home.
11 August 2007
Outside
Tasha on the afternoon installment of the walk around the field. 
Abby "Tortuga" Stuart. Lately she's been catching as many as two turtles per outing. It seems we've stumbled upon her special doggie powers.
Buzz.
Ribbit.
10 August 2007
Farm Scenes
Lately we've been going out to Farmer John's in east Norman to get fresh milk and eggs. All very good. Here's what life's like at Farmer John's. 
09 August 2007
It's official...
Got this in the mail yesterday and there's no going back. Most excellent.
08 August 2007
Volcan Irazú Panorámica
for more info on Costa Rica's tallest volcano.
05 August 2007
John ramps a bike into a pond
I've always wanted to do this from a young age. I can't really explain why. So, today was the day. Sadly, the event proved less emotionally fulfilling and more painful than anticipated (see photos and explanation below). Tami and Mama Stu documented. Gracias. And if anyone is interested in similar ramping pursuits, talk to me first. I have a lot of notes on what not to do.
The video: 
Assembling the ramping apparatus. Structural integrity was sketchy, but it held firm in the time of need.
Jump No. 1. I rode the bike all the way into the water. Bad idea. Front tire stopped on impact and I faceplanted the surface HARD. You gotta let go of the bike. It's priority one. 
Jump No. 2. Again, I didn't release the bike. Very foolish. I was too scared of landing on it. The end result? Face plant. Again. And HARDER this time. On face impact, I turned my head to lessen the blow. Bad idea. It basically caused a neck buster and all the energy of the rushing water slapped my neck. Suck.
Into the pond on Jump 2. Notice foolishly turned head. If you're gonna stay on the bike you gotta pull up hard on the handle bars. The back tire has to hit water first, people. Anything else is faceplant central. No lie. 
Recovering after Jump 2 (the last one at that). I got really dizzy when exiting the water. I nearly passed out. And my vision went all white with spots for a while (presumably because I hit my neck). Kinda frightening for a few moments though. And I won't be ramping again soon. Currently my neck is still swollen, but morale is high. At least I tried, ya know? And I think that's worth an A for effort.
04 August 2007
A Day with the Serven Tookies
At the Little River Zoo in the kangaroo paddock.
Kicking it at Lake Dirtybird. 
Post-swim sillyness. Oddly, Cal and I made similar faces. I can't explain this...
03 August 2007
High Voltage
Figured with all the Oklahoma storms this summer I better have something to show for it. Took these from my living room picture window. 
Red and Blue
Bonus points if you can name this building on the OU campus.
02 August 2007
Senior Varsity - Norman North High style
I've been cleaning out my old room at the rents' house. Behold: my letter-jacket letter. You'll notice the three bars. These represent three years of getting a superior rating at state solo-and-ensemble competition for band. Nerd alert. I claim it. So yeah, the whole letter-jacket business isn't only for you jocks. We band geeks and orch dorks are representin' too.
01 August 2007
I Drive With Two Feet
I've always wondered why we're trained to drive a car with one foot. Currently, the venerable Dan Ling is learning to drive. Soon he will take his driving test and hopefully cross over into the numerous ranks of legal American vehicle operators.
And in Dan's training they told him to drive with one foot, just like they do everyone else. When I was 16 I thought driving with one lower apendage to be an oversight. And I still think it's totally silly and inefficient.
Barring unfortunate experiences, we've all got two feet. There are two pedals. I see a pattern. My grandpa drove with two, my dad does as well. I drove with my grandpa once just after getting my permit (c. June '99). "Now you'll want to drive with two feet," he said intuitively before we left the driveway. "It's just a better way to drive."
Well said, grandpa. Well said.
"But you'll get the pedals confused," say the masses. Ahhh...I don't think so. I've been behind the wheel for 8 years now and have never gotten them mixed up.
Gas = right foot. Brake = left foot. It's easy.
When you're eating dinner you don't get confused about where the proper silverware utensil goes. Fork = left hand (if you're like me), knife = right hand. It's easy. You don't suddenly lose control with your left hand and send your filet mignon flying into your neighbor's Pinot Noir. You just cut the steak and eat it.
So anyway. Which is it? Dos or uno? I really don't care. It's just interesting.
I drive with two feet.
NOTE: obviously this post pertains to automatic transmission vehicles. when i drive a standard tranny machine i use my right foot for gas AND brake. but that's just a note...
Apple-Sauce
