A bare brick, ramshackle building with a tin roof held on with stones from the nearby river. A Willow tree behind. Windows only recently installed. Blue curtains made from sheets. Boys in their sunday best enjoying the sun. Ladies in broad brimmed hats, multi-coloured blankets draped on their backs; babies nestled inside.
Sam & Johnny were friends from school who were better than me at just about everything. By the time we were thirteen Sam was at least twice as fast as I was on the track, and he could dunk before I could too. It was amazing we stayed friends for as long as we did.
I know everyone thinks these are boring and none of you read them, but Site Updates are my way of getting amongst the people, coming down from the magical writing place and answering all your questions. Of which there are always zero. Moving along…
- The best part of writing for the site are the amazing comments I get each and every week.
The relationship between Bolivia & Football is like that of Sonny & Cher, Strawberries & Cream, or Americans and Twinkies. So, in honour of the recent FIFA© World Cup® I thought I’d better do a football post. In Australia, every aussie knows they’re a sports fan because they buy big screen TVs and yell at their kids on the field every weekend.
As mentioned previously, as a child my brother was an idiot and never felt bound by the natural laws of physics. He was always attempting to break or injure something on his person. Twice he got hit in the mouth with a swing. Another time he busted his teeth out coming off a skateboard.
In 1990, the Bolivian arm of Coca-Cola, obviously floundering financially in a nation where only 99.9% of the 5 Million residents were swilling their product, decided to spur sales through aggressive marketing. Never-before-seen tactics in the 3rd world. Bolivian Coke was cheaper than milk and contained less cow bits. It also had sugar & bubbles, lasted longer than a day in the fridge and didn’t taste like cow hair.
Sorry normal people, but this tale will really only appeal to nerds and only male ones at that. For everyone else, I give you gardening. I know on some level that’s discriminatory, but I guess in the end I can’t force you to read something else. When we weren’t wasting our teenage lives in front of someone richer’s various Nintendo systems, we were wasting our pocket money at the Arcades.
I imagine for some Missionary Kids, moving away from their home country and leaving all their friends and family must be an horrific experience. I say imagine, because I honestly can’t remember whether mine was or not. It could have been the drugs dad plied us with. Some more of the things I can remember from those early weeks of being a Missionary Kid…
- Our House(s).
Looks like the rumors were true. I’d heard Oliver Stone had been in Bolivia talking to Evo and other South American Leaders. Now he’s releasing a documentary about his trip entitled ‘South of the Border.’ Synopsis from the official Site: There’s a revolution underway in South America, but most of the world doesn’t know it.
Americans love camps. It’s like their national pastime or something. When they’re not eating individual portions designed for entire Catholic families or shooting each other under the loving embrace of the Bill of Rights,* they go on camps. Americans have camps for everything. Summer Camps, High School camps, Wilderness Camps. Girl Scout Camps.
Weddings in Bolivia were very festive affairs. They were pretty much just an excuse to have a giant feast and invite around 1000 relatives and the mutant fly-man. I’m sure many of them were days long. Such was the case with Juan. He was one of the groundsmen at school. Roy (Joel’s dad) was lucky enough to be godfather for Juan’s wedding.