I pick the small transportable water tank, full of barely-born sea turtles and head back across the windy beach towards the lab, when the bellhop from my Casa Magna Marriot hotel happens to walk my way. He still has his uniform on, and seems to be smoking a self-rolled cigarette.
"Whatcha got there amigo?" he asks.
"Sea turtles." I respond as I passed by, smiling politely.
He looks at the turtles and then up at me.
"You a scientist?"
I stop. "Volunteer. Scientist. Yeah."
"A volunteer scientist? And you come to my country to look at those things?"
I look at the bucket of sea turtles.
"Yep!"
"The fuck?!" he mutters, taking a drag.
My heart gives a jump. "Huh?"
"You gonna be doctor and you volunteer here to look at those little shitty things swimming around instead of helping my wife who is dying of AIDs because of our terrible health care system?"
"Uh.. no, it's just that-"
"Or my brother's son who was kidnapped for a ransom he can't pay?"
"...See the thing of it is is I'm in vet school. Study animals. Animales. Not... people."
"You pay money to fly here and help out, and you help out those little faggots," pointing at the sea turtles.
"The thing is, they're suffering too," I explain, as I squashed my toes into the sand. "Right now they're almost extinct because of this new microbiotic infection that's causing some of them to go blind and become easy pray. If the sea turtles die out, you're going to have an out of control jellyfish population around here. Hate to step on one of those guys, they're a shocker, am I right?" I ask, going out of pitch.
He skull-fucks my eyes. "I can handle jellyfish."
My big toe was fully buried in the sand. "You know what!" I say. "I have a couple hours free tomorrow, I'll stop by somewhere and give your wife some antibiotics, or - help you look in the jungles for your kidnapped nephew, err... Put up posters, what do you do about that exactly?"
"We have to pay eight hundred thousand pesos. He cut hair for living."
"Hm..." I blink. "Could he use an assistant?"
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
In the name of the pages, the ink, and the holy binding
"People call this book the Word of God!" Pastor Channing said, holding up his gold-covered Bible, his tiny veiny arms straining. "The book whose truths of God have pervailed over thousands of years! The book that has shown the light of God, no matter its translation from Hebrew and Aramaic and Greek to English, to Chinese, to French -- although we all know God speaks English, not French."
A light laughter rippled through the crowd, so light in fact that some members of the congregation were undoubtedly nodding in actual agreement.
"A book that has survived that many translations and still holds true! The book that can encapsulate the power of God using only pages, ink, and glue! Nay, that kind of a book is God! Only God himself could hold that kind of power! THIS IS GOD!"
He held the Bible as high as he could, the veins in his neck and arm ever prominent. People in the congregation knelt.
"And those who have translated it are prophets! God has made it so that any translations in the name of the Holy Bible are accurate! After all, that is how we've treated it! All worship Zondervan Publishing House in La Porte, Indiana!"
The white people in the pews bowed their heads further.
"And we worship the retailers who brought God to our bookshelves! All hail Borders Books and Music!"
The people bowed their heads further, most of them touching the pew in front of them.
"And to the copywriters and edit- uh oh!"
The book -- the God -- in Pastor Channing's old white hands fell through his fingers. It flipped through the air, the corner of it hitting the chalice of red wine -- Jesus' blood -- and the bowl of crackers -- Jesus' skin. All three hit the red carpet next to the altar, the wine splashing across the pages of the Bible, the crackers splaying around.
Someone in the crowd stood up.
"He spilled Jesus on God!"
The Pastor looked at the mess of deities on the floor at his feet, and then looked back up at his congregation.
"It is a sign! The blood and skin of Jesus is now encompassed in the book!" He held up the Bible dripping with wine and crackers. People gasped. "The Bible is our God!!"
A light laughter rippled through the crowd, so light in fact that some members of the congregation were undoubtedly nodding in actual agreement.
"A book that has survived that many translations and still holds true! The book that can encapsulate the power of God using only pages, ink, and glue! Nay, that kind of a book is God! Only God himself could hold that kind of power! THIS IS GOD!"
He held the Bible as high as he could, the veins in his neck and arm ever prominent. People in the congregation knelt.
"And those who have translated it are prophets! God has made it so that any translations in the name of the Holy Bible are accurate! After all, that is how we've treated it! All worship Zondervan Publishing House in La Porte, Indiana!"
The white people in the pews bowed their heads further.
"And we worship the retailers who brought God to our bookshelves! All hail Borders Books and Music!"
The people bowed their heads further, most of them touching the pew in front of them.
"And to the copywriters and edit- uh oh!"
The book -- the God -- in Pastor Channing's old white hands fell through his fingers. It flipped through the air, the corner of it hitting the chalice of red wine -- Jesus' blood -- and the bowl of crackers -- Jesus' skin. All three hit the red carpet next to the altar, the wine splashing across the pages of the Bible, the crackers splaying around.
Someone in the crowd stood up.
"He spilled Jesus on God!"
The Pastor looked at the mess of deities on the floor at his feet, and then looked back up at his congregation.
"It is a sign! The blood and skin of Jesus is now encompassed in the book!" He held up the Bible dripping with wine and crackers. People gasped. "The Bible is our God!!"
Saturday, April 20, 2013
When in doubt, follow the classic Hollywood script formula!
Teresa scowled with her bushy eyebrows.
"I'm 26 and I still haven't found myself."
It was a realization that came that morning with Cheerios. As she munched the same oaty flavor, it hit like the spoon hiting the bowl.
"I work in a sheet metal factory and I don't know who I am! I didn't want to go into sheet metal! Why didn't I go to MYU?"
Her boyfriend Cho ate his fruity pebbles and nodded. "Y-You're doing great, honey. We've got a great routine going here. You're making a lot of money." He picked up his bowl and squeeked across the floorboards to the sink.
Teresa shook her head.
Later at work, Teresa turned off her gigantic spot welder machine and removed her safety glasses. She glided through the machines and workers to the supervisor Tompkins' office door.
"No, you can't go to Cancun! You have to schedule off your vacations, and you've already used all of yours this year!"
"Mr. Tompkins, I need to find myself and God so my only choice is to go on a roadtrip to Mexico, or fly to Hawaii." She cocks her head to the side, as though annoyed by the idea that she has to go.
"No! We've got you Monday through Thursday next week! If you want time off you've got to give more advanced notice!" He looked back down at his office desk. A loud sheer began in the background yards from the open door.
"BUT!" Teresa shouted, "I need to do this! God told me while I was eating breakfast!"
Mr. Tompkins rubbed his bald temples.
"You don't know who you are because you haven't strived to ask. You'll never know the full extent of who you are, but the only way that you can ever figure out who you are is by stepping into the shoes of others, so that you can see yourself through their viewpoint. You can't look at who you are with your own eyes; you must see through the view of another."
Teresa went silent. "That gave me goose pimples."
"I've been to Hawaii before."
"I'm 26 and I still haven't found myself."
It was a realization that came that morning with Cheerios. As she munched the same oaty flavor, it hit like the spoon hiting the bowl.
"I work in a sheet metal factory and I don't know who I am! I didn't want to go into sheet metal! Why didn't I go to MYU?"
Her boyfriend Cho ate his fruity pebbles and nodded. "Y-You're doing great, honey. We've got a great routine going here. You're making a lot of money." He picked up his bowl and squeeked across the floorboards to the sink.
Teresa shook her head.
Later at work, Teresa turned off her gigantic spot welder machine and removed her safety glasses. She glided through the machines and workers to the supervisor Tompkins' office door.
"No, you can't go to Cancun! You have to schedule off your vacations, and you've already used all of yours this year!"
"Mr. Tompkins, I need to find myself and God so my only choice is to go on a roadtrip to Mexico, or fly to Hawaii." She cocks her head to the side, as though annoyed by the idea that she has to go.
"No! We've got you Monday through Thursday next week! If you want time off you've got to give more advanced notice!" He looked back down at his office desk. A loud sheer began in the background yards from the open door.
"BUT!" Teresa shouted, "I need to do this! God told me while I was eating breakfast!"
Mr. Tompkins rubbed his bald temples.
"You don't know who you are because you haven't strived to ask. You'll never know the full extent of who you are, but the only way that you can ever figure out who you are is by stepping into the shoes of others, so that you can see yourself through their viewpoint. You can't look at who you are with your own eyes; you must see through the view of another."
Teresa went silent. "That gave me goose pimples."
"I've been to Hawaii before."
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