Forgotten

I always like to joke around with people that Father's Day is the "Forgotten Holiday". Of course there's a shred of truth to my rumination, although I try not to dwell on it too much. Mother's Day is this grand affair, eclipsed (and narrowly at that) only by Christmas. Father's have to share the marquis with Grads as in "Get your gifts for Grads and Dads". Forget mother's day and you may not live to tell about it. You will never hear the end of it if you are lucky. More likely, you'll be banished to the Kingdom of Silent Treatment, where, if there were indeed such a kingdom, jilted Mom would not be its Ice Princess but its Cold Blooded Queen. Forget Father's Day? Hey, has anyone seen the remote control? There's no big consequence for missing Father's Day.

My Father's Day started early and ended late. In typical Dad fashion, it was busy all day long filled with everyone else's activities. There was no ceremonial parade. There was no pageantry. There was no formal gift presentation. Apparently, my kids had hidden my gift behind the couch sometime yesterday and forgot all about it until almost 4pm today when they mentioned rather nonchalantly, "Hey Dad..um..don't forget to look behind the couch for your gift later on...," not even looking up from their Nintendo DS's. My daughter had a 9am basketball game, and another at 2:15pm. In between we went to breakfast. Actually, this was our second breakfast, but the first that we had a chance to relax and enjoy. I couldn't very well send her out to play without anything in her stomach so I was up at 7am making some eggs to serve with the homemade buttermilk biscuits that I made yesterday. There weren't enough biscuits left, so I had oatmeal. For the second breakfast, we dined at Stacks in Redwood City, not far from the gym where she was playing. Right after we ordered my daughter proclaimed rather proudly, "This is our treat!"

"Really?!!" I said excitedly and pleasantly surprised."You have money?"

"Well..um..not exactly...," she started to backpedal. "It's your Father's Day Breakfast...from us...but...uh...you'll pay."

You know that face that the highway patrol officer makes just after you finish your lame excuse about having swerved suddenly into the carpool lane and being forced to remain there for an extended period because the cars in the middle lane would not let you merge back in? He is neither sympathetic nor amused. Well, maybe slightly amused but only inwardly. I gave her that look. We ate and hustled back to the gym for the second game and I even bought her a t-shirt from one of the vendors. After her game, I had to go to the office to work on a project that seems to be never ending. Working in my office on a Sunday is bad enough. Working there on Father's Day ought to be illegal.

I missed Game 5 of the NBA Finals between the Celtics and Lakers. I caught the radio broadcast of the 4th quarter as I lamented about how I have missed the majority of games 1, 4, and 5. Hopefully I'll see game 6 from my hotel room in Ontario, Canada as I'll have the Eastern Time Zone working on my behalf. I'm nodding off now so I had better get some sleep.

Oh, I almost forgot. The little surprise behind the couch was really nice. Accompanying the 2 linen shirts that they picked out for me was a nice picture painted by my son and a poem also penned by him labeling me as not only a good pitcher and great basketball player, but the coolest and best Dad ever. That was a nice way to end the day.

que dia larga!

From the moment my eyes opened up to see the ceiling in my parents’ living room this morning, I knew it was going to be one of those ultra busy days. I stayed over last night because I had been down here for my niece’s graduation and thought it would be pointless to drive all the way home only to come back to go to my dentist near here, especially considering the ridiculous price of gas these days. I had hoped to get up, eat a little breakfast and maybe even do a little writing so that I wouldn’t be scrambling to get something in to UTC for my Friday deadline this week. However, brainstorming not being governed by the proverbial on/off switch in my head, I didn’t come up with anything worth until I had only about 15 minutes left. At least it was a start. I packed up and dashed out the door and headed for the dentist’s office.

After the rather thorough cleaning and fairly heavy-handed manipulating of my gum line, I was a tad sore as I headed off to work. I hadn’t planned on going to work today, but the project that I need to ship by the end of the week is dragging on and I need to make some more progress. To make matters even more urgent, it seems as though one of my co-workers is angling to take this project over and I definitely do not want to be marginalized in these tough economic times. I stayed at work absolutely as long as I could and then literally sprinted out of there at 1220pm to make it to my daughter’s 5th grade graduation in time. I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t make it to this, project or no project! I arrived just in time to enjoy the wonderful ceremony. It far exceeded my expectations as each 5th grader came on stage to give a speech about their fondest memory of the time that they’ve spent at the school. I was so proud to see my daughter articulate her story clearly and concisely, even adding inflections for emphasis to keep the audience engaged.

After the ceremony, my mom, my 2 nieces and my son and daughter went for a celebratory lunch at Barney’s Gourmet Hamburgers. It’s not like this was in the budget or anything but how could I not choose to “finance” a meal for such a grand occasion. One day of fiscal irresponsibility will not lead to my un-doing. (Enter these into evidence under Exhibit A: Famous Last Words). When we were finished, my mom and my nieces headed back to San Jose while the kids and I headed over to the east side to see if we could get my son involved in the basketball program at the church. Unfortunately, there’s not much of a program to this date as only 1 other kid showed up. Never one to frown on an open gym, we shot around until about 615pm when we had to dip outta there and head to my daughter’s softball banquet. Skyline Pizza was the venue for the 2 time defending Oakland Girls Softball League 10 and Under division undefeated champions’ (haven’t lost since 2006) festivities. Since it was dinner time, I begrudgingly ordered some pizza even though this joint definitely does not rate on my “approved-pizza-list” in this city. That is a very short list of maybe 1 and a half establishments, depending on if I can overlook the surroundings on Telegraph or Powell streets and delight in a slice of Blondie’s or Fat Slice Pizza. Otherwise, it’s strictly Zachary’s (see, My Name is Joe from a few months back).
Unfortunately, my son left me hanging and decided post-haste that he did NOT actually want to share any of the large combination pizza that I ordered. (Note: financed meal number 2 on this day). Oh well, such is life when you base decisions on the reliability of an 8 year old. I wish I could sleep for 12 hours tonight, but I know I must get up and get back into the office again in the morning. This is unprecedented. Only once before have I been to this office on 5 consecutive days, but appears as though it will happen this week.

steal away

It seems as though I will never get to write tonight. I opened my computer in the front room and was suddenly engaged in a conversation. About 20 minutes later, I moved over to the living room and popped open the laptop again. I was followed. My 9 year old niece bombarded me with questions.

"What are you doing?"
"What is that?"
"What does that do?"
"Why are you doing that?"
"Is this what you do at work? It seems boring."
"This almost seems like a real computer."

I felt like the guy being interrogated by MacAuley Culkin in Home Alone? It was Home Alone, wasn't it? Who was he talking to? John Candy? Maybe that was Uncle Buck. Hmmm? I don't know. But you remember the kid and his penchant for getting under the skin of adults. My niece has definitely got that MacAuley Culkin thing going on. She looks at you with the deadpan of a triage nurse at a county hospital, scarcely reacting to any of your responses as if she hardly believes anything that you're saying. I eventually closed up shop again and talked to her for a minute before thinking of a suitable distraction to keep her busy. I handed her my cell phone and queued it up to one of the 2 games that are on it. Well, actually, its really only 1 game because solitaire doesn't rate in my book. Bubble Breaker fit the bill and so engrossed was she after about 30 seconds that I reached for my laptop again.

Just as I did, my sister came up over my left shoulder.

"What's that?"
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Are you working on something from work right now?"

The apple clearly does not fall far from the tree. I'm at my parents' house this evening and its still a pretty full house as the festivities following my niece's (the one that is 9 years the senior of lil' Ms. Culkin from above) graduation are winding down. I'm coming to grips with the fact that I'm not going to get any writing done tonight. I was hoping to steal away to a corner and let the words just flow but it's just not happening. Oh well, it's not the end of the world. There's always tomorrow. Besides, my sister is hardly ever in town so I may as well enjoy her and everyone else's company. It's always nice to sit and chop it up with family. There's something about having the face to face contact that the telephone just can't provide. We chatted about what she's been up to, recent triumphs and milestones reached in her life (besides hitting the big 4-0), and working outdoors.

Overall, it was a pretty good evening. My mom and her cousins collaborated to put together a fabulous spread of beans, rice, enchiladas, and various salads. My Uncle Levi brought his world famous tri-tip steak for the occasion. I was lucky to get some because it went quickly and I came late after getting stuck at work. I think he marinates this stuff in sugar or something because it is absolutely delicious. I'll be grabbing a spot on the couch tonight because not only am I tired, but I have a dentist appointment at 9am. I'm probably still firmly operating on Central Time since I was doing so for almost 2 weeks and there's no sense in driving all the way to Oakland (from San Jose) to turn around and come right back in the morning during rush hour traffic. I'm so tired that I don't even really care that my wonderful bed will be vacant tonight. I think my bed deserves a name. I'll work on that. The randomness is flowing out of control now. Clearly it's time to go to sleep.

y que mas?

I’ve talked about so many food and “hanging out” related aspects of my time in Bogota, Colombia but have deliberately left out some of the behind the scenes stuff that served to enrich the whole experience. Had I not, I may not have slept at all while I was there. There are only so many hours in a day, and if I may make like Wyclef Jean and pontificate about what I’d do if I were president, I’d start by advocating the 30-hour day. With 30 hours, I could still plan on 8-10 hours of sleep and cram all of the other things that I have to do into the other 20 odd hours. But enough on that. Back on Colombia.

Each day we had a hired driver named Juan Pineiro that took us to and from the office in a rather cozy Hyundai mini-van. A lifelong native of Bogota, Juanito was our unofficial tourguide/mobile concierge/ambassador for all things Colombiano. What sometimes seemed like detours to merely get out of the constant gridlock often ended up being slow strolls/guided tours through some of the lesser known parts of town along with the requisite insight that only a true Colombiano could provide. It was Juanito that showed us where the tallest skyscraper (colpatria) was and where the house of "El Mexicano" (allegedly a titan of the underground economy usually associated with Colombia) stood.

Fotos

I've got lots of great photos to help you to experience some of the things that I've been talking about. I'll do that shortly, but probably not tonight. Maybe there will be wi-fi in the airport, and maybe i'll be sitting there with nothing to do, and maybe I'm not going to be inspired by anything I see so I won't be writing.

Don't worry, you'll enjoy them. I wish I had a better zoom lens. I wish I had a zoom lens at all. Oh well, for now I'll just be a scribe.

People Watching

Perhaps the greatest thing about where I’m staying is that it allows me to engage in my favorite past time. Well, yeah, eating is my favorite too, and this place is great for that, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Exercise, well, yeah it would probably be cool for that too. I could run around these parks a million times and I don’t think they’d ever get old. Can’t say that I’d be terribly eager to run on the street here because that would mean I’d have to be made hyperaware of the traffic, since things like stopping at stop signs seem to be optional. But no matter where I’m at, be it a crowded street, a busy airport, or standing at the door to the sanctuary, I can always be thoroughly entertained by the people watching. There’s never a shortage of interesting things to see in this world, but perhaps people are the most entertaining. Whether they are just doing ordinary, mundane things, or if they are congregating and carrying on with one another, there’s never a shortage of observations to be made.

This place is absolutely wonderful for this pastime. Not only am I in extra-heightened-soak-in-everything mode since I’m in a foreign place, but there’s also the whole idea that language (both verbal and non-verbal) issues come into play as do cultural differences. For instance, in Oakland, I might walk in and out of an establishment (restaurant, store, school, whatever) and a security guard probably won’t even acknowledge my presence with a nod, much less a hello or good afternoon. Quite to the contrary, every single security guard, concierge at the hotel, hostess, taxi driver, street vendor or otherwise here in Bogota gives you a buenas tardes if you’re within earshot. At each stop light during the never-ending traffic (okay, it is pretty easy to get around after 9pm…), I’m delighted by street performers, people selling dulces, cacahuates y aguacates. The other day, I saw this bare chested kid (and its not warm here right now)put on a bike helmet, and throw himself into the longest continual breakdancing headspin that I may have ever seen. Luckily, I actually had some change on me that time and rolled down the window so he could come by for his donation at the end of his show all prior to the light turned green. He put a little more on it, acting like he was terribly dizzy and disoriented to give it the vaudevillian flair, upon his dismount,and then he took a bow. At another light, I paid close attention as the team of dulce vendors worked in tandem. Going down the rows of stopped cars, the first guy went by and placed a little bag of what looked like candied peanuts on the mirror or partially opened window of each car. There was a girl that followed behind him that collected the goods, almost just as soon as he had placed them on each vehicle. Another girl, followed behind the first, collecting money from any of the drivers who had collected the bags from the window sills or mirrors and taken them into their car. Also at many of the major intersections, there’s always the Ejercitos (Colombian National Army) standing there with their camouflage and some very imposing weapon. Almost without fail, they have their hands in a “ready to shoot” position whether they’re holding an M-16 or shotgun, wearing a cap or their very impressive looking silver helmets. These cats are way more intense than your average beat cop and given their daily mission in the city here, must be quite accomplished people watchers, their stakes a bit higher than a casual observer like myself.

The king of all the people watching spots that I’ve seen here so far has been the restaurant Salteado de Angel (also check for this one in the next Destinations . How do you like my shameless self promotion? I prefer to think of it as a no frills commercial). I don’t mean to keep raving about this place, but “Salto” has the corner on the Southeastern corner of Parque de la 93. Apparently, this is the SPOT. I went there because I liked the way it looked when we drove by one day and told mis companeros that that was where we were going tonight. It looked every bit as nice as any restaurant I’ve ever been to in San Francisco or otherwise, with its huge windows, dim lights and eclectic selection of furniture. The food and wine list were great as well (I’m really not trying to give up the goods here. Check it in Destinations) and the bathroom…Wow! The hostess, yet another bonafide head-turner, by the way, showed us to a table, but spying a corner table with two big windows from which to take in el Parque, I asked that we be seated there. She complied and the people watching was on. Boy was it! On Friday and Saturday night this is a dancing spot, but I guess Sunday night is date night. The Colombian people that I have seen, especially in the types of spots I’ve been frequenting, have been very striking, so it was not surprising that this place was no different. You almost hope for an average looking couple just to prove that there is such a thing here. No, not really, I just put that in here for levity.

However, after awhile, mis companeros y yo started to notice a trend with the comings and goings here. Perhaps there was something a tad dubious about them. Sure, it’s not out of the ordinary to see a young lady with an older man, but there were way too many instances. Perhaps this is the “under” spot for the chicks-on-the-side. Naw, that doesn’t even seem logical. If you were trying to hide, you wouldn’t go to this place with all of its big windows and prime viewing of el Parque. We were having a good time with this analysis and the Los Vascos Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon was making our observations and laughter a little more audible to the rest of the room, but we didn’t really care. Then, like data points in an oft repeated lab experiment, we keyed in on the more subtle nuances of these pairings. The older guys weren’t all that dashing like the Colombian guys, nor were they very Colombian. In fact, some of these cats were downright square, and very definitely European or American businessmen. When they started showing up with more than one very attractive Colombian woman, we had reached our conclusion. Sunday night is ESCORT night!

Stiff, European businessman type with a 19 year old Colombiana on his arm. “ESCORT!” we exclaimed and then heartily laughed. Two European guys walking uncomfortably as if somebody were watching them (nobody but us) as they tried to be inconspicuous, with 2 Colombianas half their age? “ESCORTS!” Another guy, another lovely young girl? “ESCORT!” Older Latino lookin’ guy with a young girl? “Hmmm..Escort o su hija?” This would take some further investigating. She was playing him a little close when they sat at the table near ours. “ESCORT!” Meanwhile, we were treated to watching the hostess walk by to seat these people each time they came in. I don’t gather that the hostess position is easy to come by in this town by anybody that doesn’t cause guys seated at corner tables to watch them come and go. Four chicas coming in here to dine? Remember, our corner table had two large windows so we could see folks walking from across el Parque and also getting out of “amarillas” (taxis), and then we could watch them walk all the way up the ramp to the front door. “Noche de las mujeres?”was one suggestion offered up before the judges ruling could be confirmed. This one took awhile, we’d have to revisit it. From across el Parque, past the fountain and the flowers, emerged two Colombianas y un gringo? “Hmmm…Escort? Si! Ella es nervioso y se trajo su amiga…ESCORT!” We could’ve done this for hours. Don’t sound surprised, you know I’m easily amused by now.

Turista

Today was the first day that I did not have to get up at the crack of dawn, stuff some food down my throat, and head to the office of the main telecommunications provider here in Bogota, ETB, that is protected like the front gate of the Pentagon. More on that later(probably a different day), but suffice it so say that neither Nino Brown nor Frank Lucas put their employees through more just to get in and out of the office each day.

It was a rough night in which vast amounts of Santa Rita y Aguasardientes were indeed imbibed. Suffice it to say that there was no hope in me getting up before noon on Sunday. Mis companeros y yo had half talked about perhaps going to the office again, but since it was Sunday, we didn’t really put a firm commitment on it. Now, that’s a funny thing there…commitment. Let’s talk about being committed, for just a second if you don’t mind. When you say “I’m committed”, just how committed are you? Are you a little committed? Are you committed when it’s convenient? Well, let’s rap for a minute. I don’t know any good way to break it down because there are always so many shades of grey, but try this on for size. I skipped breakfast this morning and since it’s my favorite meal of the day, it’s been on my mind. Nothing says breakfast quite like bacon and eggs. With the help of this fabulous bacon and egg breakfast we’ll delve deeper into the concept of commitment. First of all, you’d have to agree that chicken in this scenario is pretty committed to the breakfast effort. Without said chicken, there’d be no eggs, and without the eggs you’d just be eating what is essentially a side dish in the bacon. So the chicken is pretty committed, putting in all that work to donate some eggs to the cause. But that pig…. Now the pig is DAMN committed!

Long story short, we went out like some chickens today. I logged on for a couple hours and tried to take care of a couple tasks that would allow me to be that much further ahead when we went to the office tomorrow. But when I called them and started a sentence about going to get some lunch, they told me to hurry up because Juanito was on his way to get us for a trip to Monserrate. I guess going to the office was out. It’s not like I put up much of an argument or anything. I was down like four flats to go see a tourist spot way atop the city. We saw an incredible church and rode on something called a Teleferico up this very steep mountainside and rode down on a Funicular. All I could think about was some scene from a James Bond movie where they were fighting in one of these cable cars in the sky and the cable broke and, well, you get the picture. Good ol’ 007 survived. Or maybe I’ve got that mixed up with some other movie. It sounds like something that Bond would get caught up in. After a surprisingly good lunch at some place up on the mountain called La Casa de Santa Clara, we rode back down the hill for another impromptu touring courtesy of Juanito.

He took us to the Plaza de Simon Bolivar, and on through el barrio Candelario where, speaking of movies, I’m almost certain that the Harrison Ford movie Clear and Present Danger must’ve been shot. It was a peculiar little neighborhood with dark cobblestone street that would have one name up the street and another name down. Confused? Well, consider pulling up to an intersection as you’re riding up 3rd street for instance. In any regular city in the world, 3rd street might intersect with, say, Oak Street. Oak Street would be Oak Street if you turned left or if you turned right. Not so in Candelaria as to your right it might be Calle de Maria y a la izquierda es Calle de Antonio. I must’ve snapped 40 or 50 pictures and actually got a little winded walking up and down those hills. It sure felt good not to be sweating work too much today. I know it’ll be waiting for me tomorrow, so there’s no use wasting any cycles on it today. I even picked up some regalos for some folks. Que turista fantastica!