Raining Cats and Dogs

I've never been a huge fan of cats. I'm a dog-lover to the bone. However, Minga is different. I don't know if it's because she's Panamanian, or if the humidity is getting to me, but I like her. She doesn't have this entitled pretense in her mannerisms. She lets me pet her, and genuinely seems to like my affection. She does her thing, and I do mine, our paths mainly crossing either while I type at the computer, or when she meanders past my legs as I watch the television. She is like that cool, carefree person you meet at a party and instantly connect with. There's some engaging conversation devoid of commitment or pressure, neither person with an agenda...just enjoying each others intermittent company.

Her food and water is on the computer desk...presumably to keep it away from the dogs, and because it's next to the window. The window is her portal to the outside realm, and all of us are trained to slide the screen to facilitate her passage. She often sleeps on the balcony, and on hotter days under the shade of my Dad's car. She has a small frame; a black and white cat that moves silently...never exerting more energy than what is necessary. I haven't heard her speak a word the whole week I've been here. She gives an inaudible meow, only mouthing her intent and waving her tail as she looks in your direction and then at the window, trusting that you know what she wants, then patiently waiting for you to comply.

Minga is refreshingly easy to look after. In fact, there isn't much actual looking after. A stark contrast to my 80 pound doberman. I love him to death, but he is the antithesis to Minga...always on alert, anxious, pacing....a sentinel awaiting his next command. His bark is loud and frequent, he consumes a lot of food, requires copious amounts of attention, and must be exercised regularly. These responsibilities are mostly fulfilled with affection and willingness, but at other times I wouldn't mind a nap...or only having to slide open a window screen.

Musings from Panama

I'm not sure rain is the proper word for it...the sky has opened...spewing forth a deluge that apparently has been accumulating for months. The verdant landscape drinks, the jungle's inhabitants taking refuge beneath the broad leaves of the tropical flora that bend and sway under the weight of the rain's onslaught. 

The downpour is vigorous, but short-lived, as is often the case in Panama. During the rainy season, on even the most beautiful and sunny of days, dark and heavy clouds will often seize the sky in moments...tormenting the prepared and unsuspecting alike. A few minutes after the rain has subsided, parrots and parakeets become vocal, but are wary of venturing far from their refuge.

They must know the fickle weather well, for a second wave of rain begins...not as powerful as the first, but steady, and accompanied by a low and rolling thunder in the distance. My mother's cat, Minga, lies lazily next to a window, enjoying her slumber, undisturbed by the torrent just outside. The heavy raindrops pound the roof and cement creating an orchestra of sound as the rain picks up again, falling as punishingly as before. It doesn't appear that venturing out today is feasible. Perhaps I should take a cue from Minga, who only stirs to change positions...

Motorcycle Musings

I know, I know...it's been a while. I'm not really sure what to say. I haven't quite been suffering from writer's block or anything, I just haven't quite been in the mood to express how I feel per se. I've left the majority of the anger and self loathing for my diary, and decided what is left, a few philosophical musings if you will, should be posted here. My life has been going through a transition period... job hunt, graduating school, reassessing friendships, etc. And while I usually welcome change, this one in particular has presented some sobering epiphanies, such as: perhaps I'm not meant to be a writer, love is a faint memory, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need a root canal.

Life is truly fascinating, and not always in the speechless adoration of a sunset kind. Sometimes it's more like the morbid magnetism of a motorcycle accident, seducing our eyes to ingest the potentially macabre manifestation of Newton's Laws as we drive by. Sometimes we're frustrated and inconvenienced passersby, sometimes we're the motorcycle, and in other cases, we're the motorcyclyst who wonders how his life became a wreck. This is the risk one takes by driving a bike I suppose, or not using hand signals.

As we all know, life isn't comprised of an endless network of perfectly paved tunnels and highways devoid of cars, but an intricate web of twists and turns decorated with rocks, potholes, pedestrians, rain, and inevitably, other motorists. To say that navigating all of these obstacles is a challenge would be an egregious understatement, and to top it all off, you're not given a map, or a manual. We're merely comforted with the knowledge that crashing isn't a question of "if", but of "when".

My birthday is quickly approaching, and while I have no qualms about my age or getting older, I'm not entirely sure where all that time went, or what in God's name I was doing seemingly wasting it. I was raised in a laid back culture, one with an entirely different attitude and outlook towards the concept of time than the U.S. Consequently, I've always scoffed at people hustling about, planning, setting goals, in states of constant worry, and stressing over one thing or another. Maybe the busy ants and squirrels toiling away gathering and accumulating things know what they're doing after all, but hard as I try, I'm programmed to only go where the wind blows, and to amass only as much as I can carry.

Frankly, I don't think this strategy has worked out too well, but who really knows whether or not flossing everyday would have prevented the root canal. Perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps it has always been a question of "when" and not "if". In either case, the timing is perfect. Just like life I've noticed. Everything working in perfect harmony and balance, just as it should be...ants toiling, squirrels collecting, suns setting, and motorcycles careening towards their inevitable state of rest.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This was and excellent end to a fantastically well written story. The books became progressively more intriguing, and Salander's story did not disappoint. I must admit however, that at the end of Lisbeth's long and arduous plight, with no one left to combat you very much feel the same way she does, not really knowing what to do with yourself. I highly recommend these books and it is a only with a bitter-sweetness that I am free to start a new one; I didn't want them to end, but I am always elated to delve into a new adventure.


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The Glass Castle

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I thoroughly enjoyed this book. By the third page I knew I was going to like it. Jeannette's story-telling is magical and enlightening. It's amazing how her recollections keep you suspended in place of simultaneous disbelief, humor, and horror.

Although many of her memories are funny, her book reminds us of the indomitable and hopeful spirit of children, as well as the very real consequences of perpetual disappointment on their impressionable hearts and minds. Walls makes you revel in every small victory for the family, and sympathize during their chronic struggles. Although at times you want to shake some sense into her parents, or replace them altogether, you can't help but ponder the paradox of our struggles shaping who we become.



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Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


So, I enjoyed this book overall, although I think it may have been hyped a little much. Everyone that saw me carrying it around professed how amazing it was. I definitely liked it, but was not blown away. I found it challenging to read through much of the Swedish words at first, and you're not really hooked until a little past the half-way mark.

I definitely love Salander's character. She simultaneously typifies absolute strength and vulnerability, encapsulated in a hardened shell entirely impenetrable by the world's worst cretins. She thrives in the face of despair, is fatally calculating, and seems to have only one weakness....Mikael Blomkvist, an investigative reporter who is the other protagonist in the story.

I did enjoy this read, and will continue reading the rest in the series, especially after discovering what inspired the author to write them. Besides, Lisbeth Salander is like a crime magnet attached to dynamite filled with fury, and I can't wait to see who or what lights the fuse next. I've also heard a lot of positive feedback about the movie, but I'm not going get my hopes up. Movies are inevitably better when I watch them with little or no expectation.



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What the Dog Saw

What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Another great book by Malcom Gladwell. His ability to weave scientific research and social experiments into exciting stories is unsurpassed. Gladwell has an uncanny ability to dissect seemingly innocuous facts and observations, and spin engaging tales. With a unique perspective, he forces you to challenge conventional wisdom and think about why things are done they way they are. A fast read with varied material that is sure to entertain and educate regardless of your interests.