Done

I must say goodbye to you, my blogger friends-- at least for now.

I've become lazy with this site and am not putting in the time and effort to post something thought-provoking or interesting when I actually do post anything.

Plus, let's be honest: for all bloggers, going to all the work of writing, posting pictures, thoughts and ideas has to fulfill something in the blogger her/himself. We are not selfless beings. In the end, it's usually at least partly about us. When I was living in Guatemala, I used this site to communicate with family and friends about what was happening in my life as well as what I was experiencing. I also had ideas and experiences I wanted to communicate to others.

At this point in my life, I'm not getting anything out of posting. The thought of writing something here just seems like more work and more time on a computer, when I'm already spending too much time on one at the office. I also don't know what to talk about. I'm an uninspired writer, my friends. I need to live some more these days-- meaning get out of the house and off the computer. Like the end of a stale relationship: the passion is gone.

If I am going to be on a computer at home, I'd rather read someone else's blog. Or learn something from another site-- like watch interesting clips on YouTube.

We had some good times. Let's remember those-- go back in the archives and you can get your fill.

Who knows: maybe this will be resurrected one day. Or maybe I'll start a blog that none of my friends and family know about where I can spill all my secrets to strangers.

Thanks to you loyal readers, both the ones who comment and the ones who like to lurk.

Hasta luego.

All in a Day's Work

I went in to the office today, fully anticipating a nice slow day. I even wore my pretty boots, which are completely impractical for spending hours out in the cold.

As soon as I walked in, the newsreader told me there was a huge fire going on. "It's big?" I asked, really hoping it wasn't and that it was something that could be covered with just a phone call or two from the nice warm office. But alas, it was definitely a serious one. So out I trudged, all bundled up, except for the funky dress pants I chose to wear today and the pretty boots. Why does the big news out in the cold always happen when I'm not dressed for it?

Yep, it was a big fire. One side of half a downtown block is gone. Hundred year old buildings are reduced to nothing. People are out of a home, others have lost businesses. One man was almost in tears-- the business his grandfather started 95 years ago which was now his was a heap of rubble. And, something this city seems to care about so much: some streets were closed. Shocker. Transit was all messed up.

While I wasn't keen on getting out to the scene, once I was there I of course loved it. There's something so incredible about being able to talk to people at a time like that... so emotional and vulnerable and real (though of course I always get my share of people who don't want to say a word to me and treat me as though I'm an encyclopedia salesperson or something). And I love the extra access I can get as a journalist. I got to go under the yellow police tape and stand right in front of that blaze, choke on the smoke, watch those firefighters struggle with their heavy hoses. And at the same time I hoped that a burning building wasn't going to collapse right on top of me. I wondered if getting into the narrow doorway behind me would save me if it did collapse forward. Here are some great pictures

I pushed myself, in those boots not made for walking on ice. I did live hit after live hit. My teeth chattered, my hands and feet hurt from the cold.

And then I did something I'd never done before: I had to do an on-camera "hit" for tv. Oh boy. Suddenly I didn't feel like a journalist anymore, I was just a vain girl thinking about my hair, my face, my hideous winter hat... and also praying that I didn't have boogers coming out of my nose (since it was so cold and that cold seems to bring them on). When I went back to the office, of course everyone had seen my tv debut. One person said I looked tired, another said I wasn't wearing any makeup.

Now here I am, hours later, and I can't stop thinking about what I might have looked like! And I'm wishing I'd worn some makeup... at least a little lipstick. Or covered up the zit on my chin. My hands and feet are burning, because I probably got frostbite, but that's not what I'm thinking about. Oh no... I'm thinking about my appearance!

I still haven't watched that tv "hit", though it'll be in the system at work for a week. I may torture myself and do it tomorrow.

So in the future I think I'll make sure I have lipstick in my pocket... oh, and I may also try to wear more appropriate footwear.

The Worst Month

It keeps snowing, and then melting a little, then snowing a record-breaking amount, then melting a little more and then the water on the sidewalks all turns to ice when it turns hurricane-strength windy. Could it just stop already?

On top of that, my skin is so incredibly white. I'm talking blue-white. I remember when I was living in Guatemala and my Irish roommate's friend came to visit. My Guate b-f was so surprised at her skin colour. The boy had never seen such whiteness. Now I fear I am that white. Except I don't have a charming Irish accent to make it all okay. I hate it. I'm tempted to start using that stinky fake-tanning cream that after a few hours starts smelling like sweaty socks... and a faint smell of sweaty socks is bearable if it's on your feet, far away from your nose. But on the face? Pretty rank.

Last winter when I came back to Canada, at least I only returned in December so I didn't experience the full winter. This time, I get it. To be Canadian is to suffer. Not suffer like people from some places do, where they've lived under fascist dictatorships and feared for their lives and faced death threats. Here, the fascist dictator is the cold. The death threats come from the wind. We can't even start a coup and get rid of that dictator. Every year, he's here with a vengeance; some years, he's angrier than others. This year, I feel like he just won't let up.

I know some people whine that January is such a bad month. January doldrums, everyone all depressed after getting so fat over Christmas and New Years. But maybe this is the worst month. Bloody cold when you're ready for a break. Snow is a bit of a kick in December, when it's supposed to be all pretty and Christmas-y. Now it's old news.

Man, I really am so completely Canadian at this moment, complaining about the weather.

Bomba!

Today, we had a bomb scare at work. How surreal. They didn't fully evacuate the building, though, which seems a little odd. Those of us who sit on the south side of the building had to either leave or go bother the people who have desks on the north side.

We were semi-evacuated for close to 2 hours.

Luckily, it turned out to just be an aerosol can inside a plastic bottle that was outside the building and not a bomb at all.

Can you imagine living in a place where there are bomb scares and you're pretty sure it'll be a true threat, not just an aerosol can or a ticking alarm clock someone sent in the mail? The alarm clock thing happened recently and led to a complete emptying out of a downtown office tower.

Glad our bomb scares are so benign.

Pobrecitos

In the past few days in this country, there have been a couple sad stories about kids.

First, there were two sisters-- a baby and a toddler-- found frozen to death on a native reserve (First Nations reserve, in the new politically correct language). The temperature that day was -30, or -50, if you can believe it, with the windchill. Here they are with their parents.


And the story gets sadder. The two girls were each wearing just a t-shirt and a diaper. They were out with their dad in the middle of the night. He was drunk. He was found by police early in the morning, taken to hospital but couldn't speak (likely because of his drunken stupor and the effects of the cold-- severe frostbite and hypothermia). Only 8 hours later could he talked and asked about his girls. One was found shortly afterwards, the other found the next day.

Tragic. The cold is tough on the prairies; the situation on reserves even tougher. There are so many problems there-- alcoholism, abuse, poverty, lack of proper housing or water. They've been compared to the third world. It's sad and frustrating. Yet, the problems aren't easily fixed. But when something like this happens, I sure wish governments would try a little harder.

Then yesterday, a baby girl was found here in Toronto, abandoned in the cold. Was it a type of copycat case? Luckily, this time, the baby survived. She was found by a shopper at the nearby mall. She was bruised and bloodied, but okay. Now, as always seems to happen with these cases, the offers to adopt the girl are pouring in. Not a surprise, I guess, with a photo like this widely distributed by police to the media.

Still, the parents have not been found. And no one has come forward who knows the girl.

When I heard about her being bruised and bloodied, I was reminded of the tv news in Guatemala. They'd take an abused child, publicize the abuse case and allow the media to film in the police station, with a child in just her underwear. I remember the first time I saw something like that on the tv news-- I was so shocked. Here, live, on-the-scene, round-the clock coverage type media organizations do like their shock, but I'm glad there's still at least a little bit of a line with how far they'll go.

I hope these stories will wake at least a few people up. If they can't take care of their kids, they can take them somewhere, where the conditions are a whole lot better than in a cold stairwell.

Glorious Victory

I post this thanks to L, the commenter who alerted me to an article about a Diego Rivera mural about the situation in Guatemala-- something he painted during his time of mourning the death of his wife, Frida Kahlo.

It's titled Gloriosa Victoria-- Glorious Victory. It's about the military coup of the left-wing government in Guatemala in 1954. It pictures the head of then-US president Dwight Eisenhower inside a bomb (the centre of the painting), the military coronel shaking the hand of the U.S. Secretary of State. And in front of them: dead men, women and children. Some glorious victory.

Fast forward more than 50 years and how glorious are the victories?

In Guatemala, the after-effects of that glorious victory, more than 50 years after the mural was painted. The situation there is violent and bloody-- not in an official war but as groups struggle for power, a piece of the drug trade and paramilitaries try to exert their control.

The U.S. is in Iraq, supposedly liberating the people there. Afghanistan and all the military involvement there seems never-ending.

When it comes to a war, is there ever a victory that's glorious? Some would use the example of World War II. What do you think?

How Puzzling

This looks like a lot of work to me.

Who might be the brainiac who's going to solve this?

Oh look...



Yikes, it's a circle-shaped puzzle. I have a headache just thinking about putting it together.

Hmmm... does this piece fit?


I think it's time for a break. How 'bout we do something much easier, like smile and snap a picture?


Now that's something I'm capable of doing.

Moving on to entertainment news: and this is something you won't hear about on any of those American 'let's follow Britney to the bathroom' shows... SILVIO RODRIGUEZ IS GOING TO GUATEMALA.
AAAGGGGHHHH. I so wish I could go.

Who is Silvio, you ask? A Cuban, the master of trova music, which is basically like Spanish folk music. Check this out.

I'm just as puzzled by uploading videos as I am by a circular puzzle or I'd put the YouTube video right on my site. Instead, just go here and watch him. I'd even love to watch him singing out of tune!

In related news, the new president of Guatemala, Alvaro Colom, announced that he wanted to maintain and strengthen ties with Cuba (what Latin American country wouldn't want to, with all the doctors Fidel likes to send to poor rural areas). It'll be interesting to see if the connection goes further than that. I sense international tensions with the U.S. if it does. The last Guate president, Oscar Berger, always talked about how he and George Bush were b.f.f.'s (best friends forever for you not familiar w txt spk).

Crazy Happenings

See this January picture?


Awww, what lovely snow. Well, it's not from Canada. That's what happened near Tajamulco, the highest volcano in Guatemala.

Here in Toronto, where there should be snow, it went up to 15 degrees yesterday. People were jogging in shorts. It was almost tropical. Today, the winds were higher than 100 km/hr, as colder weather blew in.

How strange.

And speaking of strange, I always love the odd stories from public transit. This morning, there was a boy sitting on the bus who looked like he was probably high school age. But he had a paper stuck in his messy rat's nest hair. Poor kid, apparently he doesn't own a comb. And the paper was a folded-up transfer. So I thought, hmmm... should I tell him, "Excuse me, young man, you have a bus transfer stuck in your hair"? I chose not to. I realized he looked like a bit of a geek and I thought that maybe someone had put it there to make fun of him. I didn't want to embarrass the poor boy. So I dug on in there, hoping he wouldn't feel it as I plucked the transfer out of his hair.

What happened? Well, he did notice. He looked up at me with his innocent eyes inside his huge, dark-rimmed glasses. I was holding the transfer. "You had a transfer in your hair," I said. His answer completely surprised me. "I know," he responded. "I sat down and it was on the seat beside me, all folded up like a hat. So I put it on." I looked at it, saw that it was indeed folded into a shape. "Or a boat," I said, gave him his special bus transfer hat and that was that. I wonder if he put it back on his head. Poor thing, he really is a geek, through and through.

Buses look a little different in Guatemala from the one I take to work here.

Check out this chicken bus pic from the last time I was in Guate. This one was going from Xela to "la costa"... the direction of the coast.


Notice anything strange in the picture? No, I don't mean the out-of-focus guy standing up in the middle. That's the evangelical preacher praying, trying to convert people's souls. People like that always make their appearances on chicken buses, along with the guys selling pens, books, magic cream that'll cure everything from indigestion to arthritis and others who sell food that could lead to indigestion.
It's hard to focus in a bus when you're bumping along. Is this one any better?


Not so much, but here you even get to see the "ayudante"-- the helper in the yellow shirt, collecting people's money as we speed along and he somehow keeps his balance.

Anyway, back to what's strange in the photo. First off, it's a chicken bus-- meaning cheap transportation-- but there's a certain luxury in the bus.

It's a TV!! And it's connected to a DVD player. This trip they didn't play a movie, but on the way back it was a show about some big animal in the water killing people and terrorizing a research team on a boat.

Movies on chicken buses, snow in Guatemala, plus 15 in January in Toronto... what's next?

Worth Reading

I recommend you check out this article from The Globe and Mail.

It's about the high number of murders in Guatemala, 10 years after the end of the civil war.

I've heard the murder stats for Guatemala many times but it's so astounding when you compare them to other countries.
Canada: 1.85 homicides/100,000
U.S: 5.7
Guatemala: 47

How many cases are actually solved? Almost none. How can that be changed? Well, somehow corruption has to be tackled. That's no easy feat in a country where the corruption runs deep in all political parties, as well as in the police force. Plus, police officers are paid like total crap and it's probably pretty tempting for them to get involved in illicit activity because it actually pays. And the country is a total transit hub for drugs. There are little steps being made.

How frustrating it must be for so many people and organizations, year after year trying to do things to make the number of killings do down. Instead, every year, they seem to go up. I first did a story about the high number of killings of women back in 2003. Now, that number doesn't even seem high anymore, compared to recent stats. It's so painful.

Incredibly, here's one of the comments made to that Globe article:

"The concern of Canadians should be that none of them find their way north, end up in the U.S., join with the Mexicans who are crossing into Canada at Windsor, and settle in Toronto. Then we have problems - but if they want to kill each other, in Guatamala, then so be it."

And unfortunately, that's probably the opinion of a lot of people-- this is happening far away from me, what does it really matter? And sometimes those are the people I was thinking about when I was reporting from Guatemala. Did anyone really care when I did those reports? Are those the stories that, when they came on the radio, were basically like background music, as people did whatever else? It's always so much easier to "sell" a local story-- someone being killed down the block or whatever else is going on down the street. People's ears perk up when they hear about something they know, when they can visualize the street or area or city. But when there's killing in Pakistan or Kenya or Guatemala, some people just don't care.

Hopefully while I was reporting internationally I made at least some people care about somewhere they'd never been and couldn't visualize, much less find on a map. I guess that's the challenge of a foreign journalist.

FYI: Guatemala is just below Mexico on a map.

About that killing down the street... my assignment for tomorrow is related to this city's latest murder victim.

Happy 2008

Feliz 2008.

Wherever you are, I hope the year is starting well for you.

For me, it's starting with 2 sick days from work. Taking a sick day when I'm not really sick sure would be nice. Especially if I had nothing to do. I could just watch a few movies on tv, maybe a bad soap opera or two. I could find out just how many times Victor Newman has been married on Young and the Restless. I haven't watched the show in years. Telenovelas are so much better in that at least they end every couple years, so the characters don't have to get married and divorced quite as many times over the course of the show.

I could check out what good advice Oprah and Dr. Phil have for me. In Latin America, the trashy daytime talkshow is Laura



Think Gerry Springer, but in Spanish. There's always yelling and beeping out words and in a show at least one guest has to attempt to beat up another one.

But no... no trashy tv for me. I actually am sick, so in between coughing and blowing my nose I'm not doing much. I do have some freelance work to finish, but I'm a bit drowsy to do much of that, either.

And since my brain isn't working too well, I have no deep thoughts to begin this new year.

Instead, I leave you with something I ripped off from the Guatemalan tourist magazine in Xela, called Xelawho.

Enjoy!

You Might Be A Guatemalan If...
You tan easily. Your salsa dancing skills are impeccable. You have an inexplicable affinity for black beans. As you may already have suspected, it’s possible that you are Guatemalan. While no known cure exists, early detection is key. With that in mind, the following are the top ten symptoms....


1. The only safety devices on your car are a horn and a “Dios Me Guia” sticker.

2. You’re 34 and still live with your mother, who still lives with her mother, who still lives with her mother.

3. You’d rather decline a sale than make change for a Q100 note.

4. You use the classic Guatemalan 5-0-0 (5 forwards, zero midfielders, zero defenders) alignment in your papifutbol matches.

5. You drive a low-rider. Not because you’re into the whole early ‘90s L.A. style, but because 15 of your friends are riding in the back.

6. Your national tree is sponsored by Gallo.

7. Your kid’s lemonade stand has an armed guard with a shotgun outside of it.

8. You reserve firecrackers for special events, such as birthdays, Mother’s Day, when your half cousins twice removed graduate from colegio, that time you found a good parking space, etc.

9. Like an ant, you can carry twice your body weight without breaking a sweat. We’re assuming ants don’t sweat. But who really knows?

10. In lieu of a period, you end every sentence with the word “serote.”

On a more creative day, I could add to that list. Anyone else?