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The Latin Americanist: Hundreds buried in Oaxaca landslide (Updated)

The Latin Americanist: Hundreds buried in Oaxaca landslide (Updated)

It was good to find this blog site today whilst investigating the recent tragedy in my "home" state of Oaxaca.....yes, it has been my "home" off and on for many years. I am worried for the safety of many good folks up in Tlahui.....

The Best Kiss Ever?

Man, I have been waiting for years to tell this story and no offense to the one who right now knows how to give great face, tongue etc....in so many ways that amaze. This is the story of that one kiss that took me somewhere....a place that I had never been to. It took place in an almost war-zone.....Skopje, Macedonia or rather FYROM (former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia) just prior to the bombing of Kosovo by the Allied Forces. Gotta love NATO and the UN for their love of acronyms. Gotta love working in these places because everything is intense.

Intense, yes, when you think you may die. Anyway, life in a conflict zone or zone of anticipation or staging prior to a conflict can get intense. Damn I love that word.

Now before some politically-correct fuck gets angry about the photo illustration (yes, hot sex may be discussed) it is a stock photo but it beautifully illustrates what a kiss can be - innocent or otherwise.

I first told this story to a man in a bar.....he worked for FOX Sports International (some high-falutin' position like a VP or some shit like that....hehe...none of your damned business)....he loved my story so much that, well....that story is for another telling. Let me just say this - he too knew how to kiss properly and in several spots. My story must have turned him on. Cool.

A great kiss is a kiss that when executed goes right down to one's naughty bits.....and resonates. The telling of said kiss if done right should elicit the same sort of - reaction.

I was alone....not really but think about it - not too many women do the kind of work that I did....ensconcing oneself in that male-dominated environment of "foreign correspondence". I had been invited by this man to be his "shooter"....little did I know that he wanted me to be his "bitch" in that he was actually riding on my professional laurels....what an arse....he was to prove it later at a dinner table where this kiss story begins.

I had been "in country" for 48 hours.....and of course I was staying at the INTERCONTINENTAL hotel....doesn't every hot spot have a hotel named that way? I had been invited to a "round table" dinner.....asshole thought he was the head of said table....little did he know that by virtue of his prima donna attitude that he was already a joke with those in NATO who had the "power" to get him around safely...not that anything hot was happening yet but one must always be ready right? After all, half of Moldavia's available hookers were lining the streets of Skopje.

I was ready. I had a multiple entry/exit visa for Kosovo.....he did not....maybe that is why he hated me....he just showed up to the party believing he would have an invite to the after-hours shit....hehehe....what an arrogant brit arse....figures that he stringed for a Murdoch paper.

THE DINNER TABLE AND WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.....

I had been putting up with this arsehole's condescending shite for over a day already....I was hungry and tired and still jet-lagged. For the time that we had painfully spent together all he wanted to do was boss me around in front of those whom he wanted to impress....at that time I was still somewhat "green" but it did not take me too long to realize what a dick this person was....hell, he showed up without a visa for Kosovo for Christ's sake!!!

So there I was sitting at this dinner table of NATO poohbahs, a few NGO functionaries who were in reality "spies" and this one dude from the Brit forces who was one of their "official" photographers....and there was asshole waxing forth on all of his "experiences" and the whole time I refrained from calling bullshit on him....I wanted him to dig his own professional grave.

His big litany of complaint or rather diatribe, was against North Americans for being so "whatever"....he kept railing on in front of this well-informed group of folks as to how ignorant folks like myself were in terms of international knowledge...I kept wanting to crawl under a rock whilst trying to enjoy my meal.

I really wanted to defend not only myself, but all the other great Canadian and "American" journos....and there are many.....I was tongue-tied.

While this smarmy arse was going on and on and on I could not help but see out of the periphery of my left eye this man looking at me with a very sad and empathetic look. It was the Brit army photo dude.

After the requisite drinks and desserts I bade my leave to the bar to join some colleagues. The man who had been looking at me, I don't know when, joined my gang at our table. I had maybe a polite drink and because I really was tired, said to all present that I was leaving.

THE ELEVATOR, A GREAT FANTASY LIVED....

I made my way to the "lift", a rather old-fashioned affair.....it had one of those really cool oval windows in it. Just as the doors were about to close HE entered, he of the sad, empathetic eyes....or rather he forced the door not to shut and then gained entry.

Yes, of course our eyes locked....as the doors shut. He did not hesitate. He grabbed me and pressed me to the wall of the lift and kissed me deeply....his hands found my places of pleasure in a very fast manner. I could not protest. It felt - it just felt right. I was hot. I was vibrating. I was shocked and wanting at the same time. More. Much. More.

If memory serves correct my leg, the left one, was wrapped around his athletic torso....my left arm arching around his neck in a total embrace....while he was probing my mouth. It was so fast and intense....we got off on my floor, no pun intended.

It is not like I had never been deeply kissed before...but not like this....this was full. This "attack" was with consent and the two of us were - we just were. I was hot, felt hot, could not think. His eyes met mine and there was no question as to where we would wind up.

All I can say is this....the next several hours lasted beautifully until sunrise.

There was after that night, that long night, no awkward greetings.....we spent a great deal of our time when we could, just walking around and exploring the old city....we did not need or want for anything more....sometimes, once is enough.

An Auspicious Number?

Not that I am one to count but today is POST NUMBER 45 DAY.....cool. I shall celebrate by sharing some of my favourite wilderness images from a place that has given me much inspiration in the last year or so. Never underestimate the power of inspiration because it is not as if I can wave a magic wand and have gobs of entertaining words spill onto the screen. Wished that were so on occasion especially when ensconced in editing tasks. Arrggh.

When I am not writing I am out shooting, photos that is.....and in doing so I am able to kick-start my brain (as we get older that needs to occur more often than not). I could go on in some pretentious manner here about the creative processes and what brings them about but for now I would rather just remember that day when the light was perfect, the company stellar and the water existing as a canvas by which to riff on.

I saw something that day and when I was able to upload the images onto the craptop I knew I had to play with the contrasts and tints. It is always wonderful to have a "Eureka!" moment. That day I had several. In my world that indeed is a gift because I can be quite picky as to what I feel is worth recording and keeping.

I used to tell my students....take your time and look for the little things and you will be pleasantly surprised at what you can discover by not looking straight ahead. Meandering slowly be it in the woods or across the keyboard.....taking one's time.....no constraints....what luxury.

We should all endeavour to be this way as often as we can.

It's a Bread kind of Day.....

Firstly, I must apologize for having gone AWOL for the month of August but sometimes that is just the way I roll, so to speak. Either that or it's that pesky old procrasturbation thing creeping up on me again.....it does happen you know, even to those of us who have lots to do and say.

I am not going to do a line by line bread lesson here....I am not Nancy Silverton, a woman whose bread expertise I respect. Rather I am a person who grew up on a farm and long before the so-called food revolution took place, the one by which we want to be locavores, know what we are eating etc...that was my life - still is for that matter regardless of climactic limitations or geographic location. The experience of the weekly Saturday bake-a-thon down on the farm is one I have carried through to these middle years of my existence and no matter how much the modern world may grind me down at times it is in the process of making breads and other "slow" items where I get my groove back.

The making of breads is not as time-consuming as one would be led to believe. With a bit of that modern notion of time-management applied even the most reticent of home cooks can duplicate to a certain degree an artisanal product - it's just a matter of what they happen to have in their larder. My kitchen is stocked to the hilt with damned near everything I would need excepting some cool toys (don't all cooks get rather obsessed with those accoutrements?) but if all you have is olive oil, salt, two or three kinds of flour, honey and yeast you are good to go. A mixer with a dough hook is nice but if you have a good-sized mixing bowl or two and wooden spoons then what is holding you back?

Small steps right? With a bit of imagination and practice this is what you could be serving at your table.....something tasty, healthy and made by you!

More to come as the day, a baking day, progresses.