I Hate Neighbours

At the moment in school I am just wrapping up a unit about Neighbours. Neighbours live in your neighbourhood, maybe in your conjunto. Maybe they go to school with you. Maybe you want them to die, just a little bit. That wasn't in the Unit Plan though. That's just me.

My selfish, thoughtless, horrible neighbours had yet another party last night. It woke me up for the first time at half past one, and finished around four am. I know this, because I was up for most of it. Their last party (less than a week ago) I'm pretty sure doubled as a rehearsal for some kind of theatrical performance. Last night's event on the other hand sounded as though it was inaugurated with a dance contest. My best guess: a fusion tap-break dance team vs. an imported group of Maori Haka dancers. Then the whole thing degenerated into a typical drunken sing-along, which was slightly less irritating than the agressive floor-stamping, but no more conducive to sleep.

I have complained to my Colombian friends here, who have all informed me that it is part of the culture to simply be more tolerant of noise. They are used to living in close quarters, and everybody loves a party. Let them tolerate then. This morning, I have cranked my television up to VOLUME 90 and while I think I am going a bit deaf myself, at least I am certain it can also be heard by the assholes upstairs, possibly even disturbing their attempts to sleep it off. I am hoping that they were not so drunk as to render themselves unconcious - I want them to enjoy my sharing of MTV's early morning selection.Queen is up right now. Not bad.

I know it's immature. But after 4 hours of sleep, my mind isn't capable of conjuring upn anything more sophistocated than eye-for-an-eye justice to address this very tiresome situation. I'm just disappointed that I can't stay here for the next three hours to slowly increase the volume to 100 and bang on the ceiling with my broom a bit more. I'd be worried about 'escalating the situation', but I'm out of here tomorrow anyway. More on that next time.

Marching, Marching, Marching...

It's hard not to have a good day after being escorted to the bus stop by a marching band playing one of the peppiest tunes on the planet. The ants go marching one-by-one hurrah, hurrah! The ants go marching off to work hurrah, hurrah!

I happen to live half a block from the Batallon - I'm not even certain what the equivalent word in English would be (not having a huge army presence in Canada, I guess) but it's the place where the soldiers live and work and play in marching bands. The batallon sits just a bit down the mountain from the sidewalk I tread every morning to the bus stop, and this morning my passing coincided perfectly with the marching band's tour - soldiers in fatigues playing tubas and trumpets like there is nothing they would rather be doing at seven a.m. 

This is way better than coffee!

House Guest

This is Uva (Spanish for Grape) though I have more often heard her called Kittycatcita by her affectionate owner and my friend, for whom I am kitty-cat-sitting this week.

My cats growing up were savvy beasts who supplemented their Meow Mix diet with whatever beasties they hunted out-of-doors. Mice, obviously, birds often, once a chipmunk, once a snake... They liked to roll in the dirt, and stay out all night, and would sometimes line their catch up on the sidewalk outside the front door, so we could compliment them on their prowess and total domination of 'Mousy-Land'. They were not particularly cuddly creatures, except the hermaphrodite one (odd, but true) who would sometimes try to hump your leg.

Uva, on the other hand, is the softest, cleanest, sweetest, most cuddly kitty I've ever met. (Though I heard she did make fast work of a bird not too long ago.) She doesn't use her claws when she she does that cat-kneading thing on you, and twice I woke in the night to find her using my arm as a pillow. The other 57 times I woke though, she was doing something less cuddly and decidedly more playful (read: noisy).

She battled it out with the cow rug, had a little nibble on a cardboard box (brought especially for that purpose), investigated every square inch of the bookshelf, re-arranged my attempt at a potted herb garden, and stripped my larger plants of some of their more unnecessary lower-hanging leaves.

The plants weren't doing particularly well anyway, perhaps they will thrive better on my second attempt.

Despite the mess, and the sleeping thing, I think we're going to be good buddies!

Barrio Ballet

I actually went out and did something cultural last night, and it felt sooooooo good. It was a last minute arrangement - someone at school asked if I wanted to go see ''some dance thing''. I generally enjoy ''dance things'' so I accepted.

When I was little, my mom used to take my sister and I to see the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. It was an event - a trip to the big city, our fanciest dresses...We saw classics like The Nutcracker and Swan Lake and Giselle. Friday night's performance was also a ballet, but nothing like I remember (though I did wear a dress, which I haven't done in years...) The Instituto Colombiano de Ballet Clasico from the city of Cali, here in Colombia, presented two shows. The first, featuring electrotango music, was called Tangueandonos, and was choreographed by an Argentine.

Here is a sample

The second part, twice as long as the first, told the history of salsa dancing, which is one of the defining characteristics of Cali region. I was a bit confused at first when women came out in full English garb dancing to what sounded like Greensleeves, but apparently Salsa dancing has its origin in traditional European dance. The story after this is a confusing mix of African and Cuban rhythms which I have yet to sort out. The end result though is a different version of Salsa in each area where it is played and danced, and Cali is famous for its salsa dancers. It is natural then that they would want to tell its story, and while I had some doubts about how well salsa and ballet would go together, I thoroughly enjoyed the show, and the company.

Level 3: Identify and Eliminate

I reckon it's a bit like a video game, this getting rid of bugs business. You have to beat a series of increasingly difficult 'levels'.

I never had much patience for video games.

Level One, as I suspect is often the case, was a bit of a gimme. The dozy flying beetle-bug things which took over my apartment briefly in the spring sort of disappeared of their own accord. Since they didn't bite we passed our co-habitation in relative harmony, though I can't say that I was sorry to see them go.

Level Two I defeated only two months ago. Flea bites were fairly easy to identify, and you've already had an account of my victory. It was a tedious process, but not particularly difficult.

Level Three is presenting a whole new series of challenges. First of all, what the hell causes bites like these??

I haven't seen a single bug, yet my body is covered with these itchy welts, neck to toes. Preliminary Internet investigation suggests that these are bedbug bites, but when I went to get the appropriate spray to begin the notoriously difficult process of getting rid of bedbugs, I discovered that nobody here is really familiar with this particular bicho, and there are no toxic chemicals especially geared toward its demise.

Sooooo....I am sleeping on the couch, and still suffering the occasional hit. By Level Ten I swear I will be fighting off pterodactyls, a spray can of EXTERMIN in each hand.

I am considering an alternate strategy this round though - evasive action. It looks like I will be moving to a new apartment, and my plan is to leave all the flying, crawling, bloodsucking critters behind.

Let the new owners enjoy their company. Ha. Suckers.