It's not always bright and sunny on the island. This was the scene from the boat as we headed back to the mainland one Monday morning.
I really don't know how to feel about this. For the second time this week, some kid comes ringing on the door. He comes on a bicycle selling popcorn. Like plenty of these vendors, there's no sign of the actual product because they hide it on the side. Does he bag them individually or you bring your cup and he scoops it in? I wonder, who in the world would want to buy popcorn? I'd buy tomatoes and stuff but popcorn? I'm here trying to figure out complex business problems and somebody's on the street just wanting to sell popcorn. I think I want to help the kid out but I feel terrible because I don't really want popcorn, what I really want is four ipods for $30BZ each.
Never stop hustling.
UPDATE: We gave in today. Caesar says "it's good".
It's the last thing I ought to be doing and it's exactly what I am doing. Superjasonito dropped by yesterday inviting me to a series of chess tournaments starting in Stann Creek next weekend. The top players from the 3 tournaments will represent Belize in international competition.
I'm far from gifted so like a normal person, I have to prepare. I don't have a physical chess set, I gave away all my educational material, not surprisingly I'll have to rely on le computer.
I won 3, stalemated 1, lost 1 in a recent tournament a few months ago. I lost the tournament winning match due to a blunder and my opponent, a teenager, who I must mention played impressively well for what we're used to seeing in Belize at his age, calmly took advantage, dismantled my position with ease. The stalemate was well deserved due to rust, lol, end game theory rust.
Apart from theoretical preparation, one must bring his own "keep calm, don't effin' blunder" mental coach.
Bloody sure I'm not winning anything but experiment, experiment for retirement will come one day, and I'll have to find something interesting to do and teaching chess to kids sounds proper.
It could have been the English commentary, the roar of the faithful or even Divine Intervention but I've never wasted a better 15 minutes of life like the first time I sat down to watch football at Old Trafford. It was spectacular!
By chance I caught on to a match just as an absolute screamer was hit from outside the eighteen yard box by a player who I later found out was masterclass Paul Scholes. I kept tuning in every Saturday after that and eventually learned about the likes of Thierry Henry and Ruud Van Nistelrooy. Rivalries, et cetera, et cetera.
Who knew that the world watched football on Wednesdays? That FIFA wasn't a football club? That, while it still feels like it, the Barclay's English Premier League wasn't the only football league on the planet?
Along came the Special One and that flashy young Portuguese winger that Ferguson brought in on the 70th minute. By this time I had already fallen in love with the reds even during that short period when the Gunners won a title. Could the decade get any better for a Manc?
Indeed. The high is always temporary and some things have changed. I can't remember the last time the glorious Manchester United ended a season with anything but that. No glory. Nothing to brag about but previous glory. And while we wait, let's not forget the grand facilitator, the Sir.
Some blue, some sand between the toes, some fun in the sun. Shut up.
Hello place on the interwebs that I can look back to 10 years from now. You are ugly. I am still the same person. Master procrastinator. I stopped drinking Guinness weeks ago and it's still in my system. I'm feeble. Never focused. Nina Simone.
I fart and it's just a reminder of how much Guinness I had last night. Mom passes my desk. "Do you have something that's spoiled or rotten around here? Get rid of it because it stinks." Silence. Moments later another one escapes and coincidentally mom is passing by, this time without a word.