Day 22 v2.0

Send me porn. I don't care if you have to stick your dick in a carrier pigeon, just get it to me.

Actually, what would work best is if you could scour the internet for gay erotica and then post it into the body of an email or copy and paste it into a Word document. Video would take years to download, so written word is great. The thing is, I'm so tired when bedtime comes that I don't have the energy to come up with my elaborate fantasies night after night. Porn just makes things so much easier. Further, there's nothing that I particularly care for when it comes to sex; I love it all. So it's not like I have a "go to" fantasy that works. The sex I have is dependent on the person I'm with. There's very little I'm not into or open to, so I just kind of go with the flow and when you go with the flow by yourself, well, it's like chasing your own tail. So send me porn.

Apparently John and I have become drinking buddies. When I mentioned I was a bartender a few days ago he was surprised. I guess he thought I don't drink and now that he knows I do, the booze is everywhere. Last night I was trying to put music on a flash drive for him from my room and he kept hounding me to come out and have a drink! Of course it doesn't take much convincing for me to imbibe in a smart cocktail after a long day, so I went, but it's funny how into drinking together he's become now that he knows I drink. He's so sweet and funny and great. He even wants to take me out this weekend, which I've told him a few times I'm a little apprehensive about, but I think I'm gonna do it. I just get tired of shaking off hookers and answering the question "How are you?" (which is what EVERYONE asks any white person they see). Still, I haven't been clubbing in Kenya, so I think I'm gonna give it a whirl. If I die, it was nice blogging with you.

So John's friend from the other night, Peter, came over and I really like him too. He's great. He asked to see my Mac and I quickly changed the wallpaper to blank. OF COURSE the naked rugby player was the wallpaper that was up when he asked and then it changed to a pantless Mark Wahlberg, but I got it to the bland Macintosh blue background before handing it over so no uncomfortable conversation was had.

As I tried to get comfortable under my mosquitoe net last night, I was overwhelmed with this feeling of wonder. I thought, Wow, I'm in Kenya. Most people will never know the joy (horror?) of sleeping under a mosquitoe net or not speaking the language or buying fruit on the street or any of the other things that make this nation a world and a half apart from ours. I'm so so so grateful to have opportunities like this in my life and I thank you all who helped. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. This is a tough trip, but it's also incredibly fascinating and fulfilling and awe inspiring. I've been inside mud huts and attacked by poisonous caterpillars. I mean, isn't that wild? So ya, like, wow. I'm in Kenya.

Speaking of grateful, my mom inadvertently made me think of something that I want to share with you all. In an email she sent me yesterday, she said she was so proud of the man I've become and while not her intention, it got me thinking about who I was and who I am. I was a very troubled teen and as I got out of that I was being shaped by the Los Angeles nightlife culture and when I look back I'm not very proud of who I was, the way I acted, or the things I said. I think it all came out of being unhappy and sort of lost with my place in the world, but through lots and lots of soul searching (and therapy and shopping) I've become, or at least am becoming, the type of person that I want to be. The type of person I admire. The fact that I was who I was, however, helps keep me grounded and helps me stay away from holier-than-thou or thinking less of others because the fact is I've only recently begun this path and I have more skeletons in my closet at 26 than one should accumulate in a life time. So I guess what I'm saying is thank you for putting up with any righteousness I might be espousing and believe me, I'm no saint. I'm just a man making up for a self-centered, materialistic, shallow past. And what's funny is that being here makes me happier than any Dolce & Gabbana purchase or Hollywood Hills party ever did. Funny how what you so firmly belive in can end up being so wrong.

Also, I got to thinking about the law of attraction and postive thinking and there's an area where I don't necessarily like it. I don't like to utilize this when what I'm trying to will involves other people. I want people to do things because they want to, not because I willed the universe to make them do it. I know it sounds incredibly egocentric to think that I have the ability to do this, but I don't think I'm the only one who can. I really believe we all have the power to do this. It's a lot more complicated than the above statement, but we can. So, I don't want to will people to do things, I want them to decide on their own that they want to do it and think we should all try to refrain from exercising dominion and control over others.

Ok, enough of that. I woke up this morning to this in my head: "You run, you slide, you hit the bump and take a dive!" which is the jingle to Crocodile Mile, a backyard water game from when I was a kid. Tres bizarre.

When I left the house I realized something. I have never seen a Kenyan hustle to catch the mutatu. It's the whole "pole pole" notion here. I guess they just figure "Eh. I'll catch the next one". It's funny because I'm always rushing (especially in NYC) because 1 second makes the difference between jumping onto the train as the doors close and getting stuck on the platform, which in turn makes the difference between being early or being late. So, if my skin didn't make me stick out enough, running like a loony to catch a fleeing mutatu definitely does.

For a few days I've been wondering, what is the cost of a mango? I purchase one for 25 shillings (I think most Kenyans get it for 20). That is roughly 33 cents. How much can a mango cost wholesale? Ksh5? Free? Do they just pick them from the wild and come sell them in town? It's crazy that with all the fruit carts (literally more than one on every corner) and the fact that they cost nothing, how can it be profitable to sell a mango for Ksh25? I honestly think the fair value of the mangoes is around Ksh120 ($2), but Ksh25 it is.

Reading the paper on the mutatu was great. Tons of Obama coverage AND a little article in the corner about, you guessed it, my love, Madonna. Apparently on her new tour she has a song during which images on the screen cut between Hitler and McCain. Love it.

During the math lesson Mary kept trying to help Brian cheat and he kept telling her "Don't tell me." It was so cute. I love honesty. What I hate is children's short attention spans. Man. These kids forget everything as soon as they do it. If they have 20 problems, around question 4 they'll start to daydream. Nelson was being particualarly difficult today in that he would not stay on task. I finally just cut him some slack and let him go after doing 18 of his 32 problems. He's a kid man. You can't force them to do things (well, I guess you can, but Jesus, they're just kids). He didn't particularly seem to appreciate it, but I like to believe that inside he did. Also, school fucking sucks. How did I get through 19 years of it? It's so boring to do things you don't want to do. I love learning but so much of it is bullshit filler it's ridiculous. And we forget it almost as quickly as we learn it. Name the parts of a flower. The layers of atmosphere. Do the quadratic formula. It's just crazy.

While the kids were playing I was constantly telling them to stop and be careful and realized that I do that a lot here. In the US I'm pretty lax, I let the kids in Harlem do whatever they wanted and the kids at Los Angeles Unified School District too, but here danger literally lurks every corner. From a thicket of thorns to poison bugs to malaria, every inch of Kenya is a death trap. I found out today that's why they hate grass so much. It hides snakes and scorpions, so that's another thing I can look forward to encountering.

Later we replanted some of the spinach and I'm fairly certain I did a worse job than Milka who's 3 and Brian who is so incompetent he trips over air.

While we were replanting, Marion, Manu, and Olina were upstairs playing house. Marion is such a bitch. She was the mom and had a little switch and was constantly caning her children for being naughty or not listening. I mean, seriously, isn't that ridiculously cunt-y? Being the mom so that you can beat the other children under the guise of playing house?

Emmanuel John was so good today it threw me. Most days I want to throttle him. I've literally given up on dealing with him and just get a house mother because he never listens to me and seeing him undermine me makes the other children follow suit. But today, he was all "please" and "thank you" with me and cuddling with me and even came to hide behind me when Mwangi was chasing him to slap him (granted Emmanuel John started it by slapping Mwangi, but still, he came to me. Just when I think I've got the kids down they throw me a curveball. Tomorrow he'll probably pee on me.

During lunch Brian fell and his elbow went straight into my nut sac.

Jurjanne and her husband are going to Uganda for 10 days to check on the orphange that they're involved with over there. I'm nervous as to how things are going to go without them here. She's such a hard ass and I love it and I hope it's not when the cat's away the mice will play.

After lunch we went to this big field by the airport and played some games and ran around and stuff. The kids have all these really fun Kenyan games that make us look like we're neanderthals. I mean, freeze tag? Hide-and-seek? Fucking lame. They have these elaborate-yet-easy games that make one utilize agility and speed and creative thinking all at once. Like today we played this game that's like rock, paper, scissors meets tag. There are two teams and each team decides if they're going to be massai, girl, monkey, or lion. Once they decide as a team, you count to 3 and face each other. Massai beats lion, lion beats girl and so on. So the team that beats the other then begins to chase the losing group until they get to their safe haven. Tagged people join the team and the safe players are safe and then we do it again. It was really fun and exciting because you never know if you have to immediately give chase or start running to safety. Anyway, it was fun.

The mutatu driver charged me Ksh30 for a Ksh25 ride. I held my hand out waiting for more change and he didn't give it. I looked him in the eye, took my headphones out, and said in Swahili "I know it's 25" and he said "No, it's 30" and in the interest of not arguing I shook my head at him, gave him the nastiest look I could muster, and put my headphones back on. It sucks because I would really like to boycott the mutatus that do this to me, but I can never remember who does it because all black people look the same.

Oh, shut up. I can differentiate 29 little black bald children. It's not that they look the same, it's that I'm self involved and don't remember their faces. I couldn't spot an NYC MTA driver if he were sitting next to me.

Thank you everyone for your comments and Courtney especially for your frequent contributions. I read all of them, I just don't have time to address all of them. I just cannot spend any more time in this internet cafe. But they are inspirational and uplifting and it's always nice to hear something, anything, so thank you, thank you, thank you.

And lastly, Mara. I know you cream your panties every time you see your name in print (is this print?), so it gives me joy every time I mention you. Mara, thank you for your texts. They really help more than you'll know.

Is it ok to end sweetly instead of funny?