Chicago is a better place to be, more fun.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Chicago having just enjoyed a cream soda made with soda water and thickened cream. The shop is called Savor the Flavor, my new lady friend Corey works here. I was treated to a coffee shake upon my arrival the first day I decided to stop by, I was delighted at its deliciosity. Corey is quite exceptional as far as women are concerned, she's quite blunt and at times rude. I prefer honest people to exceptionally nice people for the simple reason that an honest person is most likely much more aggressive when they talk to you, and isn't afraid to be mean.

When Corey finishes up with her work we're going to see Where The Wild Things Are at the Webster Place theater. I'm excited to see it, and going with a nice girl doesn't detract from the experience at all.

Punta music is sexual to say the least.

I went to the local nightclub after all the bars closed last night with my friend Mysterious Larry. Well, I'm a big tall goofy white guy with a mustache and puffy hair, and this place is filled with super ripped locals who all have exceptionally hot girlfriends/tourist sugar mommas. Punta is a type of fast paced reggae that's sexually charged to the nth degree. I've seen night clubs in the states and nothing compares to the raw sexual tenacity of Punta. Just as an example, most of the songs I have heard while here revolve around either blowjobs or anal sex, it's quite humorous actually. On Mother's Day there was a bar playing a song about a woman who apparently loved to give head more than anything on the planet, so much in fact that she gave up her husband and kids to suck dick. It's hard to tell if these songs glorify so much insane sex or rather lament the attitudes associated with the music. Actually that's a stupid idea, it obviously glorifies the sex, otherwise people wouldn't be doing the dances in the clubs that look like they're fucking. No lie, I saw this really thick older lady dancing against a stripper pole, she had a beautiful younger girl with her, and they went from doggy style to whatever else positions you can think of that are possible against a pole.


It's absolute insanity at these clubs. You can sit and watch people sitting in the corner doing nothing, then out of nowhere it looks like they're fucking. This isn't an exaggeration of any sort, people just grind to the music. It kind of reminded me of a high school dance gone wrong, and instead of people being kind of awkward they're having an orgy, and switching dancing partners much the same way you'd change your socks. Mysterious Larry thinks the nightclub is a place where people go to be themselves and get out of the limelight away from the watchful eyes of the tourists, myself included.

Caye Caulker

So I'm in Belize, on an island called Caye Caulker. Apparently it used to be a pirate cove because of the fresh water found about 6 feet underground, not to mention it's difficult to get to by large boat because of the large reef system surrounding it and the other islands in the area. I'm staying with at my sister's hostel 'Beyond the Sea'. I've got a private room with my own bathroom and shower, it's very comfortable here. The weather is a constant 80-85 degrees, but the ocean breeze knocks it down to a wonderful 75 or so. The island doesn't have a proper water system, so everyone uses pumps and gets the water from underground. It's a little smelly, but it's fresh and you can bathe with it if it's properly treated (i.e. chlorine/bleach) so as to not smell like eggs. There are no proper roads on the island either, just the sand and rock of the island itself. It's smooth enough to walk on, and I find myself going barefoot more often than not.

Sandflies are somewhat of a problem for us northern folk as they seem to love our flesh more than anything. I've got little bites all over my feet, but then again I am walking barefoot so it's my own fault. I have to say despite the sandflies I love this place. I can't write long, so I need to get going, but I'll leave you with a picture.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v91/strider_wilson/Awesomepicture-1.png

I'll probably regret this...

I'm about to take a flight to Belize in May. I despise flying a great deal, but sadly this is a required evil if I am to enjoy the sunny beaches of Caye Caulker. I've not spent much time in any area that has tropical weather patterns, aside from Australia, but I was in Melbourne. Melbourne is a coastal city, and a delightful one at that. Flying over to Australia took me far longer than I would have liked, sadly it's very far away from the USA, so I can't really complain. On the other hand, whenever I fly I vomit either before, or after I fly. I guess it's my body telling me that it dislikes the changes in elevation, cabin pressure, shitty food, or coach class seating.

I've always been remiss in my dislike for class based seating. What I mean to say is, I've found that the constant referral to class distinction in airline seating creates a void between patrons and lights the snickering fires of resentment. We all know that First Class is a shitty way of saying "This guy spent $1200 more than you on his ticket", but is the cost really so much more when you think about it? When I flew to Melbourne in 2004, my seat was overbooked, so they upgraded me to First Class. That section on a British Airways flight is the lap of luxury I assure you. You essentially have a private booth with a recliner and a privacy screen. If I remember correctly I also had my own TV screen that was vastly larger than the ones in Coach, which BA lovingly refers to as "World Traveler".

My overall experience was a pleasant one I must say. The flight attendant was much more polite than those in Coach. The food was better, and I got as much free booze as I could ever want. It's apparent to me why you would spend more money on a ticket, especially with the amount of added amenities afforded you. Although, the bitter return to coach on my connecting flight was much more painful after experiencing what the airline had to offer as far as premium services are concerned. Cramped seating, crap food, fuzzy TV picture, it was almost too much for my now heightened sense of taste and pedigree. Although I immediately felt as if I was "slumming it" I quickly resigned myself to accept the fact that I hadn't paid for my jaunt in the rich bastards section. Anyway, I hate flying.