Our Lord Jesus Christ tries his hand at optometry

1 And so Alejandro (that is the son of Jaime, the investment banker) came to enter the offices of "Optica JesuCristo" for, like many, he had heard tell the power of the words of the great Optometrist. Also he thought he might have astigmatism and wanted to get it checked out.

2 And behold, already a crowd of four thousand had gathered to hear His great word and to ask about bifocals.

3 Jesus called his disciples to him and said "My brothers and sisters shall not take an eye-test without presenting proof of insurance."

4 His disciples answered, "where could we find enough forms in this remote place to verify such a crowd?"

5 "How many forms do you have?" Jesus asked.
They answered, "Seven. And a few old pens."

6 He told the crowd to sit and wait for there name to be called. Then, after giving thanks he took the seven forms, and the pens, and he gave them to his disciples and they in turn to the people. 7 And all wrote and were verified.

8 A blind man emerged from the crowd and begged Jesus to touch him. Jesus called him from the crowd and to the front.

9 He spat on the blind man's eyes and placed his hand over them. The man paid a twenty-five shekel copay and his sight was restored.

10 Then, Alejandro of Asuncion saw the power of The Optometrist's deeds, and the goodness of his waiting room magazine selection.

11 And before there were to leave, Jesus held up a large bottle and said unto the crowd "This bottle is the new and everlasting covenant in contact lense solution. It shall be applied on you and your lenses so that grime may be removed. Do this in memory of me."

I can only assume that's what goes on at Optica JesuCristo.

Join me next Saturday for "This is a great photo of all us, but who's the gringo? ... Oh, right."

Apparently, the Paraguayans I know read this blog. Good thing I have been so carefully respectful of Paraguayan culture.

I think that nearly all men fall into one of the following two categories:

1. Men that sometimes pee in the shower

and

2. Men that pretend they never pee in the shower


Even if you have only ever peed in the shower twice, you know how enjoyable it is. The action is satisfying, rebellious and pleasurable all at once. And these feelings are made even more enjoyable by an overwhelming sense of security. It is simply not possible to get caught peeing in the shower.

Unless you find yourself doing it, out of habit, at the gym.

In writing this blog I feel I have been peeing in the metaphorical shower. I have been amusing myself, once a week, by carelessly exploiting the stereotypes of Paraguayans and all South Americans through somewhat trite and heavy-handed comedy that plays on American prejudice.

Like peeing in the shower, my blog causes no lasting damage (especially given that if you are reading this you are probably one of roughly four), but it is not exactly the most polite response to the overwhelming generosity and hospitality I have received since the day I got here. And, having found out that the Paraguayans I know (as well as the man who owns the house I live in rent-free), have read at least parts of this blog, I feel a little like I have been caught peeing in the locker-room shower.

For this reason, I am compelled to apologize for any offense given, as well as to clarify a few things.

I do not scream at ten-year-old street salesmen.

I do not believe that they have sold their livers in order to hawk fake Ray-Bans.

I am not actually amused by the overwhelming poverty that scars much of this country.

I have, however, peed in the shower. And not just metaphorically.

So, having carefully excused myself for any wrong doing, I plan to continue, weekly, to use this forum as means to publicly point and laugh at those lazy, poor, homophobic South Americans. But, you know, respectfully.

Join me next Saturday for "Our Lord Jesus Christ tries his hand at optometry"

Bert and Ernie teach me a final lesson - childhood throwbacks are not considered trendy in Asunción

The first Spanish slang word I learned here was "maricon." It means "faggot." As in:

"Quien es el maricon con la mochila de Las Tortugas Ninja?"

or

"Who's the faggot with the Ninja Turtles backpack?"

It seems that Paraguayans, unlike many Seattleites, are not impressed by a teenage boy who spends hours rummaging through old closets, thrift stores and garage sales for something that might have been the least exciting present at his fourth grade birthday party.

They would likely ridicule the all-too-common Seattle high schooler - sporting a Curious George t-shirt, carrying a Magic School Bus lunchbox and singing the theme from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (Men In Black you can get away with, because it just hit theatres here).

So, I have learned the hard way to fight my impulse to wear my Star Wars shoes, use my Hello Kitty debit card or ask bartenders to change the TV channel so I can watch Arthur reruns. In the meantime I mark this cultural difference on my list of "American trends which may never reach Asuncion."


Join me next Saturday for "Apparently, the Paraguayans I know read this blog. Good thing I have been so carefully respectful of Paraguayan culture. "

I will fight you over 3,800 guaranies

If you think I’m joking, that’s your second mistake. Your first mistake was trying to shaft me 3,800 guaranies.

Part of the reason a middle-class American teenager spends time in a third world country is to come face to face with the unimaginable poverty which billions of people spend their entire lives entrenched in and that he was, as yet, only vaguely aware of. He is then expected to somberly reevaluate his feelings towards Nike, T-Pain and Capitalism at large.

And, while not ceasing to spend hundreds of dollars on flashy shoes hand-stitched by Pakistani eight-year-olds, he will, at least, publicly condemn his ‘bourgeois’ behavior at a coffee-house open mic, through a movingly introspective poem, short story or rap song.

But, I seem to have missed this stage of my trip. Instead, I have been heartlessly wielding my U. S. dollars like a financial machete threw a thick field of fresh guaranies (of which each dollar is worth 5,000). I can be heard screaming at ten-year-old street salesmen, saying “I may be a blue-eyed gringo, but I refuse to pay Gs.28,800 for fake Ray-Bans I know I can get for 25,000 flat, I don’t care how many livers you sold to get them.”

It is a difference of 76 American cents that I will unquestionably fight you over.

Join me next Saturday for “Bert and Ernie teach me a final lesson - childhood throwbacks are not considered trendy in Asuncion”