Pentru ca Galati este mult mai bine
The great intellectual advantage colonists have over the colonized is that they live their own experience explicitly, and as the deviation from a pre-establishedi canon. They find themselves stuck, willy-nily, writing letters home. Whether reports to their principalsii, or the fulfillment of other kinds and types of social obligations, or merely out of unreciprocatediii personal investment. Whether that home even exists anymore. In this venture they are writers as any writers, constrained to diff out two different strands of fully made existence and thereby implicitly comment upon them.
The colonist will write "And today, my dear X, it rained upon my head, unlike back home where for such and such reasons it wouldn't have." Whether the X exists is immaterial, what matters are the such and such reasons. They're necessary to render the missive comprehensible, meaningful to the X such as he is, or was, or could have ever been. The native has not such benefit. Yes it rains on his head just as it rains on the colonists', but to him this happenstance is not meaningful nor could be rendered meaningful. Yes there are X's in the native's life that could be structurally equivalent of the colonist's X's -- a mother, or a boss, or a whatever else. They are however not functionally equivalent, they need no explanation as to why exactly was it that it rained on his head. They know, they're there, it rained on their head also. Thus therefore to the colonist it occurs to make a roof, whereas to the native it does not, and thus therefore the native is inferior, subhuman, "for no fault of his own". The principal problem with humanity is that the bar can arbitrarily be raised by third parties.iv
But let's move on.
This here then is a turkey vulture making ends meet on a very dirty beach. Apparently they eat the heads and other offal left after the fishermen. Because yes, some people work on the beach, and not in the urban sense of the whore and the con-man. They work in the rural sense of daily struggle for the extra calorie. The beach is another generation's halogen lights.
They are incredibly tame, the vultures, and I took many shots trying to render the incredible melancholy of the very early morning punctuated by their languid landing wingflaps. There were dozens, hopping aboutv with all the excitement of a crippled boy. None came out. All things considered, it is only fair.
This tribe of sandpipers ran back and forth into the wake. They are hysterical to watch, derping about on the beach, there I
sad sat and I laughed at the absurdity of creation. Does it happen to you too that sometimes instead of a t you write out a d ? But in any case, they hop in the froth, looking for an edible bit, which now and again they find. That's all.
The Sun also rises.
But you already knew this, right ?
Alright then, no need to insist.
They stink something fierce, you realise. I proposed that it's because of the stuff they eat, to which the company suggested that maybe that's why they fly about in that manner, trying to air out. And just when they finally managed, damn, there goes another meal!
Not altogether a bad theory.
We went to a well known surfer beach, Playa Hermosa, a little off Jaco. The predominant language here is English, and you don't have to hear anyone say anything to know this is exactly so. For one thing, all the women are solitaryvi, eyeing passersby with a strange sort of glazed over fish eye, distrustful, confused, anxious, terrorized.
All the men are also solitary, throwing sideways glances at my respectable belly. I walk among them as a living relic of bygone years, a man whose body plainly reflects his general domineering attitude towards the fairer sex. What, spend hours each day on the bizarre contraptions to "build myself a beach bod" ? To do what the fuck with, better serve the servants ? Who's the master and who are the slaves here!
As best can be established I last existed among them in the 70s, that paragon of futuristic advancement meanwhile reduced to a byword for antedeluvional antiquity. They are well satisfied, at long last they've found the loser at the table. You know this, yes, if you can't tell who the loser is that means the loser is you ? Well, their abs might not exactly match the image in the aspirational-normative leaflet that was handed them, but mine evidently do not and so therefore! Therefore what ?
For another thing, if this isn't what interests you, there's no garbage thrown about on the English speaking beaches. Nor are there enough people for the count of cars -- there's three cars to the dozen bipeds on the Spanish sections, but hardly one walker per fourset of wheels on the English. How could this be ? I don't know, it could be. Somehow it could be.
But anyway, our matinal excursion resulted in a wonder of nature, as depicted above, and for that matter below : little turtles coming out of the nest, to brave that harshest, riskiest part of their life's journey : across the beach, into the sea! The sea, the sea, the great grand sea!
I am proud to say I helped a few little guys into the foam, and in the process found their carapace leathery, soft, and their expression extremely friendly. I do not know what they saw of me through the candid, liquid eyes, but I do know that at least one flapped his arms as if wings. As if he thought he is flying.
Their strategy is beyond endearing, while on sand they push, with evident dedication, push, push, push. Then once in the wake, they flap their forelegs quickly, with desperation. Sometimes the wave will not suck the poor creature into the inviting depths, and then, after a brief moment during which the baby turtle raises its head, it lowers it again and with dedication pushes towards. Maybe next one ?
It's an exam, you know. Life's an examination.
The parrots were shy, it's true, but the lens is unforgiving. So there they are.
We also saw macaws, as in "There! Did you see it ?" "See what ?!" at which point another one flew a majestic curve, as if to purposefully and deliberately showcase its red, and its back blue, and its strange white eyepatch. Too quickly for the camera to catch, they were gone, but by the time they were gone... we had already seen them!
This is how the things the colonists make look. They are better than the things the natives make, for having been made by colonists.
Always be a colonist. Never be a native.
Do you see him there, hidden in his craddle of rock ? So did I!
Yet he did not...
There were lots and lots of iguanas all over the grounds, displaying territorial behaviour, basking and etcetera, which led to "You know, these can be pretty dangerous for children." "Do you see any children around ?" "O wow, they already got them all, did they."
Iguanadog sez, no child left behind.
Tree also wants to play "Strange Wildlife and Rare Species Spotting Tour". Todos juntos por la bio-diversi-dad!
Very nice Italian restaurant. Had no licuore Maraschino. Had no licuore Strega (but at least knew what the hell this one is). Had very polite waiters, and lobster tail, and perfectly cooked shrimp. Sadly, the pizza dough was rather americanized, too oily (not US-oily, no, but too oily for pizza), too soft. Excusable, under the heading of desperation, because the other thing it didn't have was any customers.
This placevii, you understand, is closer to my residence than going across San Joseviii. It's not just that San Jose is chock full of middle class fellows, people who own a multi-floor apartment building being let out, people who own square kilometers of coffee plantations and so on. It's that my fucking mechanic is paying 600 a month (that's two local salaries) for his kids to attend private highschool. Yet all these people can't be fucking arsed to spend an hour -- one hour -- driving to have a nice dinner in a niceix Italian restaurant and then go boating. On a fucking Saturday. "It's just not done", right ? Meanwhile the nice restaurant is stuck catering to the fucktarded gringos, as the only people willing to do anything. What can it do ?
Which actually takes us to a little detour : I spend a lot of time with the gay, disproportionately to their headcount in the general population. You know why ? Guess why.
Because they're not fucking boring, that's why. Heterosexualx does not so much mean : "is sexually interested in the opposite gender" as it means "is the sort of dull mind that will look upon an expense account showing rent in the thousands of units and payroll in the hundreds of units and conclude keeping hours is a permissible managerial decision". That's the problem with the default sexuality : that it's practiced by the default mind.
Costa Rica has a healthy population of trannies. Here's a thing about latino trannies : they're by far the better looking women among the natives. For one thing, they're not laughably short. For the other thing, and here's the all-important clou : they actually work at it. Nobody tells the tranny "Oh, Cinderella, oh, Snow White, ohh, Katniss, you're such a precious cuntlet and the world is such a fairy tale you don't need to ever do anything, princes and other magical dragon beings of pure energy will seek you out from across the galaxies! They'll bring the jaw of life to cut through your denim hoodie-pantsuit and powerwash all the lazy filth off you to see something deep down.xi Heck, you don't really even have to stay alive the whole interval, they'll contrive with their art to bring you back!" On the contrary, everyone pisses on the tranny, and as a direct and necessary result trannies are way the fuck ahead in the game. What can you do ? Other than stop with the bullshit "chivalry", you mean, and start pissing on female faces, indiscriminately, and for no further reason ? Oh, I dunno... maybe get in line waiting for the princes to come. There's always that, you know ?
In short, the principal threat to the "alt" lifestyles is that the multitude is always threatening to pick one and make it the new default. Just like the tranny is becoming the default male sexuality these days, and don't fucking tell me you didn't notice.
PS. Did you notice the tits ?———
- Not, of course, explicitly pre-established, but as memory intermediates that establishment. This is the intellectual part, or at least one of the ~. [↩]
- Principal-agent relationship, yes ? [↩]
- When you write to your boss, to let him know how his ship fares, you are evidently fulfilling a social obligation, social in the sense that all interactions with the rest of the species are social, and it is very eagerly reciprocated. The owner in question isn't sitting there disinterestedly trying to filter out your missive ; on the contrary he gets agitated if they delay.
On the other hand when you write to some woman you thought you were going to marry that long married someone else and moved away... [↩]
- This, of course, is true of all things living : if you're not careful to keep up with the other elephants they'll raise the bar to elephanthood right from under your nose and you'll be left behind to be a living fossil. What can you do ? [↩]
- They do this ridiculous step, one foot after the other to a two measure dance followed by a pause. [↩]
- The Spanish-speaking beaches always see the women attached to at least one male and a coupla children, and no, I'm not proposing this is any sort of improvement. [↩]
- The Marriott walled-off section of Playa Herradura [↩]
- 20 kms can readily take an hour and a half in the sort of traffic these deeply inept drivers manage to create at mutually-agreed upon hours. Meanwhile Bartholomew can turn an hour and a half into two hundred kilometers np, provided he goes against traffic (ie, the mutually-agreed upon clog-up is happening on the other side of the highway). So in any practical sense, Playa Herradura is closer than San Pedro, what more can be said.
I guess it could be said that it's fucking insane to build roads and then use them only 4 hours a day ; just as it's the height of insanity to pay the rent for commercial space 24/7 but only keep it open 8/7 if that. What kind of mind is required to look upon an expense account showing rent in the thousands of units and payroll in the hundreds of units and conclude keeping hours is a permissible managerial decision ?
A local's mind, that's what kind. I'll bet you anything you want they never even considered the matter in these terms. [↩]
- I don't mean "nice" in the sense of a hundred dollars a plate, god forbid! Lunch for three came under that. [↩]
- They often ask if I'm gay, and I answer that actually, I'm bisexual (ears perk up) : I enjoy fucking heterosexual as well as homosexual girls. Most miss the joke, at least on the first pass, and get confused. What can you do ? [↩]
- Why the fuck does it have to be deep down !? Bring it to the surface, idjit, tits belong over not under what the loving fuck already. [↩]