Wrapping things up. It'll be tough to give up moments like these...

Music: Vampire Weekend

Song: Boston (Ladies of Cambridge)

Apparently all eyes are on tiny El Salvador this week. And not just for Charlie Sheen's latest outburst, which was hilarious, by the way. Pissed off the ambassador, but it kind of made me laugh that he's even heard of us here.

No, we're finally getting some semi-good publicity, thanks in large part to a gringo passing through, taking a break from the snowy northeast.

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Recently, my younger brother Adam launched a kickstarter campaign to get his final thesis performed in Chicago. It's a classical piece modeled after a season of baseball.

In just four days, he's already raised almost $700, but he's got a long way to go. To throw your own coins in the proverbial guitar case, click on the link below.

So my days here are going well. The school-wide recycling project continues to chug along and it's looking like this year will be markedly better, thanks to better coordination among all the parties (schools, Silvia's foundation, the mayor's office, Holcim and Lions's Club) and the addition of a much needed educational component.

As many of you guys know, my main focus since I joined the project in late January has been to increase youth participation and impart on kids the underlying importance of recycling. Since the program's inception, a competitive spirit was encouraged for understandable reasons, but unfortunately an accompanying educational component was not developed and each school's participation rapidly deteriorated into nothing more than trying to outdo each other and, in the end, fill up their school with what usually has amounted to garbage.

To promote that cultural change, I've been visiting the nine schools participating in the program almost every day, meeting with students to discuss the hows and whys of recycling. On good days, you can see the change happening, as we talk about the effects of clear-cutting trees and burning plastic and watch videos on how recycled soda bottles get converted into plastic chairs and room bristles. On bad days, however, I wake up and my voice sounds like I drank a hot cup of sawdust just before going to bed, from the hours spent corralling groups of 44 teenagers, all too eager to change the subject or yell out snippets of poorly pronounced English they've picked up from the latest Steven Seagal movie they've seen.

But I am making steady progress, and in a week or so I'll pass my 1,000th student included in the educational program. A drop in the bucket compared to the 6,000 students here in Metapan, but it's at least a start. Plus, a few weeks ago, we organized a city-wide parade and awareness event in Metapan to promote recycling and reward the schools with the best participation. Here are a few shots from the day...

We're still a decade away from creating a similar culture of recycling like that of any large city in the US, but at least we're taking the first steps.

And, as grad school situation starts to take shape, I'm starting to think about wrapping things up here and pulling the trigger on a flight home, most likely sometime in the beginning of April. It's gonna be tough to transition back to life stateside, but the thawing temperatures will surely help.

... but I just saw Inglourious Basterds last night and I had to comment. Man, what an artfully crafted, well soundtracked junk film. I'm trying to remember all the people who raved about it a year ago so I can contact them personally and trash their taste in movies. Unfortunately it had some great moments of acting and one of the better villains I've seen in years, but damn what a lousy ending. And as my good buddy Aaron put it: "what the fuck was up with the Eli Roth character? And the Oscar for most unnecessary use of a Boston accent goes to..." So true.

On the other hand, I've been catching up on what I would dub a true masterpiece of modern day filmmaking (albeit, short filmmaking). If you haven't had a chance to watch HBO's Eastbound and Down, do it. Right now. Netflix it or stream it or however you get your media fix. You won't be disappointed. Kenny MF Powers will invade your mind like termites taking over a house. Hilarious, foul-mouthed, mulleted termites.

Earmuffs kids!

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Rockport wouldn't even let him in the door.

Also, while we're at it, last week Katie sent me a link worth watching...

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Hope you're all doing well out there. I'll be seeing you soon.

A great series about living and traveling on the cheap.

The frugal traveler

Read an interesting article in yesterday's NYTimes about a neurologist at the Beth Israel who was recently awarded a hefty prize for developing a reliable way to track the advancement of ALS. According to the article, the $1,000,000 prize is the largest ever awarded for tackling a specific medical challenge.

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A few excerpts from the article:

The winner, Dr. Seward Rutkove, showed that his method could cut in half the cost of clinical trials to screen potential drugs for the disease.

Each year, doctors diagnose about 5,000 new cases of A.L.S. in the United States, according to the National Institutes of Health. Despite decades of clinical trials, the diagnosis remains a death sentence. It paralyzes and suffocates patients while their minds remain intact.

A few patients live for decades — the physicist Stephen Hawking is the best known — but most survive only three to five years after they first notice symptoms. And riluzole, the only A.L.S. drug approved by the Food and Drug Administration, costs about $10,000 a year and typically extends life by just a few more months.

The high cost of clinical trials limits drug companies' ability to test potential treatments. Researchers must recruit hundreds of patients and run trials that last as long as two years just to eliminate a drug from the running.

One executive told us, "For the cost of one A.L.S. drug I can develop two multiple sclerosis drugs, so obviously I go with M.S."

Dr. Doug Kerr, associate director of experimental neurology at Biogen Idec, which is working on an A.L.S. drug, said more sensitive testing methods "will allow us to test more drugs, more patients, and get an answer earlier." He called Dr. Rutkove’s method "a powerful new part of the armament to study A.L.S."

Well, we're into week two and honestly I couldn't be happier. As I was just telling one of my former bosses, it is positively kickass being here and not having the usual stress of being a Peace Corps volunteer. Basically, not worrying about the rules or my community's projects and being able to rent cars.

As most of you know, I'll be here for a few months while I'm waiting to hear back from grad schools. Pretty excited not to be shoveling out my driveway in Boston or blowing $100 a week on delicious, delicious micro-brewed beer. That last part actually sucks, but my consulting gig with a local NGO organizing school recycling programs is providing me enough cash to treat myself to a nice beer in the capital every so often.

The job should also be a good transitional gig and keep me just busy enough to stop me from settling in at a surf hostel for a month to finally learn to ride a short board. Sidenote: anything shorter than a 10 footer I like to call short boards.

After an epic day of traveling, I'm back in El Salvador.

For the next month I'll be working with my friend's NGO to set up recycling programs in schools in Metapan. So far it feels really good to be back. Imagine that, it's 85 and sunny!

... of kickin' ass and takin' names.

Team America held its first event of the year, a celebration of the trek's and Team America raising $20,000 and the $500,000 fundraiser and

Well a lot's changed since my last post. All of it good.

I've officially moved back home to Boston, realized my blood thinned more than I expected (I used to scoff at 20 degrees!) and we just sold our house of over 30 years.

There's too much I could write about the house and, to be honest, it's not what this blog is about. But I will say that from its death, came a rebirth of sorts. I'll explain...

Many of you know that back in July, we held a small fundraiser at our favorite, neighborhood watering hole, Doyle's. What we lacked in attendance, we made up for in numbers.

In that one night, we raised something on the order of $3,000 for children's scholarships in El Salvador. And this past Saturday, we improved on those numbers even more. Thanks to a successful moving sale which far exceeded our expectations, we are now up to $4,500. Woohoo!

But what does that mean? And where does this money go? Well, for starters, it means a lot to the nine students who were selected. After months of sacrificing their Saturdays for essay writing workshops, they were selected.

And for those who don't know how our scholarship fund works, the funds we raise are managed by an NGO out of California called Aid El Salvador. They focus on scholarships and now, as a direct result of the 2009's landslides, disaster relief.

The money we raise gets deposited into a Citibank escrow account, which an Aid El Salvador representative personally distributes to our scholars, typically twice a year.

This money is enough to help every one of our scholars continue studying, despite a bad harvest, family . It is one less reason for parents to insist that only their eldest son continue studying on to the 6th grade, the average grade level attained in my community.

This money is going to put Henry and Betty through college. Both bright, responsible kids who will be the first in their families to earn a college degree.

Thank you for your support. Have a happy holidays and know that you have made a huge impact on the lives of these youth. Muchísimas gracias!

Another turkey day in the books. And this year didn't disappoint. But with 15 members of the Abrams, Cohen, Leadholm family in Tucson, how could it?

It was great reconnecting with the not-so distant branches of our family tree and meeting the fast growing army of budding acorns.

A lot of a traditions upheld. A lot reborn in a new form. It was an unusual thanksgiving, yet in the end, what more do you need than a comfortable atmosphere, a room full of good food and family? Oh, wait. Booze! Copious amounts of booze.

After a week of golf, gin and tonics, and desert hikes. My family departed. I, on the other hand, was not as eager to dive back into northeast winter, and stayed a few extra days with my friend Christina, who as luck would have it lives in Tucson.

She showed me what you might call the "real" Tucson. A mix of university hang outs, authentic mexican restaurants and your average psychotic, sexual biker bars where patrons brave enough to get branded by the owner receive 50 cents off drinks for life. Wow.

I also had a chance to hang out with her stepdad Phil who, as you'll see below, happens to be a 30 year member of the Tucson Glider Club...

Hipster vegetarian bars, a great metro, museums, dollar beers, an obsession with recycling. Medellin was a vibrant place. A nice place to say goodbye to Latin America.

I'm posting a bunch of photos of our final week in Colombia.

Downtown 2

Monkeying around

Man it's been a crazy past couple weeks.

Currently writing from cloudy Medellin, Colombia, one of my new favorite cities. Incredible place. Super cosmopolitan. A big change from where I spent the past week (see below). Lauren and I are couchsurfing with a cool couple here, an architect and theater teacher. There showing us all that this city has to offer, although it sort of sells itself after a few hours of walking around and hopping in and out of open air cafes.

Before we arrived here, Lauren and I had a totally different experience. We were making our way south little by little to catch my flight from Medellin to Boston on the 15th. We met up with our friend David and were lucky enough to get a guided tour of the craziness that is Panama City.

Then on to the to the San Blas islands, where we island hopped for a week until we got stranded on one because of bad weather and stayed with a community of Kuna people. So damn cool.

Eventually after three days, a colombian shipping boat passed by and gave us a ride to the panama-colombia border port. Jesus christ it's been wild.

The boat was a wild experience. The seas weren't exceptionally high, but being in a loaded up boat has is an adventure.

Now I'm in Medellin, awaiting my flight.

Hit San Jose this afternoon, crashing for the night at a backpackers hostel, and then continuing on to Panama to chill for a couple days with our buddy David and catch a shipping boat to Colombia.

I've loved seeing the geography and colors change as we've pushed further and further south. It's like we're heading deeper and deeper into the source of all things green, and the closer we get, the more intense it becomes. Looking forward to seeing what Panama and Colombia have to offer...

Well, we're in the final countdown.

As you can imagine, I'm taking thousands of photos and videos to hopefully capture some of the "feel" of my peace corps experience and daily life.

I was telling Jimbo this the other day. That how it goes without saying, the last month of Peace Corps sucks. So much to do and so little time. It honestly feels like time is accelerating, rolling downhill and picking up speed. Don't know where those days went when I had nothing to do but hang out on my porch and kick plastic bottles back and forth with Peligro. Ah well. Realizing it's impossible to leave PC on one's own terms.

It's been nice seeing your names in my inbox. It's been just indescribably bittersweet here. Happy to be moving on, yet ripped to pieces emotionally for the loss of friendships, routines, life that I've become accustomed to.

Looking forward to catching up when I'm back.

A couple weekends ago, we bid farewell to another one of our own. A fellow third year volunteer, and a dear friend. The good news is, he's a southie kid and will be sharing dollar pints with me at Tom English's before we know it.

Most volunteers when they finally take off plan a night out in the capital or the beach with their closest friends, who are usually nearing their end date themselves. Usually one last hurrah to cap a couple years of blood, sweat and tears in the developing world.

Joe, on the other hand, isn't your average volunteer. And it's not his style to go gently into the night.

No, for Joe's despedida (goodbye party), he rented out a beach front house, complete with pool and space for 30 people and threw the mother of all parties. He might have even had clowns, but the two kegs and unlimited sushi kept me distracted.

Here are a few shots from the night...

Fred loves him some chicken teriyaki.

The feast.

Rhett and Axel

Such a good vibe.

Sam learns never to fall asleep in public.

The final product

Now for another installment of Where Your Food Comes From. Although in this installment, we're not talking your average food.

WARNING: you know where this is going... if you're not a fan of such things, skip this one.

Okay, so if you're a regular follower of my snoop blog, by now you've probably read my post on the bull we slaughtered for my friend's wedding last January. You know it was a pretty intense process, with the trade-off being that over a hundred people were fed from the death of one animal.

This time it was different. He was the underdog, and with chickens running around justifying their place in the world as the cornerstone of the food chain and making themselves known as only a chicken can (hopping up on the table, knocking over your coffee, shitting in your bed), one felt as though this little guy's life could have been spared. But I digress.

As with most animals killed in El Salvador, I can safely say that it suffered; it's just how we do things here. I'd love to say it was quick and painless, like my rabbits, but it sort of wasn't. He was a fighter. But know that the little guy died a noble death so that a family of six, plus three friends and neighbors, could eat well on El Salvador's independence day, September 15th.

Alright, let's get on with it, shall we?

So last weekend, my neighbors and I killed a seven pound armadillo and ate it. Not nearly as much as a process as killing and prepping the bull, but still one that I found oddly intriguing. Fasten your seatbelts. I took photos...

For starters, they're amazing looking critters. Check him out. Cute little ears, a snouty nose, and of course a fascinating armor shell that was surprisingly warm and flexible, like leather. Thought he'd be more like a turtle.

To kill one, you pretty much break its neck, make a small cut and drain the blood for a good while, occasionally washing it away as it coagulates. One thing I found interesting was that the dogs, normally diving over each other to grab a scrap of whatever Orlando is hacking up, didn't even go near this thing. It must have had such a funky flavor that it spooked even them.

Like defeathering a chicken, you pour boiling water on him and scrape off his scales. They reminded me of fish scales. Almost translucent.

Once he's been scaled, you cut off his head and gut him.

A few hacks to split him in two.

A little salt, some lime, and onto the fire!

Kate's a huge fan of armadillo, or cuzuco as it's called here in the campo.

All in all, kind of awesome. Starting to believe that clichéd saying that everything tastes like chicken.

By the way, as I was writing this post, I googled armadillos and stumbled upon my new favorite animal...

Behold the smaller than your cell phone, semi-endangered Pink Fairy Armadillo of Argentina. Kind of want to carry one in my shirt pocket at all times... and probably eat less armadillos.

Recently I had a chance to visit one of my volunteers up in his mountain-top community in northern Chalatenango. Hiked for over an hour, almost entirely up. Crossed rivers, ducked under barbed wire, nearly fell off too many cliffs to count. But it was worth it.

The next day, we hiked and hour and a half through the mountains to a nearby volunteer's community. Her host family is amazing and had a feast waiting for us when we arrived. Such a treat.

I had some time to kill, so I put together a quick video of the experience.

Cameraman: Moi

Music: Caetano Veloso - Um Canto de Afoxe Para Bloco do Ile

... yet wrapping things up.

I feel like this entry could go in any number of directions, so at the very least, I want to begin with a little light comedy, courtesy of one Mr. Aaron "Steve McQueen" Miller.

Buenos Aires Independent Film Festival: Tom Sellecks

With only 48 days left of my 1,000 here in El Salvador, I've come to a strange point in my Peace Corps experience. One that I'm at a loss for words to describe. Don't know why; I knew it was coming.

I'm happy, and overloaded with work, but in a good way, you know? Yet earlier tonight I actually got annoyed, not snapped, just felt a quick pang of peeve pass over me, with a good friend who repeatedly consoled me for what she kept calling my homesickness.

We had been chatting, and I mentioned how it's funny how the things you used to hate take on different meanings under different circumstances. Like how my neighbors' roosters - oh god those awful, goddamn roosters - I will actually miss when I'm no longer here. Yeah, I know. For those of you who've actually had the pleasure of staying at Casa de Cohen in the mountains of northwestern El Salvador, you must be amazed. Those guys probably kept you up or at least scared the shit out of you probably half a dozen times. But yeah, I'll miss hearing those little bastards, and the wave of rooster crows approaching house by house from the next community over at 3 am or some other ungodly hour when I should be sleeping and not awake to hear such things.

Maybe what got to me was the dismissive tone of her voice; the way she didn't quite get what I was talking about, nor did it really concern her.

I don't know. Maybe things were lost in translation; they often are.

But it's true. A realization that hits all us volunteers at some point. That we only get one Peace Corps experience. And mine is just a few short weeks from ending.

During Aaron's last few days, we spent our time trying to outrun the rain which, we found out the hard way, is impossible to do.

The killer panoramic views, volcano and waterfall hikes, even the surfing were affected by the rains and general blahness caused by the hurricane.

The good news is, Aaron drinks. And the rain couldn't stop us from pueblo hopping, crashing at chill hostels, and going through bottles of rum from Panama, Guatemala and Nica like we were flipping through a Lonely Planet guide to Central America.

Singing in the hurricane. Who needs sun when we can get equally blinded by the mildly hallucinogenic murals of Ataco?

Guns N Roses + Jesus with a dove = gringo confusion.

Aaron quickly got the hang of hitchhiking, the fastest and safest form of travel in El Salvador, and after a brutally humid, jam-packed, vendor filled bus ride to Tacuba, we both looked forward to returning to hanging precariously off the back of speeding pickup trucks.

A few days at the beach. Sort of like the dessert after a hell of a meal.

Aaron's here this week, and as you can see, we're off to a good start...

A night in the capital, a decent amount of nicaraguan rum, and then off to my community.

Aaron buying 2 dollar flip flops in my nearby pueblo.

And taking it all in in my community.

Meeting my neighbors.

And my best bud, Cowboy Carlos.

Enjoying all that the campo has to offer.

It's gonna be a good week.

A year ago, Lauren and I bummed around Guatemala for a week, couchsurfing from town to town, and falling in love with the country that many before us had just as easily fallen in love with.

Through our travels, we ran into a PCV in Huehuetenango named David. We couchsurfed with him and over some good Panamanian rum, got a good rundown of life in Guatemala and the sites and sounds that make the country as special as it is.

Well last week, David repaid the favor. His service is up, and he came down for the week to vagar, as we say. It was a great chance to give him a good taste of la vida salvadoreña.

Too many pictures to post, but he's pretty computer saavy and put together a short video of us playing in the Juayua waterfalls.

The Engineers Without Borders folks were back in country and it made for some good times.

Chuck sent out an email yesterday with the great news about Steve's event. It covers everything so well, I'm posting it as it is:

Just thought I'd share - yesterday was the Grand Opening of the Steve Saling ALS Residence in Chelsea, MA - and it was covered by the Boston Globe (NY Times). There's an article on the front page of Boston.com (link below) and a short video - the video is under the "Featured Video" section on the front page.

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One definite highlight was that Stephen Hawking sent a personal recorded message to Steve Saling of congratulations in which he said that he shares Steve Saling's excitement regarding technology... This is a BIG tip of the hat because Stephen Hawking has not typically been a very vocal advocate within the ALS community. Very cool. Also worth noting that Steve spent the entire morning with Governor Deval Patrick and his entire cabinet who convened for their morning session AT STEVE'S place. Shades drawn and state trooper security team in place - pretty wild. Charting the course for how Massachusetts can get behind Steve's plans no doubt....

If any of you would like to send Steve a note of congratulations or leave a voicemail for him, here's his contact info:

Until medicine proves otherwise, technology IS the cure - The ALS Residence Initiative (ALSRI)

STEVEN A. SALING

165 Captains Row, #233

Chelsea, MA 02150

VOICEMAIL

617.381.4213 (voicemail box)

EMAIL

smoothsaling@yahoo.com

FACEBOOK

www.facebook.com/smoothsaling

In honor of the grand opening of Steve's ALS residence, The Leonard Florence Center for Living, I want to take a minute to write about my visit there back in July.

First off, there are no words to describe it. You really have to go there in person to understand Steve's accomplishments and the possibilities for improvements in the quality of life for ALS patients.

The residence is in Chelsea, which for me, conjures up images of oil tanks and industrial warehouses, most a which you drive over in a few seconds on the Tobin bridge. But Chelsea has another side to it. A calm, quiet side and when you pull up to Steve's residence, you see that side. It's a nice, new building, not unlike a Marriott hotel tucked away in some suburban neighborhood.

When you walk inside, however, you realize it's very much not a Marriott hotel. Everything, and I mean everything, is fully-automated or wired up through infrared sensors, wifi, or bluetooth. This is so the residents can control every element in the facility, from the elevators and doors to their rooms' TVs and window shades. It's remarkable to see it all in action.

Here's Chuckie chatting with a few of the residents in the lobby. Honestly, the place feels more like a swanky hotel than a long-term care facility.

The ALS residence is its own separate wing of the facility. Residents have their own rooms, allowing them the independence they've been accustomed to, yet with the support of a medical staff just down the hall.

Steve's room feels a lot like a condo. He's got a fridge, widescreen TV, couch and a ton of photos up on the wall. It's a relaxing place, and Chuck and I quickly felt at home enough to break out the welcoming gifts...

Here's Steve enjoying a Coors Light, as much as a Coors Light can be enjoyed.

Our buddy Jay also stopped by and dropped off our schwag bags for the ride, courtesy of his company, KIND Bars, which sponsored our team. Pretty awesome that they donated as much as they did towards the ride.

At the helm of Captain Steve's ship. He uses a program called Dasher to write emails, talk, etc. Dasher is a free software program designed in the late 1990s to combine predictive text algorithms and motion-tracking software to form sentences based on cursor movement.

Dasher works by streaming a series of letters down the right-hand side of the screen, sort of like a constantly flowing waterfall. As you move the cursor towards the stream of letters, the program begins to guess what letters or words you might want next, just like the predictive text software on your cell phone, and the letters gently drift towards the cursor. If you pass over the letters, the computer takes it as an approval and they fall in line on the left-hand side of the page. Pretty quickly, you can form sentences that you can cut and paste into emails or choose to have the computer read out loud.

Steve has a reflective sticker on his glasses and an infrared tracking camera set up above his computer screen, which constantly monitors his head movements as if it were his computer's mouse. As his head controls the little arrow on the screen, the camera tracks his movements down to the millimeter, and gives him enough control that he can continue working as a landscape architect or, in the case with Team America, an expert bike jersey designer.

Like Steve says, until medicine proves otherwise, technology is the cure.

Woke up yesterday to find this little fucker in my shower...

Thought about doing something cool with him (fried tarantula, anyone?) but instead just disposed of him the way I get rid of the majority of creepy crawlies who venture into my house... death by chicken.

Quickly want to tell you guys about an incredible movie I saw a couple days ago.

It's been out for a while, so by now I bet that most of you have already seen it. But just in case, I wanted to clue you in, dear readers, on what is sure to be on the tip of everyone's tongues at next year's Oscars. Frickin amazing.

What the hell am I talking about?

Alright, I'll give you a few hints:

- It plays with our concepts of time and parallel universes...

- Has an aging but well-respected lead actor...

- A decent amount of special effects...

- And is full of suspense and action...

Got it yet? That's right...

Hot Tub Time Machine.

Simply put, a must see.

Oh yeah, I also caught some trippy new flick about dreams within dreams that was also kind of interesting. You should probably see that one too.

Dogs, dirt, endless sugar cane fields.

Rows of shiny coffee plants, coconut trees, gentle afternoon rains.

Hills dotted with cattle, fruit vendors on every corner, edible flowers.

24 hours back in El Salvador. Yeah, it feels good to be home.

This news clip didn't help calm my fears. Early-warning monkeys, jaguar alarms... brilliant.

Guatemalan Flight's Data-Recording Parrot Holds Clues To Crash

On the third and final day, we hit New York.

In the middle of the Tri-State Trek, Mearns took part in the Bi-State Pee. Not as internationally recognized, but highly respected in certain circles.

The ride ends with a menacing climb dubbed by the ride John's Street in honor of a Jon "Blazeman" Blais, the Ironman triathlete whose famous battle with ALS has inspired many.

John's Street comes at mile 70 on day 3, and like Heartbreak Hill in the Boston, it couldn't come at a worse time. For many riders, the climb feels as if it's vertical, and is a metaphor for the fight against ALS itself. A daunting challenge that appears totally insurmountable, yet if you take it pedal by pedal, day by day, it can be overcome.

All along the hill, ride supporters and families line the street, cheering on the riders who are often brought to tears from sheer exhaustion.

At the top, police and fire fighters crowd around the riders. It's an amazing spectacle and a fitting end to the ride.

This photo pretty much sums up day 2. Oppressive heat. A decent hangover and only a few hours of sleep. Great conditions for a 95 mile ride.

Ben pretty much set the pace for the crew. This guy was a machine.

The gang

Towards the end of the day, my body started to give in to the heat. I felt like a heap of parts thrown together with duct tape.

Attending to my feet

But whenever I was having a tough moment, Mearns was always there to lift my spirits. And his shirt.

Team America rides again

So it's official. The 2010 Tri-State Trek is happening. After nearly a year of preparation, and an untold number of winter and spring months spent planning, training and, let's be honest, worrying about the ride, it's already a third over. Pretty amazing.

As usual, we rode out of Boston at the buttcrack of dawn, taking over the streets for a brief moment as 250 riders enjoyed carte blanche to the streets while local cops waved us through intersections, pretending to be our closest friends and as morning commuters forced smiles and waves of enthusiasm.

On our first day, we spend most of our time heading to Connecticut, passing through local towns, vaguely familiar from past AIDS and ALS rides.

One of my favorite spots is the intersection below is Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg which, as I am told, basically means "you fish on your side, I'll fish on my side, and no one fishes in the center." Many doubt this definition, but it's crazy enough to be true.

At the rest stops, ALS TDI spared no expense and in addition to Clif Bars, bananas, cookies, fresh fruit, and of course gallon upon gallon of Gatorade, extremely friendly medical staff, like Heather here, doled out the occasional back massage if you knew how to ask nicely.

Sidenote: with the steady rain in the afternoon, it wasn't 15 minutes before we were soaked and chilled to the bone. When I got in to UConn and was showing signs of minor hypo (nothing serious, but the chicks at the med tent had a slow day and hadn't used their space blankets in years), they hopped into action. I'd say they got a little carried away with the space blanket and tape...

In the beer tent, we formed a big circle and drew in the crowd that wasn't involved in flip cup, etc, to reconnect, and catch up, like I did with my buddy John, who I hadn't seen in four years. He passed on his usual array of wisdom. One in particular, stuck in my mind:

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift, and that's why it's the present.

Words to live by.

On a picture perfect day in July, a small group of family and friends gathered together at Harkness State Park on the Connecticut coastline to celebrate the union of Charles McNamee and Dana Crosby.

It was kind of awesome.

I, as an usher, did my part. Package... delivered!

Later on, the band started up, the bar opened and the real party began.

Oh Bridie and Mearns, you kids are so crazy.

Bottom line: incredible location, great food, hell of a weekend.

As you may know, I am back from El Salvador for the entire month of July. So far, it's been an amazing week, but time is quickly flying by.

A number of people have been asking how they can learn more about or donate towards my health projects in my community in El Salvador. So to provide an opportunity for people to donate/ask questions, and to see all my friends and family, we've organized a get-together at Doyle's in Jamaica Plain and you're invited!

It will be a casual night of food and drinks starting at 6:30 pm. We have the entire back room reserved and I'd love to fill it up with my friends, family, and anyone interested in the Peace Corps. There will be food, drinks and a short presentation about my Peace Corps experience in El Salvador.

What: A fun night to reconnect with old friends, celebrate El Salvador and the Peace Corps, and raise money for children's scholarships.

Where: Doyle's Cafe in Jamaica Plain (Directions)

When: Friday the 16th, 6:30 pm - 9:00 pm

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me. Hope to see you there!

Hasta pronto,

G

Behold Friendly's new grilled cheese burgermelt. A cheeseburger with all the trimmings, wedged between two grilled cheese sandwiches. As Stephen Colbert recently put it: "It's like your lunch, and two other people's lunches are having a three-way in your mouth."

Yep, that's America. Only here could such a creation exist.

So I'm back for the month. And it feels good. Despite the initial culture shock, readjustment hasn't been so bad. And those first few days of seeing family and reconnecting with friends was exactly what I needed.

We held a July 4th beach bbq, my first in three years, followed by a pretty kickass bonfire overlooking the city skyline. From where we were camped out, we had an amazing horizon to horizon view of Boston's as well as six other towns' fireworks displays. Couldn't have been nicer.

Jamie and Ben also brought Addie, and she did what she does best: run around, zipping and buzzing between everyone like a little honey bee collecting pollen. Here's a photo of the little stinker.

And the bonfire. When it died down, smores and keg beer were thoroughly enjoyed.

Late in the afternoon, we were visited by an eccentric neighbor of Chuck and Dana's who had clearly been awake celebrating the birth of our nation while all of us had been sleeping, eating breakfast, whatever.

I'd just like to say, just because I never actually saw him refilling his cup from a small duffel bag tucked away behind some rocks, doesn't mean it didn't happen... 15 times. Nor did I actually see him take out a small, copper-colored cannon and balance it precariously on a beach rock.

But I definitely saw it, and felt it, go off. As did his dog, who freaked out and pissed all over Kate in fear when it thought it was caught in the middle of a revolutionary war reenactment...

Fire! Keep your eyes on the doggie...

For the record, that's someone asking: "What about, uh, do you want us to move the dog back?"

"No, he's fine" he said dismissively. "Ready...? Fire!"

Man, I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

Or seen as vivid a sunset...

A few weeks ago, Jimbo finished up the reconstruction project he and his community members had been working on for the past six months up on Chinchontepec. An inauguration party was planned. One of our bosses was driving up. This was a no-brainer. I damn near demanded a seat in that car.

Jimbo was definitely surprised. The look on his face was hilarious. Confused, stunned, embarrassed. A few more guys had actually hopped in, mainly good buddies of his, sort of as last-minute gate crashers coming to show our support not only for Jim, but for the families devastated by last November's landslides; our host families during training who went out of their way to make our first few months in their country as comfortable as possible.

The last time I was up there, I was with Adam. It was August of last year, and Adam had stayed an extra day or two before heading back to the states. We'd already been around the country and back - my community, the mountains, the beach - so we decided to head up to Jimbo's for the night, chill out on the side of a volcano, and play a little guitar. I was feeling pretty apprehensive about what it would be like this time.

It takes about 30 minutes to four-wheel your way up to Santiago de Chile. I'd done it a bunch over the course of the past year. Usually crammed in a bus, jamming to 80's music remixes. I've often wondered how many buses are playing Lady in Red throughout this tiny country at the same time. It's gotta be in the thousands.

It will be no surprise to you that this time it was an all-together different experience. All along the ride up, Jimbo was pointing out sections of the road that had simply collapsed; areas where the natural lay of the land had funneled the water, mud and rocks into a chute where the mass continued to pick up speed until it poured out on top of the communities below. Craters lined the edge of road where the earth just couldn't hold on anymore and gave way.

When we pulled into Jimbo's community, it was like a long-lost family member was returning from ten years at sea. There was an energy in the air you could feel. Everyone was yelling Yim-boooo! And people were even saying hi to me. I was touched they even remembered me, let alone my name.

At his house, it was great to see familiar faces, standing there smiling in front of mud-stained walls and piles of bricks and trash where buildings used to be.

Actually, we were out back eating oranges off the trees when Jimbo pulled out an old running shoe of his from under a mud pile. Six months after the landslide, they're still uncovering objects buried in the mud.

After chit chat time ended with the family, we headed to the fiesta.

From the relief money he raised back home in Michigan in the weeks after the landslides, Jimbo and his ADESCO set aside some funds for a celebratory party commemorating the hard work rebuilding what they had lost and improving the infrastructure to assure it would never happen again.

I guess word got out, because a ton of people showed up. The vibe in the community was incredible.

The event was a typical Salvadoran affair. A thousand plastic chairs, everyone freshly showered with shiny, slicked-back hair (girls) and faux-hawks (boys), a giant mesa de honor with a veritable who's who of Santiago de Chile up on stage. And yes, food. No one could ignore the smoke wafting in from the grills out back, carrying the promise of a free lunch and ensuring good behavior from all the kids.

The event started off like you'd expect. The MC introduced each member of the table, giving each their proper respect and 15 minutes of fame at the podium. The department's congresswoman spoke, the governor, prominent community members, and finally Jimbo.

I realize I'm his best bud, so I'm probably not the most objective person on Jimbo. But in all honesty, he gave a hell of a speech. Seriously, a hell of a speech. After speaking about the bonds between his friends and family back home and the people of the community, he ended it by saying: "My name is James Leddy. I was born in Canton, Michigan. But I am from Santiago de Chile."

It was incredibly powerful.

Here's Miguel taking the opportunity to toast his good friend.

After all was said and done, the local priest led a group up to the start of the landslides, and to a bridge which Jimbo's fundraising helped rebuild. We sang and he blessed the bridge with holy water. It was a nice moment.

I think it was important for me to see Jimbo's community one last time. To be apart of his former life even for just a few hours. I'd spent a decent amount of time up on the side of that volcano and it meant a lot to me to see those familiar faces, even if it was just to reassure myself that they were still there.

I can't wait. Only a few days from now I'll once again be standing on Red Sox nation soil. Pretty exciting.

I was trying to explain this to Amy yesterday, how I'm feeling a swirly mix of anxiety and nervous excitement. It's been tough trying to balance my life here for the past month - community projects, meetings and trainings all over the country - with my plans for the upcoming month up north - Fourth of July, Chuck's wedding, the Doyle's fundraiser, training for the ALS ride. With every email home, and every , I feel the weight of it all increase by one stone, and then another, until I'm carrying a sack of 50, which slows me to snails pace from exhaustion.

I'm sure once I touch down at Logan, put my bags into the trunk of Ben and Jamie's car, and eventually relax on their couch alongside Addie, I'll feel like a million bucks. Speaking of Addie, Ellie recently sent out some photos she took on Castle Island. I couldn't resist posting a few...

Well, Boston mourns again. The Celtics arguably had their 18th title in the bag, but before we had a chance to do anything about it, it slipped away from us. Arg.

I caught the game in my community, sick of organizing afterdark transport into my nearby pueblo only to watch the game, most likely be disappointed, and then fall asleep watching The Devil Wears Prada at my counterpart Salvador's house. Trust me, it's not a consolation.

And yes, I did say I watched the final game in my community. My buddy Carlos recently got a satellite dish. Amazing how two-thirds of the community drinks river water, half don't have constant electricity or latrines, yet if families have 12 bucks a month, they're watching street luge on ESPN2 and wondering who actually likes street luge? like the rest of us up north. Something's wrong there.

Anyway, watching the series, and emailing back and forth with Adam and dad was great. Not to mention the experience of watching the games with my Salvadoran friends, most of whom have never actually watched a full game. (Basketball down here is like soccer up there. Have you ever actually watched a full soccer game? Exactly.)

To Salvadorans, basketball is a mess of complicated, arbitrary rules and physical movements they could only dream of duplicating. I especially liked trying to explain the shot clock (you mean they have to shoot?), as well as all the other rules the league's introduced over the years to keep us ADD consumers interested in those guys running back and forth with that bouncing ball (five seconds to inbound the ball, 10 to get it across the halfcourt, 24 to shoot, 3 second penalty on defense...). It really is ridiculous when you think about it. And then there's soccer. Where it's pretty much anarchy separated by sporadic moments of order, a referee does more harm than good, and you can count the number of rules on both hands.

Basketball also pretty much requires a whole different mentality, I've realized. I mean, what other sport in the world can you watch the first and last quarters of and pretty much say you saw the game? In soccer, if you blink, there's a pretty damn good chance that's gonna be the moment either team scores the goal of the game.

Man, I love the onion.

So the Celts kicked ass last night, continuing to demonstrate that championship basketball is about teamwork and ball movement and not ball-hogging superstars, even though I'll be the first to admit that Kobe's hands down the best player on the court. What he's doing out there is insane. I think he could literally hit half-court fadeaways for a whole quarter if he wanted to (all the while ignoring his four other teammates wide-open underneath the basket).

In addition, I'd like to officially award my coveted Golden Jock Strap Award for heart and hustle to Rajon Rondo, who proved he's not afraid to poke an angry bear, shoving Ron Artest after a hard foul on Garnett in the 2nd quarter. Reminded me of Varitek offering a mitt sandwich to A-Rod in 2004 to turn the season around for the Red Sox.

Jock Strap Runners-up were, in no particular order:

- Glen "Droolio" Davis

- Tony "Did you see that block on Gasol?!!!" Allen, and

- Kendrick "Don't ever let me go coast to coast" Perkins

Here's a good article on Rondo's impact on the momentum of the game and Artest's recent struggle with the game of basketball.

Also, if you haven't seen the excerpts from Nate Robinson's and Big Baby's Game 4 post-game interview, it's worth a look. Fingers crossed for Tuesday's game...

Just as the Celtics advance towards the finals (fingers crossed for a closeout tonight), we got an early taste of victory when my home team, Metapán, won the national championship last Sunday, claiming their fourth title in seven seasons. Kind of insane. Just ask Motorcycle Carlos, above.

I was lucky enough to be at Sunday's game, which was wild, by the way. About a thousand degrees and packed. As in past years, the mayor sent 30 free buses from Meta, trying to fill the stadium with some sort of a Meta fan base, knowing full well that we couldn't compete with the other team's ridiculous numbers. They're a departmental team from San Miguel, which means they totally outnumbered the fans from our tiny pueblito up in the mountains. See? Check out all that ugly orange.

But we showed them what's up and silenced them early with a nasty goal in the 24th minute. After a few close calls, we somehow managed to stay alive, even scoring two more times. And when time expired, we went nuts.

Final score: 3-1. My boys and I screamed until we lost our voices. We were such underdogs, we never thought we'd win again. Another little bonus was that I was there with a few of the new Meta volunteers who definitely got into the action.

Here's Greg, one of the new health volunteers. He's also a Bostonian and I pretty damn cool guy.

Now look at this photo from after the game...

Notice anything different about Greg? Yep, the shirt. After the game, some drunk guys started bugging us. But before I could tell them to piss off, one of them notices Greg's not wearing a jersey, whips out an extra, and demands that he put it on. Pretty amazing. You know that thing they say about not judging a book by it's cover? So true. Thanks drunk guys! Sorry I gave you a fake number!

Now if only the Celts can wake up, pull things together and do the same...

Something I didn't want to formally announce until it was officially ancient history was my health (which is good - relax!). But a few weeks ago, it definitely wasn't. For those who haven't heard, I was fortunate enough to pick up a minor case of... drumroll please... dengue! Yep, dengue. And I say minor because it never developed beyond a bad fever and some achiness. One day I woke up and my eyes kind of hurt, but my platelets never dropped low enough to scare PC Med and it was nothing a few nights in the capital recovering couldn't fix, which worked out well, since I was able to watch the Celts smoke the Magic. And we're getting ready for watching the Celts beat LA in Game 1 at the Country Director's house. Oh yeah, flat screen tv!

A recent email/letter exchange with Sam inspired me to give more of a “what am I up to these days” post. So with that in mind...

What I am up to these days

Well, life down here is really coming together. Two years has been a blur, but I’m amazed at how if I think hard, I can actually remember every single day. Seriously. So I guess it's a vivid blur. Strange. It was never like that for me in the states.

Work is great, rewarding, and surprisingly stressful. Although I have to admit, it’s self-imposed stress. Peace Corps is definitely what you make of it. We’re all here for different reasons. In my case, I’m motivated by my toothless, illiterate community members who are in the slow process of creating toothless, illiterate offspring. That sounds harsh but it's true. If I can throw a wrench in their passive-aggressive plan to create clones of themselves, I will die a happy man. My tools: scholarships, dental health campaigns in the school, computer classes. They all help, but I often wonder if I’m making a dent. We’ll know when I come back in 10 years and my neighbors' kids are eating corn on the cob, or bowls of mush.

Family gardens

I’m continuing with my organic, no chemicals, no fertilizers, no vegetables garden. Just like last year, I planted tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, beans and corn. But this time it’s actually producing for a change. Figuring out why would be as easy as solving a rubik's cube for me, although I have my theories.

1. My salty tears of failure have actually stimulated plant growth.

2. Bugs have gotten bored of eating my sad little tomatoes and radishes.

Here's a pic of my neighbor Melida showing me how it's done. Her garden makes my insides hurt with envy. But then again, I travel for weeks at a time, and guess who I leave in charge of watering my garden... Hmm, something's fishy here.

Raise the roof

Back in February and March, my community's ADESCO (anyone remember what that is? Good!) applied for a USAID SPA grant (Small Project Assistance) to put a new roof on our community’s school. The old one was made of this crumbly, grey cement shit that’s supposed to last five years. 14 years later, you can imagine how well it was holding up.

SPA grants are small grants up to $2,500 that allow PCVs to plan workshops, camps, and do small infrastructure projects in their communities. In essence, cash from the US gubment to get stuff done. The community has to contribute at least 25% of the budget, which they usually do by providing labor and transport. My rabbit project was a SPA grant and the community contributed by building their own cages, supports, and providing transport.

Originally I was mentally setting up for a large-scale latrine project for something like 25 families. There are a ton of families who don't have latrines and simply go out to the monte. But the USAID requirements were recently changed and latrine projects are no longer being approved. Then a conversation with our ADESCO president (motorcycle Carlos for those who've visited) motivated me to look into school infrastructure projects.

We pursued it, applied a few weeks later, received $1,557 in USAID funds not long after, and in a little under two months working our culos off before rainy season came, voila! A new roof!

I wish I had taken more photos of what the old roof was like. Man, that thing had more holes in it than the Iraq war justification. Hey oooo!

But this new roof is bomb-proof, made from a material called ZincAlúm, which is worth it just for the oohs and aahs that people utter whenever I get the chance to mention it, which is frequently. It’s not unlike saying you just got an electric car. Or your car now runs on a flux capacitor.

It goes without saying, we're pretty damn proud. And it was a great moment for our community's ADESCO.

Soccer soccer soccer soccer soccer!

No surprise, this country is obsessed with futbol. My community is no exception. And for the past two months, every Sunday we've been hosting a soccer tournament that the sports committee organized to raise money to buy a weed whacker.

To be honest, it’s been both great and bad at the same time. Great because I’ve been forced to be in the community every weekend, and bad because I've been forced to be in the community every weekend. I love being here but it’s tough cramming everything into the Monday to Friday work week so I’ll be able to help out on Sunday morning. Not to mention the legwork and glad-handing to get sponsors.

It was tough work, but it's paying off. Each Sunday we're selling out of beer and food, and in just a few more Sundays, we'll have enough to buy what we need and create a rainy-day fund. From the money we raised from past tournaments, we bought soccer nets, community uniforms, and made repairs to the field.

Here are a few pics from some of the past Sundays' games.

It’s Always Sunny in El Salvador

I’d say it's always a good sign when your best bud from first grade and your best bud from El Salvador recommend the same thing the same week.

At nights in the campo there's not a whole lot to do. I generally put on a few podcasts and do laundry, cook, or work on my garden. But I also relax in a hammock, put on a few movies and just veg out. And thanks to Sam, I'm all set for a while.

Just as Jimbo was loading up my hard drive with the first couple seasons of a criminally funny show he just discovered, I open up my mailbox to see a surprise package from Sam. A shirt, a solid candy selection, and the first three seasons of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Incredible.

It's full of awkward silences like The Office or Curb, but way more vulgar. Like NC-17 stuff. My neighbor once surprised me when I was watching an episode, before I could open an excel spreadsheet and pretend I was working, and it took me about half an hour just to explain why the main characters trying crack cocaine was funny. It didn't go well.

Anyway, my goal lately has been trying to choose a favorite episode, but to be honest, they’re all so good it hurts. It’s like choosing your favorite flavor of Starburst. You think you’ve got a favorite (the pink, no the red!), but then you remember that they’re all incredible compared to a handful of measly Fig Newtons, loser kids’ sad answer to junk food. So you admit defeat and like a pussy, you refuse to choose a favorite.

So thank you Sam and Jimbo for showing me the way.

New Job

And last but not least, my new job. So yeah, I got one. I guess it's strange to take all this time explaining what I've been up to when it's all going to change. But I was long overdue for an update post. And maybe I felt a little sentimental for the good ol' times.

The big news is that I recently accepted a new job with Peace Corps to work for the remaining six months of my extension as a Regional Leader in Chalatenango, a mountainous department up in the northwest region.

I'll still be a volunteer, but I'll be switching gears to work more as a liaison between volunteers and PC staff, conducting site visits and trying to link up PCVs working in the same regions. RLs also focus on site development and security so it'll be an interesting transition.

Originally, they wanted me to move to Chalate, but I felt that moving to another part of the country for my last six months in country (five, I guess, since I'll be in Boston for July) wouldn't be how I wanted to end my service. But we agreed on a split schedule and I'll be commuting back and forth between Chalate and my current host community, trying to continue my projects and relationships despite not living there 24/7.

I actually just got back from my first formal trip to the region, where I met some of the volunteers and went apartment shopping in a little artisan town. It was pretty amazing. I'll post some photos later. The apartment's actually going to be more of a crashpad than a real apartment. A place to keep my things and make the experience a little easier.

It’s a bitter-sweet moment in my service because it naturally means significantly less time in my community. Less time where I feel most comfortable in this country, surrounded by my friends and family. But growth only comes from change and challenge, no?

I'll keep you updated.

Two videos that will change your life...

Change your life I

Change your life II

Happy Wednesday.

Way behind on my blogging so this is merely a place holder entry. An ugly little stain on my blog that'll motivate me to post something intellectual/fun/interesting later this week.

The quick rundown...

Sam, got your package. Incredible.

Chuck and Dana, thank you so much. Because of the size, your package was processed through more rigorous customs and held in the department capital. Literally took me more than a month to bail it out of mail jail.

Roof. Putting one on our school. Hard work.

Community soccer tournament. Every Sunday for two months. Headache.

Women's group gardens. Seeds planted. Yippee.

That's the news from Lake Wobegon. I'll clean this up and post more later this week.

Hope all's well.