August - 2005



The Seven Altares are the most beautiful wateralls I have ever had the fortune to see, the cleansing waters truly refresh my soul, as I cross through each fall larger and louder than the last. I spend hours swimming and laughing, watching the dragonflies drink and mate, jumping off the rocks into the pristine blue green water.

-----------------------------------



We leave in the morning dark, we set our alarms and the group hussles together in the darkness, I pay for my room and walk to catch the next boat out. I go with the Israelis. We get on a boat and gently glide away into the darkness of the morning sea.

I decide to stick it out with Hoff and Zara, partly out of fear of being alone, mainly out of wanting to get inside Zaras pants. She has a delicious ass and the most gorgeous of smiles. She is bitchy but cute, moody and adorable. We get to the shore of a dirty market town, buy some supplies and onto a bus where I make sure to sit next to her.



We are on our way to an 'Ecological Park', the whole exercise screams of tacky tourism but I am not letting her go. We reach 'Park Ixobal'.. A set of prison cabins and mess hall located in the middle of a large clearing, hosting a big dirty pool and cages with a monkey and a beautiful red and green parrot. The prices are far beyond expensive, and we are not allowed to cook any of the food we'd bought. "You can only eat what is on offer!".. all exorbitantly priced for a worn and poor traveller.

I can't believe where my manly desires have led me to, completely astray, the place is full of Israelis, mostly arrogant, all speaking hebrew and making no attempt to include me in their pointless chit chat. I strike up an argument with management, demanding to be allowed use of the kitchen. "This is the first hostel I've been to where I cannot cook my food! This is a joke!"..

They wont change their mind, I use their kitchen anyway, sneaking out a few pieces of bread and some butter. I give up on Zara and sit down to play a board game with Hoff. Some sort of space strategy battle which keeps us warmly entertained. At night in our cabin they play me some horrendous Israeli rock 'music'.. I pretend to not mind while they delightedly sing along to the gurgled utterances of what must clearly be some obnoxious fool famous in his homeland for his absurdly high level of mediocrity. I learn some Hebrew by bugging Hoff to teach me all sorts of stupid saying and words, I keep at it for hours. By the end of the night I have the general populace convinced that I can understand what they are saying, and also make fun of them.

** Learning Hebrew with Pablo **


Ani Ohev Kofim Ve Gvina - I Like Monkeys and Cheese

Shalom - Hello

Ken - Yes

Lo - No

Tov - Good

Toda' - Thank You

Schmi Pablo - I am Pablo

Neim la Kir? - Whats your name?

Azov oti Imash ha - Friendly derogatory comment involving the third parties mother.

Yelda-iafa - Pretty Girl

Ein Kofim she medabrem Ivrit - Monkeys don't speak Hebrew

Ima shel'ha meriha K'mo hamutsim - Your mother smells like pickles

Ani olej; levashel - I am going to cook

Kulam ohavim le ehol beitzim im batzal - Everybody likes eating eggs with onions

Sliha aval otha meriha k'mo et hasir - Excuse me, but you smell like a pig. (dangerous)

The walk to the beach is a long and interesting one. There is a feeling of being in an old african american town, a tropical New Orleans or Alabama. I stare at the big houses shrouded in exotic vegetation creeping up the peeling walls. Skimpy children run past me giggling, playing with sticks and stones.

The path I follow leads past a beautiful cemetary with a voodoo feel. The large gravestones grab my attention, I pass a sarcophagus and calvary cross to sit upon an altar and stare at the grey moss covered tributes to the once living and now departed. The sun descends upon the graveyard and trickles through a great and surely wisened old tree to form clearly visible streams of warm, ambient light. I smile and pay my respects then continue on my way down the dirt path soon siding by an enormous mountain of rubbish, the towns waste being gleefully poked and prodded at by families of settled vultures looking for the best scraps of the day..

The path leads to a large hanging bridge over a gorgeous inlet to fnally reach the Caribbean coast.. and the most disgusting beach I have ever seen.

Reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic landscape the beach is strewn with miles and miles of rubbish, plastic bags, toothbrushes, bottles, shoes. I am scared to even walk on the sand for fear of getting stabbed by a rogue needle. I hope that as I walk along the beach the rubbish will lessen but if anything it increases to become a blanket cover of the little beach that there is. The rubbish is endless and the smell is foul.. I head onwards and go into the shoreside jungle to get lost for a few hours..


I am looking for the seven 'Altares', waterfalls famed for their beauty amongst travelling circles but find myself wandering in a thick tropical jungle, thick moistened aire rises from the ground, rustling and strange noises within the dark can be heard. The further I go the eerier the scenery gets.. Its not long until I realize I am hopelessly lost, I scoff at the cliche but its getting dark, I turn back.. Finding my way after a troubling hour of fear and desperation.



I will find the waterfalls tomorrow..

"We're going to Livingston!!" I scream into the salty morning air.

Visions of shacks, palm trees, and beautiful blue beaches lapping at my travelled feet fill my imagination.. Emmanuel and Jenny aren't so sure, but my mind is set, I'm getting on the next boat out come rain, hail or shine.

I sit on the concrete floor of the dock and wait, steadfastly holding my ground and ignoring the others groans of dissapproval. "The water smells like sewage!".. but I wont budge. The locals stare at us and we stare back. Time drags as the sun burns our dehydrated bodies.. Eventually a rickety white boat that will be our ride out of this town arrives, and we are hussled aboard. Big black african women wearing large straw hats and bright dresses shuffle on to get a good spot. Their pressence seems odd, I'm not used to seeing black people in my travels, only brown or foreign. I figure they must be tourists.

The boat quickly fills and we are on our way. Nobody speaks, we are all too tired. I take a few snaps and watch the waves from the boat foam and crash while the others sleep...

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We arrive to a tourist tailored island full of black African-Central-Americans selling shells and trinkets, riding bikes, carrying boomboxes playing rap music while smiling big toothy grins at the new arrivals.

"What are we got here?! Who are these mon? tired souls brings me the sea y'see! You need a shelter we give you the place bro! Right you come with me mon!" The big guy intercepts us as we step off the boat. He's right, we need shelter..

"And you need some weeda mon, gonna get the sensi yah?" Right again.

I feel we can trust him and follow his lead.

"I run this place, come on little, we take together to the place you want! Not wanting waste all day looking, rite?" He looks at Jenny, "You tired mama, you too, I show you just the place"..

Too exhausted to argue or even try our options we follow him to a small hostel. The place seems nice enough, showers, and rooms with fans.. we get two rooms, one for me and the other for Emmanuel and Jenny so they can finally have some time alone. A shower is in order, then some food and then to explore the island.. It is another world.

The culture is 'Garifuna' a race born from the descendents of African slaves brought by the French and Spanish. Freed to create their own culture and language, a sing along mish mash of three different tongues. This is where the black women had come from. This is where I would finally see the caribbean beach..

An endless bus ride later and we reach Barrios, none too pleased to get out of the comfortable back seat I clamber out dazed and frazzled onto the street of the depot. The town is as dirty as Guatemala but with a caribbean feel. Teens in shorts riding bikes and young girls with mini skirts and tank tops can be seen flirting through the darkness. We pull our stuff out of the bus and look for something to eat, everywhere seems cheap and nasty, but I am excited purely from knowing we are at the coast, finally at the caribbean. We settle for an empty well lit restaurant. I order some tacos... and get a tortilla with meat.

"Can I have some lettuce and tomato?" I ask sheepishly,

"We dont have lettuce" Comes the gruff reply,

"But that man has a plate full!"

The waiter grabs my plate and walks off in disgust, returning with a few leaves of lettuce and two slices of tomato. I eat my food and put my head down. Emmanuel reminisces about Mexican food.

We go back to the depot to sleep, but the heat makes it impossible so Emmanuel and I go up the road to a small alcove and smoke some pipes. We have a good chat about mushrooms and Emmanuels many psychedellic trips. Three guys our age appear from the darkness, they seem friendly, we shout them drags. Something feels strange but I think better of it and kepep chatting, "You're our brothers' our new acquaintances insist then walk off.

We keep on talking, it's getting late but the night feels young, the three youths come back, we have a chat, two get rowdy but the taller one with the afro and yellow shirt tells them to keep quiet.

"These are our brothers, you gotta look after the brothers, be good to your brothers!" he scolds, Emmanuel and I nervously agree and keep the conversation going. He then turns to us.. "Look after your brothers! Thats what its all about! So I looked after you, you look after me, what's that necklace you got?"

I look at Emmanuel, "Leave" he says sternly. I stay.

The tall brother grabs my necklace and before I know what is happenning, an icepick is held to my throat. Realizing the gravity of the situation I quickly freeze up and try to calmly deal with the 'brother', drops of sweat form on my forehead while I entertain the consequences a wrong move could entail.

"You gotta look after your brother, brother!"

I am not prepared for this.. I snap.

"You're not my brother!! Man we shouted you some weed now you want my necklace? Its not worth shit! Why would you want that?! I stutter..

"What have you got then.. Brother.. whats in your pockets?!"..

"Nothing! We're poor like you!"

He reaches into my pocket and pulls out my money, 60 quetzales, not much but enough to eat for a few days. The other two are onto Emmanuel, they rip his necklace, he tries to get it back but they push him away, each one has an icepick, holding them to his chest they rip his brand new camera out of his pants and toss it at each other laughing.

"What have we got here! Thought you didnt have anything! Hahahaa allrite boys! These brothers are looking after their own! Lets go brother! Hahah!"

They take off into the dark allyway they had appeared from. Emmanuel is upset, I am in a state of disbelief.

"How could they do that! They were so nice at first, they took your only posession! Man that SUCKS!" I yell incredulously.

"Just crackheads, i'll live.. maybe I wasnt meant to have it, let's go" Emmanuel quickly replies.

We walk back defeated to the depot. Jenni had been worried. With nothing left to do we try to sleep and wait to get out in the morning.

Emmanuels mood is no better the next morning, and I can guess what the problem is. He wants to be alone with Jenny and I'm keeping them apart by sharing their room. I resolve to get a separate one wherever we end up next. It is time to leave so we pick up our things and rush to get out before checkout. Left with the problem of figuring out where to go..

A decision is made to go to the peacock farm to feed peacocks. Free food and internet is what sells us, and the peacocks of course. I call the number I got to organize a pick up from the city but the its disconnected, I try again and again but to no avail. I head back to the sad looking couple that is Emmanuel and Jenny and tell them the news. We have no option but to head straight onto Tikal, which means catching a bus to Barrios.

The bus depot is dirty like the rest of the city. Tired men and women with ragged clothes and snotty children stare at us with the same suspicious dislike as when we arrived to this smog filled metropolis. Jenny cops it the worst, she is a tall white californian girl covered in tatoos and piercings, and stands out in stark contrast to the Guatemalan populace, I feel uncomfortable but she scoffs at the stares and continues to suck on a lollypop.

Our bus comes and I sit on the back of the by myself. A stop later and a man in his thirties wearing a sombrero and a worn button up shirt hops on and sits next to me. We talk about books, god and life. He is a religious man who writes songs. I tell him about my band back at home and he is delighted to hear all about it, we share thoughts and ideas, he then sings to me and I enjoy his off pitch and out of tune ditties immensely. He is an honest man with an open heart and mind, the best sort. I lend him a book on the Tao by Osho and he lends me a short play about a group of tricksters whose job is to trick people into happiness. I struggle to finish it before the sun sets and barely manage. It is a satisfying read and I am glad to have met the man. He leaves me with a strong handshake and I fall asleep in the darkness and rumble of the buses ragged backseat.

Guatemala City is a horrid city.

There is few other ways to describe it, it smells bad, with an atmosphere of looming peril, people on the street stare at us with hate and suspicion.. It is easily the dirtiest and gloomiest city I have ever had the misfortune to visit. We decide to skip the sightseeing, not even sure if there are any sights to see in the wretched place, and go to Angelicas friends house, who kindly lets us in and offers us her couch and a smoke. I stare at the books and posters scattered through the cosey homestead while we make small talk.

We are hungry from travelling and after a short while go to a corner shop to buy some Tlayudas.

The restaurant is to the same standard as the city. Filthy and run by a transsexual with a thick moustache and grease stained shirt. The beers are flat, and plastic crates full of drinks are being unloaded onto the floor from a truck. Bangs like gunshots every minute from the crates make it hard to hold a conversation. But we somehow manage and talk about our plans from here. Angelica and I share a burger. We have a mutual attraction but don't know how to show it. I hope she stays with us. But after a nervous walk next to her to our hostel she kisses me goodbye and goes back to her friends. I am dissappointed. I should have said something, made some sort of move.. I was so nervous. I sigh at my stupidity as we enter the hostel.

The beds are clean and there are hot showers which is plenty. I play sublime from my speaker, as we lie onn our beds to read and relax. Emmanuel is in a bad mood. We are all in a bad mood really, but Jenny and I hide it better. I blame it on the city and its depressing vibes.

Guatemala has only recently come out of a brutal civil war (funded by the CIA to stop the revolutionary independant movements attempts to turn the country self sufficient) and as such still bears the scars of a suspicious and fearful nation. This is the reason the city is the way it is, it helps to understand this. I still wouldn't go there again however.

It is time for me to leave San Pedro.

I wake up early, say thanks and goodbye to Omar and Marissa and tell them to pick up 40 Quetzales that Paco owes me from work and run to meet Angelica, Emmanuel and Jenny on time at Angelicas house where just the previous night she had invited us for dinner and made us a delicious Italian pasta. But first I stop by 'El Puesto' to see Fluer and Amanda, he shouts me a joint, we take some photos and wish each other luck, hopeful we'll see each other again sometime.

Angelica has decided to come along to Pana and the city because we are going to pass by some second hand clothes stores and she needs some boots. I find myself secretly pleased because I have a small infatuation with her. Emmanuel helps unlock Angelicas door with a card since she has been locked out for a few days now, and we get ready to go.

On our way out it feels as if the whole town has come to wave us goodbye from the main street. I give Sheree a big hug, and say goodbye to Mike, Jairo, Tony, Oscar, Omar, Marissa, etc..

Emmanuel is getting impatient and hurries us on.

The boat leaves quickly and we take off across the wondrous lake of Atitlan. I take some photos on my camera and some for Angelica as well. The boat speeds through, occasionally splashing us with water. My bag gets soaked but I don't mind. Glad to be on the move again.




We get to Panajachel half an hour later, the boat driver gives me the wrong change and I get into a heated argument with him, he think Im trying to hustle him but my determination convinces him otherwise.

Panajachel is not nearly as pretty as San Pedro, resembling a cross between a city and lakeside town. I go to a Western Union to pick up some money as the guys wait for me. Angelica tries to steal a beer from one of the shops but gets busted, we have a laugh and carry on to the second hand stores to try out shoes and boots and shirts, Emmanuel buys some cheap Doc Martens and Jenny some ski boots, we then hurry for the bus.

Im hungry so I buy a hotdog,

"What's on it?"
"Everything"
"What's everything?"
"Everything!"
"Fine.."

I find that a hotdog with everything means a hotdog with ketchup. I am sorely dissappointed, and 7 quetzales poorer.

I huff and walk off with my dodgy hotdog then hop on the bus. The Brazillians from San Pedro are there, we say hello but we're all too tired to talk, the bus's engines roar as it starts, thick black smoke blows out of the exhaust pipe, and we bounce along the cobblestone streets on our way to Guatemala City. I am glad to have left and sleep, cramped but comfortable.

So Flabsy sent me this article I wrote a few years back, and I have to say it's as relevant today as it was then, not only that but I think it's quite good.

Sometimes my eloquence surprises even myself. This is it.

"Alright, now I could write a book about this but since I don't have time I'll just write an article. First of all take the name Pop-Punk, it as much a contradiction in terms as Christian punk, when the fuck was punk about being pop or mainstream? I see these 'punkx' around town wearing yuppie clothes! Don't get me wrong, punk aint neccessarily about style but these kids are paying like 30 or 40 bux for a hoody that they could have got for $5 at a disposal or second hand store and bought a $2 paint pen to draw the band's logo, it's ridiculous I would rather have some fan take the initiative to draw my logo than fork over a lot of cash for it. Next I read on the back of some MxPx CD "please buy this, don't record it" WHAT THE HOLY FUCK?!

I am in a band to help the scene and have a good time, Punk was neverabout profit or money, with this attitude it should be called 'capitalist punk' (hey that name doesn't make me want to kill someone nearly as much) oh well, what should you expect a christian band to do but ask for your money? The Dead Kennedy's left the B-side of one of their tapes blank - encourageing people to tape music because it hinders big record companies, but of course that was 20 years ago, why would any pop-punx know about music back then - they don't even know punk was around back then.

Has anyone heard about this emo crap? I'm not even going to grace it with a derogatory comment other than an actually emo fan once described it to me as "mellow, like Foo Fighters mixed with punk" - need I say more? Then there is the content. From all the pop-punk I've heard I can tell you 75% of the time they are whining about girls. Now back in the day the words punk and hardcore were interchangeable, but how is whining about women punk?

That's what corporate music is all about. Puk was started as an activist revolution, but the only activism these fucks do is stupid-arse shit to give them a good public image, like all the PC freaks who are so concerned with everyone being PC to a fuckin T that they don't see the actual shit piling up around them. I'm talking about Police Brutality, Government control, Corporate Greed, etc, etc - the shit that punk was meant to combat in the first place.

Lastly, what is with all hypocrites who say they're in a punk band but won't support punk or act punk, shit like "Smashing your gear aint cool man, that's not what punk is about" and dumb-'punkers' who say things like "You need to take a more serious attittude to your band if you want to get anywhere" and "Grow up".

Well fuck you man, I'll do what the cunt I want because it's MY band and you're just a hypocrite sell-out piece of shit. You say I need to "commercialize to an extent to get somewhere"?

BULLFUCK I do, all the big cult bands that still have RESPECT did NOT compromise. Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, Pantera, Nirvana... To all these, and I'm sure they know who I'm talking about, a nice big fingered salute from Stixx, Austin and I. That is all I can be bothered writing, yes I'm a hypocrite and have bought band shirts. But I "percieve myself as worthless".

Well, have a good one ladies.

Pablo (Slavegrinder) :p"

Chickenpox

Chickenpox is not a fun disease.

You don't get to lay in bed and enjoy the attention of family and friends, suckling on a cup of hot chicken soup whilst watching old movies. Its more violent than that.

.. a feverish and ugly disease, covering the body with itchy sores, starting off on the chest and spreading EVERYWHERE. Spots full of pus appearing on the tongue, in ears, eyelids, legs, arms, head.. are thoughtfully complimented by cold shivers, hot shivers, and ITCHING. Horrible incessant itching, unscratchable for fear of permanent scarring. There is nothing worse than an unscratchable itch.. even Satan would sympathize... A nauseating aroma of rotting skin and pus fills the already pungent air of sickness and death...

Suffice to say, I didnt like getting Chickenpox.

Murphys Law struck again.

I got sick and couldnt catch my plane home, luckily the flight could be changed and now im due home in February. God willing. Though they do say that Murphy was an optimist.

This makes it worthwhile.

This makes it worthwhile.

"Dear Pablo,

You don't know me but I stumbled across you on MySpace and then across your 'The Monkey's Cheese!" blog and surprised myself by spending half a day at work yesterday reading your entire blog. This surprised me because I have a short attention span and also because I haven't found a personal blog that interesting in a long time that made me want to keep reading.

Your writing while you were overseas was quite magical and made me want to go to all the places you had been! There is an almost innocent beauty about the way you approach the world and it is a real joy to read.

Thank you.

From Kathleen. "

and..

"Hey man,

On Bombshell you wrote to Mike T :"your energy is stuck and it wont get unstuck by thinking about it, you need to totally remove yourself from what you know and are used to, its like taking a deep breath of fresh air, but you wont be able to do it if you stay in stinktown, get out for a while and let your head sort itself out. "

Thats some good shit. I read through your blog a while ago, it was one of the many contributing factors to me deciding to get the hell out of the country for a while.

im backpacking around laos/cambodia/thailand by myself for two months, starting the end of nov, should be some fucking great times i reckon.

Anyway, thanks for writing up that blog, its a good read.

From Rohan"

Whatever happenned to this generations outspoken musical model representing teenage angst and rebellion whilst still maintaining some form of musical integrity?

Instead all we get is this tied up corporate hogwash trying so hard to make us believe that we're just like them.

Drink Coke! That's rebellion! We finished buying out rebellion back in '96 and now you can buy it back from us in a sacharine fueled drink..

Good Charlotte, the Foo Fighters... Kurt would be rolling in his grave...

Oh yes 'We Believe'..

We used to believe in something, but now we believe in the man, the man is our friend, he understands, he's here to protect you, haven't you met his Big Brother?

I know there is lots of good music and local bands doing the rounds.. but what I'm talking about.. what I'm searching for.. is that.. that Cultural Phenomenom.

In these times when we need it the most.

Before we had Marley, Jimi, Lennon, Buddy, Elvis, Janis, Zack, Axl, N.W.A, the Mamas and the Papas. Now we have Simple Plan.

Did I mention 'Drink Coke'?

Oh yes, the CON is real and its out to get ya, to take away your Slack while you believe in the lies of that state owned.. ahem.. sorry I mean 'independantly owned', papers.

'We're a Pro-War peace loving nation! Women and children are lining up with bombs strapped to their chest ready to take away our freedoms!' Too bad the government already beat them to it! But we wont let that happen! Oh no, the Gov is our friend! and damn the man who speak out against the man! We'll see you in jail.

Because a free nation, can't afford free minds. After all.. that's what you wanted. You wanted the war. You wanted the war. War is freedom. War is freedom.

You see.. If the lie is big enough, and they repeat it enough times, people will start to believe it, and history is manufactured. Well here's one.. you are not stupid, you are not stupid, you are not stupid, you are not stupid..1984?! Pfft.. that's come and went with the cold war, we're now in Huxleys Brave New World! So who are the Savages?

If you know, please call this toll free number so we can intercept and incarcerate. We do it for your freedom.

What does that mean? Freedom.

A word placed on a rubber stamp of approval? We're free as long as we can buy a Pepsi. I'm sorry, I mean Coke! Drink Coke!

So when that bubbly black hyperstimulant soothes your tired vocal chords sore from discontent, you can forget about the thousands like you who died in order to give you those three minutes of cold, fizzy, rebellious freedom and refreshment.

Drink your soma .. drink your soma .. drink your soma.

But dear studio audience, viewers at home, can we please get some dissent from more than dread locked, pot smoking, flag waving, dole bludging hippies? Not that there's anything wrong with bludging the dole and bring a hippy. At least that money stays in the economy and doesnt go to the pollies. Not that they mind. Pot serves their purpose.

Marijuana is the soma for those that dont drink Coke. We got it all covered.

The right needs the left, the left needs the right, we all need someone to blame. Two sides of the same dirty coin. God forbid we have to blame ourselves, we're a free nation, we drink Coke! How can we be to blame? for what? Some ragheads dead in the desert? and niggers starving at home? So what if Africa is one big experiment? They've all got aids anyway and they don't drink Coke. Oh they do? well they're still black and that's the same.

Hear no evil. See no Evil. Speak no evil.

And now we got the New-Age telling the people ready to believe in anything but the truth that there is No Evil.. and Compliance becomes Doctrine... but wasn't the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled to convince the world he didn't exist? What if there IS a Devil? and his name is Bono? Live Aid my ass. Complacency for the masses. "Something is being done, don't you worry, go back to drinking your Coke".... and we do...

..So which Pill will you take?

the red or the blue?
the one that serves all, or the one that serves you?

and as I preach to the converted.. the cycle goes on.
and borders are strengthened, by the force of a gun.

We hide in the darknes..
avoiding the sun...

We keep drinking Coke,
and nothing gets done.

And nothing gets done.

And nothing gets done.

Family Memories of Mexico:

Fixing the washing machine and my grandfather getting really into the plug that i didnt put in properly.

My grandfather and the computer, learning about and telling him about how disks work and how adamant he was to return the floppy disks to his friend Mario.

The many calls my grandparents received.

My grandfather enjoying soft drink and telling me about how we should only serve little to the guests so we have some later for ourselves.

Going shopping with my grandfather, losing him, how he always took care as I crossed to road with him, the little trolley, losing him in the shopping centre - 'Im right in front of you but youre looking every other way'

Similares medicine

Walking to the hospital to get my grandmothers appointments sorted out

my grandfather dancing around to blues singer.. and geting into it, showing me to dance.

Sleeping on the couch.. my grandfather coming out in the morning, waking up to him having breakfast on the table then sleeping in.

My grandparents bugging me about wearing a jacket and covering up.

My grandfather pointing out how sensitive i am and telling m not to expect people to understand me but rather stop caring if they understand me or not.

My grandfather almost crying when talking about sergio and how he hasnt been forgiven for being tough on him but that now sergio needs to take responsibility.

My grandfather getting upset about me wanting to take his suits.

Laying down on my grandfathers bed and enjoying the sun.

My grandfather looking for his rust removing rubber.

My grandfather telling me about how he had a sex instructor t-shirt and how my grandmother threw the shirts out.

Fixing the cabinetin the tv room.

Sergio coming over and eating syncronizdadas and my grandmother making him little food packages.

Watching barbie movies with Daniela, Bernardo and my Grandmother.

My grandfather buying me Bubu Lubus and other lollies under the pretense that they came free with some other product so he couldnt pass the offer up.

My grandfather messing up his hair and asking me how it looked, being like a funny einstein sort of moment.

Playing mp3 music on the t.v to both of them.. sidestepper with my grandfather and him falling asleep, type o with my grandma, watching King Kong vs Godzilla with them.

My grandfather heating up the hot water bottle for my grandmother.

Getting my grandmothers many medications from her drawer every night.

My grandfather always losing his papers.

The broken toilet seat, replacing it, how my grandfather got the wrong size and how the new one would dip and then 'pop' out!

My grandfather getting emotional at church in the popes death song and me knowing it.

My grandfather helping my grandmother walk into sylvias house. (beautiful image)

Listening to Robbie Williams, Nada de esto fue un errror, Lindsay Lohan - Dont wanna be like, every other girl in the world, i wanna come first, Ashlee Simpson, Moderatto on the telly. Hotel Diablito.

Watching Monk with my grandparents.

My grandfather Loving Meet Joe Black and being so happy to watch it.

Daniella blading in Claudias front yard.

My grandfather falling asleep all the time.

Helping my grandfather re-arrange his books.