Michael Jackson

So, as the world knows, Michael Jackson died a couple of days ago.  It actually made me sad.  I was in serious disbelief when I was told, and had to turn to the never-lying internet to confirm the reports.  And when I actually believed it, I felt sad.  I felt like there was a big loss in this world.  I grew up listening to Michael, and, as a child of the eighties, know probably 20 songs by heart.  I always rooted for Michael, even through his tough times, and had hoped for his continued success in the tour planned in London in July.  In any event, it's sad he's left, but I can't help but think he's probably more at ease now.  And we still have his music.  For that, I thank him.  Cause I love me some Man in the Mirror and Dirty Diana.  

So last night we had a celebration of Michael Jackson here at the bar.  We had considered making a formal tribute night, but last night was organic.  It sprung from nowhere (maybe me playing MJ for the past two days straight, maybe from some serious intoxication of two close friends).  But we danced.  And we listened to MJ all night.  And we danced.  It was another of those loving nights here at the bar.  The nights that made it all worthwhile (as if the view didn't).  It was nice to have one more before I leave.  And it was nice that four of the five of the Pistachio crew were here.  Pepper wore her Jackson Five t-shirt that was purchased at Ropa Americana on our roadtrip to Manuel Antonio.  I sported the hat that I stole from someone on that same trip, and a latex glove from the kitchen (not a lot of glove options in Costa Rica, it seems).  Very cool.  

Here are some pics.  

Oh, and as a side note.  As I was waiting for the pics to upload, Scott and I played a couple of games of horseshoes.  I took the gold, and as Scott put it "there's nothing wrong with Bronze."  It seems as though our star center, Bubba, came in second in our round robin, in spite of not showing.  

Neil

So, a few days or weeks ago I introduced Neil.  In that introduction, I noted that he was a good friend until he started doing heroine and beating his wife.  And then I noted that that was not true.  

I got a call from my Dad today, who told me he had heard that Neil is doing heroine and beating his wife.  He doesn't read this blog.  

So, first, I want to say sorry to Neil.  

Secondly, I want to make it VERY clear that Neil does NOT do heroine NOR beat his wife.  At least not at the same time.  

Third, I want to make it VERY clear that Neil also does NOT do heroine AND beat his wife at the same time.  As far as you know.  

Sorry Neil.  I hope this doesn't have any lasting effects on your business or your social life (if you had one to begin with).  As for those of you that I love but can't read or understand a joke (I do love you Merry), PLEASE call everyone you know.  And I mean EVERYONE you know.  And let them know that Neil, while a poor whistler, does NOT shoot up NOR abuse his wife, whether simultaneously or sequentially.  

I can't believe I had to write this blog.  

Meet the New Manager - Scott

This is Scott.  AKA Poynter.  AKA Scotty ViP.  AKA Deubler.  AKA Mr. LowTide Lounge. 

Scott is taking over as manager of the LowTide, effective Sunday.  Sunday.  Sunday.  Scott hails from Antarctica, although has spent many of his formative years floating on a raft in the middle Pacific, bartering with seagulls for scraps of food and news from the South.  Scott was raised by his mother, Shaniquia Maleeka, which literally translated means "Shaniquia Maleeka", and his father, Frank.  Following a short career in the circus, Scott found his first calling as the head of the Society of Hitmen and International Transvestites, but after three years was fed up with SHIT and started his own business in sales and marketing of clothes made from leftover fish parts.  In spite of selling literally billions of dollars of clothes, Scott's entry into business came to a screeching halt when, after two years, Scott's "buy now pay later" plan failed after thousands of seagulls filed for Chapter 11 protection and their debt to Scott's company was sold for pennies on the dollar.  Embarrassed and defeated following the complete failure of his venture, the worthless and pathetic Scott found his way to Costa Rica.  Following a brief stint as forward and co-captain of the Esto Pistachios (who dribbled their way to a impressive 1-0 record), Scott convinced his teammate and co-captain to quit his absolutely wonderful job on the beach, and minutes later, coincidentally accepted the very same job.  

Scott has spent the last few days proving himself as the Senior Vice President of Dish Management Operations and Gasoline Retrieval  (SVP DMOGR) here at the LowTide, quickly working through the ranks to find himself in position to take over the grueling tasks of wandering around the bar aimlessly, hanging hammocks between the trees for an afternoon nap, and flirting with pretty girls.

We wish you luck Scott.  Good luck.

Right Now - 20/6/06 9:08 AM

Just opened the bar.  And I'm at the bar.  Surprise.  Waiting for the tide to come in a bit more, hoping for some surf.  I have not surfed hardly at all in the past two weeks.  Not sure what's going on there.  But it's time to change. 

I'm feeling okay.  I had a great dinner and drinks with a good friend and coworker last night, Pepper.  We ate at Karen's (Almendros), which is absolutely delicious.  We talked about everything from love to love.  She's on a mission to move to Australia to be with her boyfriend, Oz, who is in the process of moving there now (he's in New York for a week or two stop before heading down).  

We talked about my direction too.  I told her how I always have this feeling of wanting to move back to Oklahoma, but it's never now.  It's always in a few months that I feel I want to move back.  I wonder if it will ever be now when I move back.  Pepper is of the opinion (although neither of us like that word) that I should absolutely not move back.  "Keep moving forward.  You're bigger than Oklahoma."  Not that she has anything against Oklahoma, at all.  I think she is of the opinion that I am somehow destined to do more, or at least something different, than have a job, a house, a car, a family, and Friday night dinners at Applebee's.  

But here's the thing: I've always been a homebody (albeit my life experience and considerable travel suggest otherwise).  When I went to college, I would come home to Oklahoma on my Spring Breaks, not down to Cancun for a two week bender.  On the trips to Europe or Africa or Colorado, the best part was always coming home, to Oklahoma.  Oklahoma is comfortable.  And when I'm away from Oklahoma, I'm literally uncomfortable.  Always.  Not surprisingly, the one thing that I center my focus on when considering what I miss the most living in Costa Rica is curling up with a nice, thick, soft, smooth faux-down comforter.  

Hanging on Neil and Megan's couch, whether they're there or not.  Sitting around a chiminea on cool nights, crashing at Terry's when I've had too much to drink, holding my girlfriend as I fall asleep in my clean, open, air-conditioned room.  Dog parks, foosball, tippy-cup, office, computer, cell phone, car, weekends, lakes, Mamasita's with Doug, Ranch Party Weekends, horseshoes, televisions, movie theaters, hookers, sweaters, baseball, golf, sailing.  That's comfortable.  (You might have noticed one didn't seem to fit.  And it doesn't.  I hardly ever went to the movie theater.)

So, but those are all external comforts, of course.  I don't think I've reached that comfort that follows me wherever I am.  And perhaps it's because I can't rid myself of external comforts.  I'll never rid myself of support.  Sure, I'm more comfortable at home in Oklahoma, but I am comfortable here.  While I thought I didn't have anything when I moved down, it turns out I had everything.  I moved here with a thousand bucks and a job.  And my education, personality, intellect, hands.  And I moved to a place with people, and any time I'm around people, I'll be able to make it out alright.  I'll have places to stay, ways to make money and get food.  And even if I get away from people, and have no food and no money, I'm always just a phone call away from getting a flight back to home.  And so I'll always have support.  I'll never be able to have nothing.  I'll always have external comfort.  

I guess having external comforts doesn't stop a person from being comfortable simply with one's self.  It can't... there will always be some external comforts.  We can't be alone in this world, we can't be without food.  We can always seek solitude and fast, but that doesn't mean that people and food aren't available to us.  And that's a comfort.  

So, do I follow now what is comfortable, or do I do I keep going forward (here in Oeste, or somewhere else), perhaps until I am comfortable with myself?  Perhaps there is a middle way.  

And that's enough for now.  I'm going to go surf.  The waves are shitty, but I need to get out there (this isn't Russia, Danny).  Solstice is today (a surf competition in Hermosa).  Perhaps I'll try to swing by that.  I haven't felt like doing anything lately.  And I find myself feeling the same way right now.  Oh well.  

Going to Have to Change my Profile

About a week ago, one of the owners of the Lowtide threatened me in a way that he hadn't threatened me before - far more seriously and far more viciously.  Thomas, who is an intelligent, good looking, talented guy, has quite seriously an alter ego, known as Skinny, who thinks of himself as a gangster.  Skinny tends to, well, in my opinion, be a complete fucking asshole.  Which must absolutely suck for Thomas, who is kind and compassionate, and has to live with these demons inside of himself.  While it was unlikely he would back up his threats with action, he's unpredictable, and has certainly acted on his threats in ways that are, frankly, unbelievably violent.  His threats and taunts led me, for the first time, to feel unsafe at work, or even at home.  And so I took my things out of the office, found a safe place for my meager belongings, and slept at a place that a) wasn't at home; and b) wouldn't get someone else involved.  Basically, I just didn't want him to come looking for a fight when he got out of jail that night. (He had been put in jail for basically trying to fight everyone in town, using this bar as a home base and directing his anger at the bar across the street and everyone in it, including the cops.)  

I forgave Thomas right away.  Even during the threats and taunts, and the absurdity of his actions around this relatively tranquil town that night, I held no anger towards him.  Well, some.  I had visions of teaching him a lesson.  But I realized that it's not my job to help him.  It's not my job to change him.  It's not my job to teach him a lesson.  If I fought back, it wouldn't be for him, of course, it would be for my pride, for my ego.  And it might end up getting me shot or at least with some broken facial bones with a side of recurrent terrorizing.  Realizing how silly it would be for me to do anything other than nothing felt good.  I do have an ego to protect, but I don't WANT to have the ego in the first place, so protecting it would be the opposite of what I want to do.  And I'm certainly not in the business of changing other people, nor do I believe I could change him if I were in the business.  It's not my fight... it's his.  And so I took precautionary measures, and did nothing but stick around to give immediate permission for our staff to leave if things got even more out of control.  

I also decided to resign that evening.  

While I forgave Thomas immediately, feeling unsafe at work, and being threatened at work, by my boss of all people, is not something I want.  And God knows I don't need, well, anything.  Certainly not this job.  I love it here, but I'm kindof of the opinion these days that I can love it anywhere.  

The next day I called the other owners and let them know that I planned to resign, although I wouldn't leave the bar empty handed.  I was willing to stay for a bit to get the bar on solid ground before I took off, as long as the threatening owner wasn't around.  I had been informed that Thomas took off for the states the morning after he was put in jail, and so I felt safe without him around.  

My other bosses quickly bought out the problem, transferring money to Thomas for his shares in the bar and to my satisfaction, and I now feel safe here and in my house.  Thomas didn't appear to be returning any time soon either.  Perhaps resigning isn't something I need to do.  I do love it at this job.  There are some wonderful aspects: I'm on the beach.  I can surf almost any time I want.  I meet people from all around the world.  I get a lot of attention from pretty girls.  I love my house, Pepper the cat, being barefoot at work, watching the waves, Randall and the girls, Flaco, Shane and Sam.  Did I mention the attention from girls?  

But here's the thing, given all those wonderful things about this job, when I resigned I felt relieved.  I felt excited.  I felt, sorry Bob, good.  

After receiving an apology note from Thomas, indicating that he no longer has anything to do with the business and he has no intentions on returning any time soon, I decided to take a couple of days to decide whether or not I would resign.  I no longer felt unsafe at work, but the light that I felt when I did decide to resign was worth investigating, and I wanted to take some time to check in with myself after the ownership change.  I felt as though both my intellect and my emotions were making the case for me to keep it.  Although some emotions, especially the excitement I felt about not knowing what comes next, seemed to argue on the side of confirming my resignation.  In any event, there was new information with regard to Skinny's absence from the bar, and I wanted to give myself time to make a decision with the new information in hand.  

And so on Sunday I gave my final decision.  Not based on thinking, not based on emotions, but based on something else.  And I can't even define what it is.  I guess it's a "gut" feeling, not instinct, but intuition.  Not learned, I don't think, but instead some unlearned something that perhaps takes information fed to it by my intellect, emotions, body (or perhaps not) and gives me some feeling, although non-emotional, on which I now base my decisions on (or at least the big ones).  In a way, it's a leap of faith for something I know nothing about.  That "intuition" as I call it could, in fact, be some alien race that has implanted a "non-emotional gut feeling" chip in my left earlobe.  I think that's unlikely, but I literally don't know.  And yet I value this "feeling"  these days above all else, above my super-smart intellect, or my passionate emotions, or even my strong and yet fragile body.  I guess that's called surrendering. 

And I have surrendered to resigning.  In spite of it all, I'm leaving the bar.  No plans - no plans to leave Oeste, no plans on where I'll live, or if I'll work, or where I'll work if (when) I do.  I once had a friend, I believe from Australia, who carried around a business card.  It said "No Job, No Home, No Money, No Worries."  I dig it.   

And so the 27th will be my last day.  On the 29th I'll head to Oklahoma to meet my nephew, Ryan, and perhaps say hi to family and friends (which I can't WAIT to do).  I'll come back on the 3rd, and then we'll see.  I'll be able to stay in my house for another few weeks, and perhaps even use the car when it is available.  But only for a few weeks.  Then I'm - I want to use the word "free" here.  I guess I am free now.  I guess we're all always free, and just don't realize it.  Perhaps it still doesn't feel that way.  Interesting. 

In any event, I'm excited.  The world is open again, and I'll let it take me wherever it takes me.  I'm just along for the ride.  Cool. 

Right Now - 13/6/09 2:14 PM

The rain is moving across the ocean heading in our direction with a puff of breeze leading the way to shore.  I'm just starting to feel small sprinkles that have been swept up in the wind fall on my face and arms.  The air is cool and crisp, something that I find rare and inviting here.  The rain, only a stone-throw's distance from the beach, is teasing the dry land as it seesawsin its approach, while only providing moisture to the already wet saltwater.  It seems as if the sea and the rain are mocking the land, reminding it that it needs the water to live, while the water needs no land.  

I'm trying not to think too much.  I had a great night last night in Atenas.  Ozzie, one of the five in our roadtrips, is moving to Australia.  He's heading out today.  I'll miss him.  Enormously.  And I would imagine Pepper is not far behind.  She's in love.  Which is beautiful.  

Scott, Jeni, and I will be the remaining three of the five, and I feel like we've grown closer and closer.  We just have a way about us that I love.  We're good for each other.  

MICHAEL AND HAYDEN HAD THEIR SON!!!   Woohoo!  Ryan Smith.  My nephew.  I'm flying home in two weeks to meet him.  As his uncle.  Uncle Brian.  Crazy ass Uncle Brian.  I like it.  And I LOVE him.  Already.  I saw a picture.  He's like a person, only much much smaller.  I can't WAIT to see him in person.  I love my family (the blood one) so much right now.  

So, I just wrote a LOT about something else pretty important in my life, but decided to wait.  I have a big decision coming up tomorrow, and I'm excited as hell about it.  But I'll wait until tomorrow to share.  In the meantime, I'm going to think about Ryan and Michael and Hayden.  Cool.  Maybe I'll go visit them on my hammock.  I wonder if they'll feel that I'm visiting them.  Doesn't matter. 

Full Moon Party

So, it's been about a week, but I wanted to write about something cool.  Last Sunday we had our sixth Full Moon Party here at the bar.  Every month I generally wait until the last minute to find entertainment, decide on what specials we'll have, and even who will work at what has become the biggest event we have at the bar.  Starting in December of last year, we offered trashcan punch and had an IPod playing on a rented sound system.  Since, we've had some great bands and DJs, huge fires, a variety of shots, visitors from all over the central Pacific coast and tourists from around the world.  It's not particularly famous outside of our little village here, but it's a damn fun evening. 

This time it seemed we might be headed for another IPod night, but two days before the big night I heard a cool DJ at a club in Jaco, and decided to hire him for the evening after liking what I heard.  I always get a little stressed as the FMP approaches.  I am always worried that the entertainment won't show up.  Or they will, and then the people won't show.  Or they will all show, and people won't have fun, and then they won't come the next time.  But, it seems, things have always worked out.  And they certainly did on Sunday. 

We only had about 70 people here, smaller than the last one where we had almost 100, but 70 is still a very good number for this bar.  The DJ showed, and started a little off, but by 8:00, people started dancing.  As always, we had a very cool mix of people.  Old, young, gringo, tico.  The music was mixed well too.  American classics, hip hop, latino.  Add a few good looking girls to the mix, and people had fun.  And I had fun.  

I didn't start dancing until perhaps 11:00, but we didn't stop until almost 3:00.  Pepper and Shilka were behind the bar with me, but after about 11:00, Pepper took off, and Shilka and I traded off turns on the dance floor.  Perhaps there were only about 15 or 20 of us after midnight, but we filled the bar with fun.  Flaco, our guard here at the bar, certainly wins the most fun award.  He was dancing, or shall we say grinding, with half a dozen very attractive girls on the dance floor, soaking it up like he was the king of the world.  And for a few sweet minutes, he was.  

Good, clean, drunk, sweaty fun.