Woof, Woof!

The World Woof Tour 09 hits Costa Rica on November 21, and I hope you'll be there! (Click on the poster below for a larger image.)


The most important thing about the fair will be the pet adoption program, and there will also be fun things for people, auctions, contests with your pets, plus low-cost vaccine and spay/neuter clinics, etc. It's at Country Day School in Escazu, which is just a couple of blocks up from the Red Cross in downtown. Esposo and Mrs. P. will be providing deeelicious savory and sweet treats, so stop by and ask them, "Hey, are you esposo/Mrs. P.?" That would probably freak them out. Ha ha!

"The Snatchback"

Yesterday, while looking for something on a completely different subject, I came across this article in The Atlantic, about a guy who had to kidnap his son out of Costa Rica from his biological father. It's a bit long, but compelling, so I'll wait while you go ahead and read it.

Whistles. Twiddles thumbs.

Done? Good. Ok, there are some things about this story that just don't add up to me. The father, Jason, did not have custody of Andres when Andres and his mother, Helen, came to Costa Rica. In fact, Todd secured an injunction against Jason to retrieve his son. But the Siquirres police wouldn't take Andres out of the home, saying they didn't have that authority:

So Todd got an injunction from a San José court ordering Jason to surrender Andres, and he and Helen accompanied the Costa Rican police when they went to Jason’s office to deliver it. Jason still refused to relinquish Andres, and Todd says the police told him that they didn’t have the right under Costa Rican law to enter Jason’s home and take the boy.

I call bullshit. Now, to me, what Jason did is kidnapping. Sure, he's the biological father of Andres, but Andres was raised by Todd and Helen. They were his parents. Jason did not have custody of Andres. So how in the hell did the Siquirres police not do anything about it? Do you mean to tell me that if a child has been kidnapped, you know who did it, you go with the police to the kidnapper's door, and the kidnapper says, No, I'm not handing the kid over, the police can just walk away? Oh. Hell. No.

At that point, why didn't Todd and Helen get, at the very minimum, the PANI and/or the OIJ involved? Surely they both have the authority to remove the child from the home if the police are too pussy to do it. (And, as an aside, pretty much everywhere in Costa Rica, the police are next-to-worthless. If you really need something important done, go to the OIJ.) Instead, Todd spends a ridiculous sum of money ($25,000 iirc) to get his son out of the country. Granted, I'd do it too, if it were my son. I'd spend every last cent I had, and then go find more. But I think the whole surreptitious snatching Andres back could have been avoided if he'd have tried other avenues than simply the local police (not making any accusations here, but sounds like something else was going on there, you know what I mean?).

Well, at any rate, I'm glad it all ended well and that Andres is back with Todd in the U.S. To me, family is what you make it. Blood ain't always thicker than water.

(I'll grant that this story is fairly one-sided, from Todd and somewhat Helen's point of view. La Teja apparently also wrote an article about the case, but since they couldn't even be bothered to spell Todd's last name correctly, and in general seem to be more concerned with photographing women's big butts than anything else, that "paper" would be the last place I'd turn for reliable information. I also found this article from Ocala.com, but it's basically just a rehashing of The Atlantic's piece. Apparently no other newspaper in Costa Rica gave a shit, sadly.)

P.S. Mr. Hopson? I'm glad you got your son back, I truly am, but please don't call my country third-world. Sure, parts of it look like Appalacia, but the politically correct terms are "developing" and "developed" countries. Saying Costa Rica is third-world just makes you look like a rich asshole. Maybe you should visit some truly "third-world" countries before throwing terms like that around. Just sayin'.

Bam!

Night before last, about 1:00 in the morning, esposo and I were awoken by a blast that, I swear, seemed like a bomb being dropped nearby. The whole area lit up with white light and the explosion made the house shake. We both jumped out of bed, going, "What was that?!" But then nothing else happened, our son was soundly asleep, so we figured it was just some idiots shooting off fireworks too close, and went back to sleep.

Then, about an hour after that, we woke up to what sounded like a cherry bomb going off near our house. Again, we go through the "What was that!?" routine, figure it's nothing, and go back to sleep.

Around 3:00, we hear a zapping sound that is similar to what passed for science and technology in old black-and-white sci-fi movies. Or a bug zapper that was maybe a 5-foot-square box. Anyway, it was loud. And scary. We look out the window to see that, lo and behold, all that noise previously had been coming from a blown transformer on the electrical box across the street from our house. We know this now, because it's on fire.

Personally, I'd never seen an electrical pole on fire. Luckily down here in Costa Rica, cement is the material of choice for electrical poles, otherwise that thing would've lit up like a Halloween Christmas tree. As it was, wires were dropping from the box and remained on fire on the ground, while at the box, the fire was tearing up the connecting lines. (Strangely, though, we didn't have any loss of electricity.)

We called 911, and as esposo is explaining to the person on the other end that the electrical box is on fire, he (the operator) asks, "Is anything burning?" [slaps forehead] Even so, the fire department managed to get there within two minutes, although they did stop down the street first (clue: look for the electrical box on fire). [slaps forehead again] I was a little concerned that the whole thing might blow up; even so, esposo managed to take a photo of the whole affair before the fire department arrived:


Did you know electrical boxes had those light-up-in-the-dark code numbers on them? I never did, until I saw this picture.

Well, that was fun.

QuickPass for Dummies

If you live in the Central Valley, you probably know you can get a QuickPass for the newly-refurbished highway from San Jose to Orotina. That way you don't have to dig around for change every time you go through (it's 320 colones one way on the San Jose-Escazu toll, and some of the other tolls, like the one into Ciudad Colon, are even higher -- ouch!). So after a few months of working in San Jose a couple of days a week, digging for correct change, touching other people's dirty money and breathing in exhaust, I decided to buy a QuickPass. Here's what you need to do if you want one, too:

1. Go to the closest HSBC. You'll fill out a form, pay $30 (just for the pass, that doesn't include any toll money), and they give you the QuickPass. If you have an HSBC account, you can buy the pass for $15, but personally I didn't think it was worth saving $15 to go through the hassle of opening yet another bank account.
2. You then go to the cashier and pay for the QuickPass plus however much you want to put on it for tolls. Then, whenever you want to top up your QuickPass, you have to go to an HSBC and put money on it. You don't need to remove your QuickPass, however; all you need is your license plate number.
3. You might want to RTFM. I am a dipshit, so I didn't read the booklet, and put the QuickPass on the back of my rearview mirror, and then wondered why it didn't work properly the first few times. I even kept flipping the damn thing around and was ready to exchange it, when I thought, hmmm, maybe you do stick it on the actual window... Well, duh! Yeah, stick it on the window. Away from window tinting, too.
4. Now it should be ready to work. When you drive through the QuickPass lane, you hear a beep, then the toll gate goes up. If there are several cars in the lane, it appears you don't actually have to wait for the toll gate to go back down before you can go through. As long as the laser thingy reads your QuickPass, the gate will stay open and it still takes your 320 colones, so you can go through.
5. If for some reason it doesn't work when you go through, one of the toll booth workers will take your QuickPass, type the number into their computer, and then you can go through. That sort of defeats the whole "Quick" part, though. I suggest if it doesn't work, RTFM, and, barring that, ask the toll booth worker if you've put it on properly.
6. It beeps two times (or three times? anyway, more than once) when it's time for you to go top up. You have a couple thousand left on it when you hear it beep more than once.
   

That's it! It seems a little less like highway robbery when you pay a chunk in advance (no pun intended!). Plus, during work traffic, you get to go right through while dozens of other suckers wait in line. Ha! Ha, I say! It's sort of like FastPass at Disneyworld, only those are free.

Edited 28 Oct. 09: Just got this in e-mail today. It would have been nice if they'd have sent it before I had the damn thing in my car for two weeks, but that's probably asking too much. Sigh. Asi es.

To cheese and rain

To cheese:

Oh, my dear cheese! I think our relationship has finally come to a screeching halt. It's true, I've loved you for many, many years, even during these last few years when you didn't love me back. I thought I had given you up for good, but then you'd come back every few months, tempting me to have just a taste of your goodness now and again. And I believed you. I really thought that this time you would change. Maybe this time I'd be able to finally live with you. But after last night, I have to tell you that it's finally over. You've broken my heart and made me want to vomit for the last time, I swear. So don't come running back, offering extra sharp cheddar or herbed goat cheese or an excellent Swiss. I've had it, I mean it. Leave me alone. True, I may dream about you from time to time, but that's all you're getting from me. Goodbye, cheese! And take milk with you while you're at it. Don't let the door hit either of you in the ass.

To rain:

Ok, dammit, enough of this already. You do nothing but bring me down these days. I'd like to say goodbye to you, too. It's all about you, isn't it? Nonstop, day after day. What about me? What do I get out of this? You make my car filthy, you create mud that gets tracked all over the back patio and into the house, and now you're starting to kill my lovingly tended little garden. My veggie plants can't take much more of you, and neither can I. Sure, you were great at first: providing a respite from what seemed like a never-ending dry spell, showering me with your gentle, loving embrace. I looked forward to your visits eagerly. It seemed everything around me responded to your touch, growing, blossoming, awakening. But now? You're here all the freaking time! Sometimes a girl just wants to be left alone, you know? You're overbearing. You show up in the morning, stay through dinner, and you never seem to know when it's time for you to go home. There are things I'd like to do too, you know. Like have a barbecue or a picnic in the park. But how can I, when you're always there? So pack it up, and head out with cheese and milk. Sun and I have been Facebooking each other lately, and I've realized how much I miss him.