Ecuadorians found to be the world's best at doing Ecuadorian things.

Recent reports out of Quito, capital of a tiny South American country notable for being located on the equator, have concluded that, as a whole, Ecuadorian people are, generally, very talented at doing most things considered to be innately Ecuadorian. Reports show that while no one particular Ecuadorian is the best at doing any one single Ecuadorian thing, the country as a whole is generally the best at things like singing the Ecuadorian national anthem. "Among other things that Ecuadorian people are a little better at doing than anyone else in the world are making traditional Ecuadorian food, driving on Ecuadorian roads, and sleeping with Ecuadorian women, although they're losing ground on that last one to the Italians" Clemson Cultural Anthropologist and amateur photographer Stephen R. Peckham stated. He continued, however, by saying that, "they're not too good at much else, like moving their economy, playing soccer or at paying attention to the "Por favor, no molesten" sign on my hotel room door."

The Windy City Quartet at Mammoth Cave –Sold Out Show- Part 3

The Grand Ave Tour had been an impressive few hours of sights, spectacles and sounds, but the closer we drew to the main event the emptier my stomach felt.

My three friends, Ben, Bocheng, and Mikey, and I were scheduled to perform an underground performance as a quartet in front of the 80 others in our tour group. The only reason this was considered underground by any measure was that we were, in fact, a couple of hundred feet under the ground in Mammoth Caves. The forthcoming show had all the elements of being a wondrous one. The setting was perfect, the audience was large and excited, the promoter, our tour guide, was setting the stage. The sole problem lay in the small fact that not one of the four of the performers knew how to sing a note.

As a result of that and the fact that no two of us knew the lyrics to the same song, we figured that the performance couldn't be pretty. Yet, we were continually reminded of how pretty it should be every 15 of the following minutes as the tour guide would promote the upcoming show.

"I know this part of the cave is difficult to climb, folks, but we have quite a surprise for you later in the tour," he winked in our direction. We didn't wink, we just cleared our throats.

Our discomfort was tangible. I could see it exude from the others and I'm positive they could see it from me. To describe the looming performance as fear-inducing would be to fall just short. We were ascending a giant roller coaster as we climbed up through the cave. Ahead lie what promised to be a steep and very fast drop.

Our fear of follow-through was only amplified by our tour guide's continual reminder of the upcoming surprise as to be the consolation or even the purpose of the lengthy battle against these miles of caverns. Never in my life, even when it was due to me, had my actions ever been promoted this frequently and enthusiastically. 'Why should it now?' I asked apostrophically.

"What did we get ourselves into?" Mike asked the rest of us, "Are we going to sing?" Each of us individually had great hesitation, but together, as a whole, we just couldn't decide NOT to do it. So, forward we went as the last hour of the journey melted into a prolonged amalgam of angst and impatience. Here we were in the most carefully carved cavern system with both backbone and epochs of persistence and we trembled with restless steps. Upon walking into the next room it was clear to see why; our feelings had been given measurable weight.

"Here we have what is called the New York Hippodrome" the tour guide bellowed to the lot of us, "This is one of the largest rooms in all the caverns. It is 250 feet in width, 300 feet in length and 85 feet high. The sound here is wonderful enough, with natural acoustics, that cave owner George Morrison would have opera performances in this room for visitors from the east coast. Thousands would come from afar to watch performances in this room by some of the greatest voices of the day. You, my guests, have the same delight."

He looked over toward us, "Are you gentlemen ready?"

To see the response of us and our audience follow this blog or catch up a couple of days when I post the last part of this steamy memoir.

The Windy city Quartet at Mammoth Cave -Sold Out Show- Part 2

We descended Mammoth Caves with eighty others in the tour group and despite the presence of all the humanity it was an awesome sight. We were dwarfed by the massive creation 10 million years in the making. Together we learned of this lengthy history, the patience of its formation and the odd fact that there were, indeed, no actual mammoths roaming the depths of the cave.

The strange and various rock formations did yield a good tour and a number of interesting facts. It was when we arrived to a section of the cave noted for its acoustic sharpness that this story, itself, becomes as intriguing as the cave.

"Here," the young tour guide spoke in fitting drawl, "is a beautiful point in the cave which highlights wonderful acoustics. Does anyone care to sing and demonstrate?" Of all the people listening, not one dared to volunteer to sing in front of the rest. "Well, I'm not going to sing either. I sound like a hound dog," the tour guide spoke as we laughed.

Of course though none had volunteered to sing in front of the rest, no shortage of the group hesitated to sing aloud as they walked by this point. This included the four of us as we walked. Each of us stopped and sang a short diddy. I danced too, but acoustics couldn't help me there. We heard the echos ring.

"La La Laaaaa," Ben (I don't know if I can use the word) sang in baritone.

"Oh! Do you gentlemen sing?" the park ranger tailing the group asked us from the rear.

"Uhhhh...." Mike hesitated as I interjected,

"Yes. Yes, we're actually a barbershop quartet!" we laughed.

"Why, that's great news. Nice to meet you," she excitedly said, "I'll be sure to let the guide know on our next stop."

We undulated, all of us afloat upon this little bit of fiction. Wavering, but without words, we collectively decided to tread ahead and go with the flow.

At lunch we ate sandwiches that had been carted down in the only elevator shaft constructed in the the cave system. We were enjoying our ham and cheese when the tour guide approached us,"I've been told that you gentlemen are musicians?"

Because it couldn't be farther from the truth, I spoke up to correct him, "Well, we're just a quartet."

"Golly! And where are you from?" he inquired.

"We're from Chicago," Ben answered and from there we just let the guide do his job lead us ahead into a false story.

"And when you perform in Chicago, do you go by any name?"

"Yes, we're called the Windy City Quartet."

"It would be a great honor if we could have the Windy City Quartet perform for us in the caves, wouldn't it?" He asked.

Going with the flow? I thought. "Right, It would be our honor, we'd love to."

"Wonderful, I'll let you know when we're ready."

Again, Ben looked at Mike and Mike looked at me and I looked at Bocheng and Bocheng looked at Ben. Collectively we gulped, pulled our collar from our neck, shrugged, and moved on with the tour not knowing what to expect.

And neither do you know what to expect! Keep posted, or follow this blog to find what happens in part 3 of this mammoth tale.

The Windy City Quartet at Mammoth Cave –Sold Out Show- Part 1

The four of us arrived at Mammoth Caves on a Friday.  The air was chipper and the wind cut through our jackets.  Though it was November, it was the beginning of the month, and something about heading in the direction of south gave us a deceptive sense of warmth.  We hadn’t prepared for the late Kentucky autumn.  Yet below ground, under our parked car, lay the longest cave system in the word where the temperature, regardless of time of day, season of the year or of the year itself was always a consistent 54°. 

We reared to get below the damp and chilly ground and into the damp and chilly caverns.  Ben, Mike, Bocheng and I had signed up for two different tours. We would save the lantern tour for the second day as we figured to begin our exploration of the National Park/World Heritage Site with a lengthy and general historical tour with a large tour group.

We pushed into one of the two buses that took us to a manmade entrance. Our tour guide, a young college student from nearby Bowling Green gave us a bit of information about the tour in a southern drawl.

“While we hope to have a light and cheery tour, I am obliged to remind you of the precautions we must take to ensure the safety, welfare and satisfaction of everyone else on the tour,” Bocheng looked at Michael and Michael looked at Ben and Ben looked at me and together we all smirked. “We’ve merged two tours together today, and due to the large size of our tour group, we have to be especially courteous to others and respectful to the cave. I hope you can manage this.”

We hoped so too.  Stay tuned for part two of this tale where we find out if the four of us were able to manage courteously and respect.

It’s Christmastime in the City

Once again we’re blessed with the warmth of friends and family to keep us kindled  in, these, the coldest and darkest of days.  I’ve returned for the evening from a great show played by my friends Treaty of Paris at the Double Door in Chicago.  To be with close ones is to find comfort amid this uncomfortable season.

At times, Chicago slaps its residents with a wintery sting.  Yet, there is a reason that they all remain.  Nothing compares to this area’s streets full of festive decoration, Yuletide song, rosy reunion and cheery spirits.  I’ve spent holidays around the globe; from China to France to Los Angeles to Spain and back.  I very truly doubt that any place, despite its othertime beauty can ever compare to the Christmastime of Home.

Here’s to everyone I’ve seen and to those I’ve missed.  Happy Holidays to you all and take great care in the coming weeks.

Ho Ho Ho!

I'm spent like a ... [insert witty simile here]

Sitting in bed, exhausted from a tiring week, I spoke aloud to myself; "Well, I'm spent like a nickel at at a candy store." I don't know where this simile came from, I was perplexed. Did I just make that up?' I asked myself. So I got up and explored google. The following is a list of similes that I found regarding how spent someone is:

I'm spent. Like a coupon at a discount grocery store. On triple coupon days.

Without the vibe, I'm spent, like a light paycheck; like a rent past due…I’m just not there!

I'm spent like a roll of quarters at a laundromat where the machines are all really large magnets that suck the change out of your pockets

I’m spent, like a worn single taka bill- limp, deteriorating and torn from age.

I'm spent like a dollar in a dollar store.

I'm spent. Like a fiver thrust into a stripper's G-String.

I'm spent like a deflated balloon

I'm spent like a dollar at the fair.

I'm spent like a dirty dollar bill.

I'm spent like a Lincoln cent. (Hey, it rhymes!)

I'm spent like a SSI check on bingo night!

And I'm spent like a dollar. alright, good effort.

I'm spent like a used condom. (click link to read graphic description.)

I'm spent like a two dollar bill when I step out of my car onto the wet grass. (I don't know if the latter half about the grass is part of the simile, but I can imagine that stepping on to wet grass induces thoughts of spending all available two dollar bills.)

i'm spent like a dime right about now trying to get the last pan of chili heated for the hot dogs for the evening students (again, I'm not sure that the pan of chili bit is intended to be part of the simile, but I'd bet that a dime who is frantically preparing the chili dogs would be pretty spent!)

I'm spent like a heroine in a cheap romance novel

i'm spent like a mofo after a long night

I'm spent like a silver dollar, HOLLERRR!!

I'm spent like a coupon at a discount grocery store.

I'm spent like a 2 dollar whore

I'm spent like a 2 dollar bill in a titty bar

I particularly am interested in this poem, entitled "I'm Spent" by April L. Mahoney who writes;

I'm spent
"Like my favorite wool jacket rolled up into lint
Like a spouse acting like a pimp
Like that clown that can't take a hint
Butane lighter with no flint"

Did I Feed Cat?

I received a what-I-thought-to-be SPAM email in my inbox this morning whose subject line read: Did you feed cat? from a concerned emailer, Scoh Gowj.

Dismissing it as irrelevant, I sent the message to my trash. However, the more I thought about it, the more I began to question whether or not I actually fed cat. I mean, I woke up this morning, as was tradition, to my alarm. I mechanically walked to the bathroom and, like any agent of monotony, I showered, brushed my teeth and clothed. But did I actually feed cat? I can't recall. Moving along my morning routine with the gears and sprockets of habit, I realized that I couldn't recall If I fed cat or not.

Well, obviously, I don't own a cat. That's sure as rain in May. But what if the only reason that I don't own a cat is because I did not feed said cat? I am haunted that this may be a probable scenario.

I can't help worrying; tormenting my mind over the doubt I have about feeding cat. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure that I didn't feed cat. I am perturbed. I picture a sad cat out there who is horribly hungry. I picture this same cat forced into unhealthy environments and dangerous situations simply because of my recklessness and due to no fault of its own. Did I feed cat? I don't know, and I am scared!