Anyone who's taken elementary school Spanish knows the verb esperar is interchangeable, meaning both "to wait" and "to hope."

God, that's fucking genius, isn't it? My housing nightmare drags on, and with every fucking day esperar makes more and more sense. Waiting and hoping - one in the same.

Friday night one of my "coworkers" (I put in quotes because to be a coworker, that would actually require that I "work") invited me to a party thrown at the penthouse of a Reuters correspondent. ... They're doing OK at Reuters, and I think it's primarily because they get paid in dollars instead of Bolivares, the local currency.

Anyways, the party helped take my mind off of things, as did the vast amounts of sangria and cuba libres ... when I'm buzzed suddenly I'm a native speaker.

So basically, my solution to this whole Spanish conundrum is to stay drunk at all times. Your thoughts?

Look, the Venezuelans have a subtle, distinct accent. It's called: "We're gonna swallow and slur and mumble every single word while simultaneously speaking three times as fast as everyone else except for the Cubans so that you'll have no fucking clue what we just said." And I know - my Spanish is rusty, but still - Jesus Christ, it's like everyone's on cocaine down here. Actually...


Editor's note: Mom stop reading here.


I just learned that Saturday morning, another one of my co-workers was robbed at gunpoint on a bus, with about 20 other passengers.

Not just "a" bus, thee bus I would take, were I traveling from where I'm staying to the AP office.


Editor's note: Mom you better not be reading this...


And it's either that or take the metro, which is a dicey four-block walk to and from the office. The office in the building of the opposition-leaning paper, just to be clear.


Editor's note: Dad, is she reading this?

Speaking of the office, I learned Friday night that we keep bullet proof vests and gasmasks here, and that everyone's been instructed in how to use them. ...I would sincerely appreciate a tutorial.

Editor's note: Mom I guess you can start reading now...but none of it's really good news.

Saturday night I holed up in my limbo-apartment, complete with Direct TV. The place is in the "nice part of town," i.e., where the rich live behind the protection of 24-hour security, electrified fences, and motion sensors. Every night, the sensors from neighboring apartments chirp like a flock of birds at dawn. It's a grave reminder of the state of things here.

Anyhow, I watched, of all things, Clear and Present Danger - appreciating the scene where the FBI motorcade gets blown up in Bogota and everyone except Harrison Ford dies. It was also a trip to watch the scenes at the Pablo Escobar-esque cartel king's compound with the armed guards on the perimeter wall, while simultaneously I could hear the motion sensors for my apartment outside.

Kansas:

Admission to statehood: January 29, 1861
Population: 2,688,418; 32nd
Area: 82282 sq.mi, 15th Land 81823 sq. mi., 13th Water 459 sq.mi., 43rd
State bird: Western Meadowlark
State flower: Sunflower
Highest Point: Mt. Sunflower; 4039 feet, 28th
Largest Cities: Wichita Overland Park Kansas City Topeka Olathe Lawrence Shawnee Salina Manhattan Hutchinson

Well, one thing is certain.

We're not in Kansas anymore.


And this just in from the Department of Too Much Information: My stomach and I seem to be having a serious disagreement, similar to that of my good friend Hugh S. Moore, currently in India or wherever the fuck.

And speaking of India or wherever the fuck, it's like Stonito tells us live via satellite from Delhi: We've got a long few months ahead of us.

Esperaremos