Ewoks

Don’t underestimate the Ewoks. Those tiny, furry, aliens were the target of much derision after Return of the Jedi, which is unfair. The Ewoks saved that movie. The Emperor saw right through the Rebel Alliance’s plan; he anticipated their every move. The only thing he didn’t plan for were the Ewoks. If it hadn’t been for them, Luke would be evil, the Rebels would have been crushed, and the Empire would have ruled for 1,000 years. And some of you have the gall to laugh at them.

In Star Wars: Battle Front 2, players have the option to use the “Hunt” game mode. This mode pits you and your computer allies against the indigenous population of whatever planet you choose. My friend and I, at around 5:00am decided to indulge our diabolical nature and kill us some Ewoks.

We started out confident. Our storm trooper avatars strode manfully into the forest, ready to unleash the slaughter. I laughed at my friend for over reacting when he threw a grenade. But, slowly, respawn by respawn, we realized something was wrong. Ewoks are small. Ewoks are camouflaged. Ewoks are fast. We ended up huddled around our last command post as the forest around us poured on withering laser fire. At the last moment my companion respawned as Darth Vader, and I remember watching him swinging his light saber, surrounded by a crowd of gleeful hirsute aliens as the “DEFEAT” message came on screen in a dark, humiliating, red.

I guess we should have made more of an effort for the hearts and minds of Endor.

RIP Paul T.

Some ruffians were letting off fireworks in the parking lot outside Paul's town house the other night....Also a mysterious figure in a green cloak was prowling the grounds. If you have any information relating to either incident, please contact me.

The DC Metro

Descending into a Washington, DC metro station is an arresting experience. A steeply inclined escalator inexorably carries passengers down, what feels like several stories, into the bowels of the earth through a large concrete tunnel. Visually, the experience is dominated by perspective. Every thing worth talking about is constructed of parallel lines, the wiring on the walls, the sequence of lights, the rubber belts that power the escalator. All these things converge at a single point, down beneath you. It simultaneously inspires vertigo and claustrophobia.

A New Start

I have decided to re-start my blog. It fell into disrepair after I returned from Paraguay, but I have decided that life at Princeton is just as bizarre as life in the jungles of Canindeyu. Of course, the name is a bit of a misnomer now; I sold my bike in June of 2007 for 800 dollars when I moved back to America. But I really miss it, and I feel that the name is appropriately nostalgic.

Butterflies

Large flocks of tiny yellow butterflies have occupied sections of the road in between here and Mbaracayu. They huddle together, in what looks from afar like a yellow spot on the road, about the size of a shoe. When I get near them they fly up suddenly in a colorful little whirlwind, diving for my face and eyes like uncannily accurate little yellow kamikaze pilots. (Reading over this I realize there are a couple ways the phrase ‘little yellow kamikaze pilots’ could be interpreted).

Welcome to the Jungle

I saw a giant, hairy spider crossing the road one day as I was slowing down to try and navigate a muddy patch. It was the kind that is so big that one is reluctant to step on it, because it’s not certain whether that would kill it or just make it mad. Naturally I ran it over on principle, but that doesn’t make me feel any better: what if there are more? On the same ride I caught a glimpse of snake slithering away into the underbrush. With such a huge beautiful sky over head, and the long picturesque jungle views, it’s easy to forget just how many truly gross little creatures live out here.

Arrival

Curuguaty is where the asphalt gives way to dust. About 20 kilometers more and the large fields give way to unkempt individual plots surrounding single-family wooden huts. Ten more kilometers and all one can see are low rolling hills covered in verdant tropical forests. Another ten kilometers and, on top of one of these hills, one finds Villa Ygatimi.
(Just ‘Villa’ for short. I know calling it that sounds like a pretension of a foreigner trying to sound like a local, but in the local language ‘Y’ is an irritating guttural sound).
The main road would be about wide enough to allow two cars to pass each other in the opposite direction, but since there has never been much of a call for that, and since it is impossible to paint lane divisions on sand, the two lane system devolved long ago into a one, rather wide, lane, which is also a sidewalk, depending on traffic, system. The sides of the road are occupied by corner shops, butchers, a gas station, a few tiny motor bike workshops and two stores that call themselves ‘Supermercados,’ which should never be confused with actual supermarkets. Since Villa is on a hill, there are huge, graceful topical vistas to be seen just around the buildings of main street.
One or two blocks out from the main road are houses with mowed lawns and maybe the occasional satellite dish, the high school, another gas station, and a beauty salon.
After that there is nothing. One day I picked a random road that was perpendicular to the main street and started walking. After three blocks I found myself surrounded by waist high grass, banana plants and trees, the road having half heartedly petered out.