The Run...

The day after my birthday I decided to do something I hate doing. Running. I cannot see the fun in releasing so much energy without a specific purpose like in a sport. 9:00 I left my house for the beach. The body, I think likes to play a joke on my brain sometimes. Then part way though realizes what a bad joke it is playing. The legs try to move but they feel heavy, the throat breathes in and out flem instead of oxygen, and no matter how fast I try to run it will be slower than an old lady with a walking cane. I ran for what felt like 30 minutes to get to my destination. If I was at all confused about the season or temperature of the water, taking a nice look at the naked beach quickly informed me. Without a sole on the beach but me, I was able to walk around shirtless without having self conscience feelings overwhelm me. After a quick stretch my ego told me I could reach the next beach which was only about 10 minutes away. “Eye Of The Tiger” came on and I was off in a slow hurry. I am not quite sure what is so special about a tiger eye. Is it different then a lion eye or house cat eye? But if rocky can get beaten to a pulp and still come out on top, then I too can run my body to a pulp. Ten minutes later I was at a beach area shared with two other fishermen. As I got their I was greeted by one man with him whipping out and peeing in my direction. I was going to reciprocate the gesture, but I thought he might have just had to drain himself. I sat on the beach and stretched a bit deeper and longer. Half an hour passed of me getting the overwhelming foreboding terror that awaited me. The Return Run.

It wasn’t so much a struggle this time around. My body learned its lesson not to play jokes on itself. I got back safe and sound at around 11 during the morning and felt great. I figured I ran about 8 miles total that day. For those who want to try to run a marathon without practicing, don’t do it. I know what I ran wasn’t a marathon, but it wasn’t around the block twice either. The rest of the day I was completely drained of energy. This leads me to my next chapter…The Fever…

Moral of the story, if you talk to a mirror, you are still talking to yourself.

B-Day?

The day has finally arrived. The anniversary of my mother telling my dad NO MORE CHILDREN! A quarter of a century ago I was hanging out breathing a watery substance when I was told by my mother and doctors I couldn’t loiter any longer. Born as an obese baby with nearly 0 muscle, there was no way I was gonna attract the other babies in the hospital. Fast forward 25 years and here we are, Mr. Brian Halbach in Bosa Sardinia doing alright. As much as it is suppose to be a day of appreciation for me being born, it is more a thank you to those who made me. Luckily for me, the town of Bosa held a party in my honor and called it carnival. The day started out great with sunshine and smiles. We did some work outside and got our fair share of vitamin D. Lunch was tasty and so was dinner. Silvia made a cake that was just to die for. It was time for craziness and excitement, or so I thought. Silvia took me to her friend Lelo and Maria’s house for some pre wine partying. Our next door neighbors were also there with their ten year old son. We were welcomed with open arms and kisses on the cheeks. Not the kind of cheeks that dogs kiss when they greet each other though. We sat down and the drinks and conversations were flowing with the excitement of the Mississippi river. If you do not understand this reference then ride the Mississippi and try not to fall asleep. For nearly 2 hours the Italian adults talked among themselves in their native language. You know how people often say “I wish I were a fly on the wall for that”, well I got to be a fly without the wings and sticky 6 legs. Not as much fun as you might think it would be. The funniest part was the son was drawing anything he could see and was looking for his next subject. His parents willingly offered me to his artistic eye. I thought why not, I haven’t moved for 1 hour, might as well stay like this and get a ten year old to tell me which facial characteristics stick out the most. 45 minutes later there is a picture of me with a droopy eye, big ears, and super weak arms. The picture is actually much better then I let on. I will try to post it at some point.

Midnight was reached and it was time to go see the rest of Bosa. We walked through the town in the bitter cold. The streets were packed with thousands of people dressed in crazy crazy outfits. Unlike American Halloween, sluttiness and pop culture isn’t the key ingredient to costume cooking. We walked around and found the block party where a DJ had the crowd bouncing. Silvia and I stood in the back kind of dancing and checking out the crowd. People came up to her that she knew and got lost in conversation. I figured this was my perfect chance to get away and get some good ole fashion dancing in. I squeezed my way into the crowd and tried to start moving. A crowd is like an undertow, you fight it and you will get tired and die. I let the people push me to and fro until I was near the stage. After a little dancing on my own it was time to go to sleep. At my age you just can’t stay up all night like you can when you are 24.

Moral of the story, be glad you don’t remember your birth, it would probably traumatize you.

Not today...

Though this does count as a blog post, I am not actualy posting what i want. Last night I got a feverand measured it o be 38.6 degrees f. 36 is normal, so if I tke about 3 and double it and add 32 the 98.6 then I have a fever of 136.8 degrees f. That cant be right...Either way i am boiling inside my head. I would usually write something clever and catchy but i get lost mid.........thought. Be prepared, there wil be a flurry on eir way as soon as my eyes dont fel like they are going to pop out of my head.

Moral of the story, dont get sick...

Carnivale

I prepared you for carnivale, but it was I who was not prepare for the festivities. All week the pot has been boiling with excitement throughout the town as tourist slowly amass. Thursday was finally the day the town burst out with its glorious beginning to this year’s carnival. At ten in the morning festivities began with a town parade. It was quite an arrangement of themes that trampled down the town’s cobble stone streets. Every child in town that is old enough for school was in the parade with their class dressed in some kind of costume that matched a certain theme I can only imagine the teacher had selfishly picked. Where is the democracy among 1^st graders? Lady bugs, Marry Poppins, mice and rats, world ethnicities, royal families. These were among just a few of the many different themes shown. A couple rouge paraders had some pretty clever outfits. My two favorite were Berlusconi and his mistress and the town mayor being protected by a fake security guy(funny because no one was trying to get close to the mayor). Each of the classes created a float that was hauled by a vehicle. Inside the vehicles were usually 2 men that were doing a social service to Bosa. Once in a while the truck would stop and they would hand out little cups of wine to whomever stepped up to bat. Of course they took a few shots for themselves. There is nothing like a drinking driver and a drinking back seat driver among a completely packed crowd. Nothing can go wrong in this scenario. I guess nothing can go wrong because this is a yearly occurrence. Enough practice drunk driving and you have to be good at it, right?

The next night got a whole lot weirder for me. After working that day, we went down to the main square around five at night and stood our ground. Quickly crowds gathered as if gravity had shifted to my body. People were hovering all around me with anxious eyes. A part was wondering if the Bosa people had thought I was gonna give them a show as the new comer in town. Luckily just as I was about to fart the alphabet the show started. “Show” doesn’t do justice to what I saw. There were five or six different groups of dressed characters playing roles and creating a spectacle. The first was a group of guards and flag throwers making nice sounds and aesthetic acrobatic throws with their flags. The rest of the “show” was different men dressed as sheep, goats, herders, boars and maids acting out different parts of an old story that represents what carnivale really is. The costumes were just so intricate and wonderful that you can tell that this carnival really means something to this town. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Moral of the story, if you cant wait, then go to sleep.

And So On...

Throughout my time spent in Bosa and abroad in general, I hope to be introduced to new fun activities. The aforementioned bucket list will be amended time and time again. Maybe by listing them to the public at large, others might be inspired as I am to give it the old college effort. Today’s amendment was introduced to me a couple weeks ago but never was thought of again. As I was doing birthday shopping with Silvia and Nahima for her little friends party, the cute girl behind the counter asked me in good English, “have you ever surfed before?” Taken back that someone in this town spoke English, I blurted out gibberish, but turns out I said yes through the sounds I made. She then told me that she there is a kite surfing school there during the summer that I could attend. At this point I was getting over the shock of speaking to a local and was able to comprehend what she was saying. Lets analyze what her offer was. She wants to take me to a school to learn how to use a kite. I love kites. Who doesn’t? Not very good at it, but am willing to learn. She also wants to teach me how to surf. Sure I am pretty pro at it since I have done it a grand total of 3 times in my life, but a little de-rusting couldn’t hurt. Now combine them. This sounds like a multi tasker’s dream. I get to stand on a board surfing and flying a kite? Well, miss shop keeper, challenge excepted and one more bucket list item to add and check off. Shakira will not be able to resist me.

Moral of the story, rapping isn’t for all of us, neither is wrapping…

Keelin Over

Today I started to create my bucket list. I do not believe there should be a certain age to figure out things you want to do before the ticker stops ticking. I like to think of it as my grocery list for life. A few tomatoes with a loaf of parachuting would make a great life salad. So far I have only thought of a few things that have made it. 1^st of all I want to make an instructional video on how to move hips like Shakira. This would then introduce me to Shakira and thus making me her husband. A more realistic activity on the list is to do actual rock climbing. I have done wall climbing and struggled terribly at it. Turns out german farm boys weren’t taught climbing technique when throwing hay bales around. But I want to go out into the wilderness and really have some fun in nature. The other activity that was introduced to me today was slack lining. For those of you who do not know what slack lining is, it is taking 2 elevated points and connecting a rope to them. The game is not to see if you connect the ropes to the points, but to walk across it. During my tenure at the U of A I saw slack lining done on a regular basis as I walked to my car. This is an account of what went through my mind whenever I saw someone taking part. “Barney would not survive in the Jurassic era…Oh its them again. Only hippies do that silly sport. I bet they smell like hippies. YES, it looks like he is about to fall…FALL. Dang it, he made it.” But then deep in my gut all I wanted to do was go over there like a 5 year old and say “MY TURN MY TURN!”. It was today that my perception of the entire hippie sport world was colored in gold. Michael bought a magazine about slack lining at the market. I was trying to comprehend the Italian articles, but it was useless, the pictures appealed to all ADD that I had in me. Men and women walking on ropes across beautiful canyons smiling. Which the smiling affect is unfair. Nearly anyone can get me to want what they are selling with the smiling affect. Someone smiling while being amputated. They are having fun, sign me up, how many limbs can I get rid of. Well, seeing these gleeful people doing this activity instant made me realize I now have something to do with Shakira.

Moral of the story, when it rains, it pours, either way a pancho will keep you dry.

Its Raining Right Now

I forgot exactly what it is like to play by ever changing rules as you go along. When we are 8 to 12 we realize how games should be played. We also know that every game we play we should win at. Naturally as a youth we bend and add rules. You can almost win by default by confusing the opposition with these rules. A rule can transform from “you have to throw it with your hand” to “you have to throw it with your bad hand”. Then it is eventually turned into “you have to throw the ball on fire out of your nose near a starved lion”. Then at age 12 all creativity is lost and for some reason growing up means reading the directions. Well I happen to fall into the rabbit hole of an 8 year olds imagination. Mind you, this all occurs with limited communication. Little Nahima asked me “gioci volleyball?” which loosely translated is “get yo ass outside to play volleyball!”. What she had set up was 2 squares composed of bamboo sticks side by side similar to a volleyball court but shrunk down to about 15% of its size. Now when you think of volleyball, there are usually two things you think of; a ball and a barrier. Rubber orange ball, check. Barrier…ummm…the barrier she had set up was not even as tall as the 3 inch grass plot we were playing on. My initial reaction was ahhhhhh yeah spike city on this girl. Before I left Tucson I was perfecting my volleyball skills at my old high school. LETS DO THIS! I had forgot that the rules had yet been explained. I pushed it up in the air and she spiked it back to me over the nonexistent barrier. 1 point her. Touché Nai, we are playing hard ball huh? She served this time. She threw it up to herself and spiked it right into my square. 1 point Nai. Ahh playing dirty, I can do that. My turn…I throw it up and spike it hard at the ground by her feet. Dirt clouds filled the air and thunder boomed the valley. 1 point for me, right? Nope, turns out as the ball was in the air, Nahima had entered in the rule book “people named Brian must serve up cup cake balls every time”. I give her a cup cake shot but just out of reach of a good hit back. She used all her might and hit it out of both of the squares nearly to the other side of Bosa. 1 point Brian. Nope, if it goes out of the squares, no one gets a point. You can make your rules little girl, but I will use wisdom. Found out wisdom has no match against 8 year olds. I got right on the line and as she tried to spike my feet I hit the ball out of bounds just like she had before. 1 point Nia. What, WHAT??? Now I know how Mike Tyson felt when he bit the guys ear off. This went on until someone got 30 points. The last rule on the list is “Nahima wins”.