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Aug 10

A Mexican Odyssey


(Originally published 11/11/10)

People told me not to go to Mexico for vacation. “Don’t go to Mexico for vacation,” they said. “The country has seen a huge spike in violence over drug cartels. Now even Americans have been targeted and killed, and if that’s not bad enough, the water tastes funny.”

My friends and family seemed adamant, but I still wasn’t sure what to think, so I turned to the source I trusted most: the Internet. It explained that Mexico was crazy dangerous right now, riddled with gangsters and crooked cops, and a CNN.com report told me that if I went to Mexico, I likely would come back without a head. I agreed that this was probably the case, but there was a $100 trip cancellation fee, so off I went.

When I arrived at the Cancun Airport, I was on high alert for suspicious characters, and oh boy, were there a lot of them. It seemed like every person I walked past looked at me and said, “Buenos dias!” which translates, roughly, to “I have a weapon!” I made sure to avoid eye contact and completely ignore them, because it’s never safe to assume that people from other countries are as tolerant and accepting as Americans like me.

My hotel arranged a ride from the airport. The driver was the quiet, suspicious type who smiles and asks how your flight went. He took me to my resort, and I was so relieved that he didn’t rob me that I tipped him with all the cash in my wallet.

The hotel was actually quite nice –it was right on the beach and boasted many of the luxuries I’ve come to expect from fancy American hotels, like mini shampoos. I wanted to hit the beach right away, so I slapped on SPF 50 sun block (I had read that after people, UV-rays is Mexico’s most dangerous killer) and sprawled out on the sand for some much-needed R&R. It’s kind of tough to have a vacation, though, where your primary goals are to relax and not get murdered.

Luckily, I soon discovered that reports of Mexico being hazardous and inhospitable are exaggerated and inaccurate. The hotel staff, for instance, was incredibly welcoming and friendly. One day at the beach, the hotel bartender approached and gave me a drink in a hollowed out coconut. At first I was wary. What was this mysterious coconut concoction? Was it dangerous? The wooden tip on the stem of that novelty mini-umbrella looked awfully sharp. I took a hesitant sip, only because I thought if I didn’t the man might attack me, and my only protection was a pair of trendy sunglasses. You can imagine my excitement when I discovered that this drink was A) delicious and B) rum-based. I proceeded to suckle it down with alarming focus and efficiency.

Everyone bent over backwards to make me feel comfortable, which I appreciated. The hotel staff, bless their hearts, would make an effort to speak English to me. In return, I would speak Spanish to them. I didn’t have to, but I’m a college-educated American and felt responsible to lead by example and be a good ambassador for my country.

“Mr. Kester, we have a policy at the hotel that you must wear a shirt and shoes in our restaurant. Also, we tend to recommend a three drink limit, so perhaps you should put down that coconut.”

“No problemo!”

Aug 10

An Open Letter to the Woman Standing in Front of Me in Line at the Grocery Store

Dear Madam,

My name is Eric Kester, and I had the great misfortune of standing behind you in line at the supermarket. It may come as a surprise to you that I exist, as your leisurely pace and blatant disregard for those in line suggests you believe you are the only person living in this world. I was very much present, however, and I would be remiss to not point out several of your actions that provoked a range of unpleasant emotions from those behind you, from twinges of impatience to thoughts of suicide.

There were several factors that contributed to your unbearably slow checkout process, but perhaps the most influential was the sheer number of items in your cart. You purchased enough groceries to feed a small army*, though I assure you there are precious few instances in life that require 54 packs of string cheese. Maybe you have many children to feed, as suggested by your tired, sunken eyes and the industrial-sized packs of diapers in your cart. But I’ve noticed your preference for discounted frozen burritos, and I have to wonder if those receptacles aren’t actually for you. Regardless of your personal situation, it would have been nice if you recognized that I had only 11 items to your 262 and allowed me to step ahead of you –a common courtesy for a lowly bachelor who’s just trying to get by in a cruel world governed by 10 items or less.

*If you are, in fact, an army general acquiring rations for her troops, please accept my apology and disregard this letter.

The most egregious moment of your checkout process occurred just as the clerk was scanning your last remaining items. In an apparent epiphany, you suddenly realized that you neglected to pick up a third box of Teddy Grahams. You declared that you had to go back and procure this item, implying with the urgency of your voice that failure to do so would yield cataclysmic consequences. You then forced the entire line to wait as you waddled back into the aisles to pick up another box –a move that was, to be perfectly frank, complete bullshit. One would think that since you already acquired two boxes of crackers you would know exactly where to go for a third, but your journey took so long that some of us in line would have started to worry about your safety, had we not hated you.

My final complaint about your checkout behavior regards your actions after all your items were finally scanned. While most people would have utilized the time they stood in line to take out their wallets and prepare a method of payment, you seemed caught off guard when the clerk announced your total, as if it never occurred to you that this mountain of food might actually cost something. You stood agape a moment before opening your purse, digging through that dark chasm like an amateur archaeologist hunting for ancient treasure. You found many things –lipstick, a tampon, another box of Teddy Grahams –but you couldn’t seem to recover any form of American currency. It was a transcendent moment when you finally discovered your credit card –a miracle I would have been happier about, if I wasn’t busy suppressing murderous intentions.

I wasn’t altogether surprised when you couldn’t figure out how to use the self-swipe credit card machine. Typically I would be astounded at anyone who had difficulty operating such a simple and increasingly prevalent piece of technology, but during our extended time together I had concluded that you had the approximate I.Q of a beach ball. After the credit card machine humbled your intelligence, you pulled out your checkbook, but of course you did not have a pen.

Maybe at this point you’ll remember me –I was the guy who offered you a pen. In fact I gave you the very pen I used to write this letter, which I composed, edited, and redrafted while waiting in line behind you.

Aug 10

It’s Like, The Most Important Word Ever

The cluster of freckles lightly powdering her cheeks made me hyper-aware of the gaggle of zits spattered across mine. So, subscribing to the theory that Amanda couldn’t see my face if I couldn’t see hers, I spent the majority of our conversation speaking to my shoelaces. Dirty and frayed and Nike, they were as loosely tied as the awkward connection of sentences spilling from my mouth. I knew what I wanted to say to my 12-year-old crush, but actually getting there was a major pain in the ass.

I knew that Amanda liked me; that much I surmised after my super stealth mission on AOL the week before. Employing a trick I had used on girls in the past, I IM’d Amanda using my alternative screen name. She THOUGHT she was talking to Kevin, a mysterious new boy who just moved to town from Idaho, but she was REALLY talking to Eric A. Kester, that sneaky genius! Read more

Aug 10

The iPhone 4 and Me: A Review

(Originally published 7/16/10)

I’ve had an iPhone 3G for a couple years. I had a great run with that phone, but while watching the big iPhone 4 press conference this spring, something strange happened. I looked deep into Steve Jobs’ eyes, blacked out for about 15 minutes, and by the time I came to my senses, I had a confirmation email from Apple congratulating me on preordering the iPhone 4. It was time to move up in my life (for a guy living at home with his parents, such moments are hard to come by) and man, am I glad that I did.

Let’s start with one of the biggest upgrades in this iPhone iteration, one that Apple has really been emphasizing: The iPhone 4 is an entire 3.5 millimeters thinner than the old models. This is a BIG DEAL. Finally, I no longer have to wear cargo pants every time I want to fit my iPhone into my pocket! Sure, it may not sound like a big difference, but I can’t tell you how many times I thought “Man, if only my iPhone 3G were three and a half millimeters thinner, I could fit this gum wrapper into my overstuffed pocket.” Instead the wrapper would just end up on the ground as litter. As you can see, the iPhone 4 will save the planet.

There are also major improvements to the iPhone’s operating system. “Multitasking” is now possible, allowing you to use your nifty apps simultaneously. It’s about time I can use Google maps while texting while driving! And now there’s an easier way to organize all your apps more efficiently: folders. This genius design trick, which Apple cleverly borrowed from every computer ever made from 1987 onward, allows you to arrange your app icons into specifically marked folders. Put your “Pandora Radio,” “Sirius XM,” and “Shazaam” apps into a folder marked “Music.” Toss your “Enormous Boobs,” “Boob Party” and “Boob Party Lite” apps into a folder labeled “Lonely.” It’s great!

Wait, those last two features are available to old iPhones through a simple software update? Shit.

Maybe the best part of the iPhone 4 is the improved display. The screen utilizes a new technology called “Retina Display”, which adds four times the number of pixels, yielding a much sharper image. According to Apple, there are actually more pixels than the human eye can even detect. So if someone’s eyes aren’t refined enough, there’s a chance they won’t even see that you called them an asshole in your last text message.

The enhanced screen is complimented by an upgraded camera system. There is now a flash, which is supposed to be a good thing, but I assure you it is not. Everyone knows the best part of having a camera-phone is taking stealth pictures of awkward people doing embarrassing things, then sending these images to your friends. The old “look like I’m sending a text message when really I’m taking a several pictures of that weirdo” trick. But now with the flash it’s like, “Hey! I’m taking a picture of you, obese man struggling to get on a bicycle!”

In addition to the regular camera, there’s also a new front-facing camera. This camera is used in the new “FaceTime” feauture, where you can do live video chat with someone through your phone. Here’s an example of what you would see if you had the misfortune of FaceTiming with me:

Notice the incredible quality of the HD camera, how it really does a good job exposing every last imperfection on my face. FaceTime is cool, but not as practical as you would think. Holding the iPhone up while you talk gets pretty tough, as your outstretched arm begins to burn in 1 to 3 minutes, depending on how often you do Olympic shoulder circuits. The most comfortable and natural way to use FaceTime is to hold the iPhone down by your lap and talk. Most people do it this way, but I’m not sure it’s the most flattering of angles. You be the judge:

Overall, the iPhone 4 is a tremendous piece of techonology. It even comes in white, for all you contrarians who would love to go against the establishment by getting a different color of a phone that 50 million people already own. So I would recommend the iPhone 4 to literally everyone I know. Sure, there’s that small, minor, totally insignificant problem where you lose reception when you do certain stuff like holding it in your hand, but really, who uses a cell phone to make calls and check emails, anyway?

Aug 10

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Open My Third Eye

(Originally published 6/18/10)

Despite hearing nothing but good things about it, I have always avoided yoga because I assumed it was a purely feminine activity. “Yoga is not emasculating at all,” one female friend told me, before adding, “Oprah highly recommends it!” Despite this endorsement I was still skeptical of the whole thing. I mean, any exercise that is supplemented by scented candles couldn’t be very manly. But noticing that bending over to tie my shoe was slowly becoming an arduous task, I decided to give this trendy exercise routine a try.

I grew very concerned when I showed up to the yoga studio and discovered that everyone in today’s class received a complimentary coupon for Nuva Ring birth control. It also didn’t help that I was the only male in the entire class, at least until a guy named Timothy arrived and said “Good A.M gals!” before unrolling his hot pink yoga mat. Still, I think the women in my class were impressed with my courage. It takes some balls to throw on spandex and contort your body into shapes I would never want my parents to see me in.

The routine started off super easy. We just sat there with our eyes closed in a crossed-legged pose, which is about the most natural position in the world for a guy raised by Nintendo. But then it started to get weird. I was instructed to open my Third Eye, which seemed like an action that would require an advanced understanding of Hindu philosophy, or at least a copious amount of drugs. We then progressed into some supposed “beginner” postures, including the Warrior II, the Plough, the Downward Facing Dog, and several other positions that probably were better suited for a pornographic movie than an exercise room.

I was a little disappointed that I, a former college athlete, had serious difficulty holding poses that the 6-months pregnant woman in my class did with ease. There were some postures that I was able to pull off, specifically the ones that involved drinking from my water bottle, but overall it was a struggle that involved a lot of grunting, a lot of humbling. Like sometimes I would get physically stuck in a posture that almost required the Jaws of Life to release me. Noticing my struggles, our instructor offered a friendly suggestion to the group, “If you’re having trouble with any of these positions, feel free to skip them and go into the ‘Delicate Baby Fetal’ position.” That made me feel better about myself.

When I finally did pull off The Standing Tree pose, our instructor kindly shouted, “Way to go, Eric!”, in a tone of voice like I was some toddler who just pooped in the big-boy toilet for the first time. It was only a minor triumph, but enough to get me through the following three days, in which I was too sore to bend down to tie my shoe.

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