Monday, May 21, 2012


Dear Family,
          Greetings from Boston, "where the weather is almost as poor as people's sense of style." Boston has a proud Irish heritage. For nearly one hundred fifty years Boston has been a place of refuge for one of the most persecuted people ever to make it across the Atlantic. Bostonians are proud of this heritage. Catholic churches litter the city. Pubs are found on every block. Even Boston's basketball team is named the Celtics. Indeed, the apple that is Boston does not fall far from the Irish tree.
          Perhaps the greatest thing that Bostonians and the Irish have in common is that the citizens of both areas have no idea how to dress. That was one of the first things that I noticed when I reached Ireland. Everyone in that country had a polo shirt that looked like it came straight off the racks at Salvation Army, coupled with a pair of tattered jeans. It was not the prettiest of sights. I am glad that people don't dress like this in most of the states.
          Relief from fashion faux pas did not come to me when I returned from Ireland and reached the shores of America. Boston has been rather unkind to me in that sense. I got on the T and immediately felt like I was back in Ireland. The same exact outfits were worn. I have hope that Utah will be better to me, but who knows, maybe I've missed the start of a terrible craze.
          Although I may dress well (some, like my editor, would say very well), I have little room to talk about trying to save money. Saving money has become an addiction for me on this trip. I just hate spending money especially when I feel like it is not my own money to spend. This disorder has caused me to do a great number of stupid things, e.g. missing an opportunity to look at the inside of Westminster Abbey and not viewing Paris from atop the Arc Du Triumph.
          I must admit, missing the Arc Du Triumph and Westminster Abbey pales in comparison to what I did today. As you are well aware from previous emails, I have also become an advocate of going on free tours of cities. I just love it. So much so that I googled free tours of Boston and saw that there was a freedom trial tour that was going to start this afternoon at 2:00. So I rode the T into the city, ate lunch with Johnny Palmer and then tried to find this so-called "free tour." Unfortunately for me, I was unable to locate the tour this afternoon. However, when I am on a trip I do not fret; rather, I improvise.

Today was by no means an exception to my improvisation. I looked around Freedom Park for a tour to join. Occasionally, men and women dressed in outfits from the 1700s would lead elementary and middle school students on a tour. Now, since I have graduated from college, I feel more like an adult. And because I feel like an adult, I don't believe that it would be too absurd to believe that I have a kid. I didn't even think it would be that out-of-the-question for me to have a child in eighth grade, so I decided to pose as a father and join a tour of eighth graders.

          For the first two stops of the tour I was pretty confident that no one noticed that I was just a cheap, twenty-three-year-old college graduate, but to be safe I stayed in the back of the pack and tried to hide behind the biggest eighth grader (who happened to be half a foot shorter than me). As the tour progressed, however, the tour guide began to make some strange announcement in a British accent (which he put on in an attempt to make the tour more realistic). "Remember my Yankee school children, this tour is private and for John Hancock Middle School mates only." The man would then look straight at me and I would quickly divert my eyes from his harsh glare in an attempt to remain on the tour. This exchange continued until we reached Paul Revere's grave, when the Redcoat looked straight at me, and said in a perfectly American voice, "leave."
          Well that's pretty much it for me. My trip has been amazing. I have a layover in Phoenix for a couple of hours, and I'm gonna try to use my charm to see if one of the people at the gates will allow me to postpone my flight until later so that I can catch the Dodgers and Diamondbacks at Chase Field. #pipedream
I love you all and thanks for being my audience.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

A Good Irish Fellow

Greetings from Ireland, a.k.a. "the only place where all the stereotypes are true." Throughout the vast world there are numerous stereotypes regarding the Irish that are shared. Most have to do with sobriety, red hair, having a lot of children, and... well nothing else, really. Generally, you cannot bank on every stereotype about a race or group of people as being 100% true. At least that is what I hoped. In regard to the Irish, however, I am beginning to believe that the stereotypes are all true.

As you are aware, two days ago I left to the Emerald City. I took American Airlines as far as it could take me, which was (not surprisingly) not that far. I hopped on board Aer Lingus, which is Ireland's national air company. When I entered the international terminal in Chicago, I headed to the Aer Lingus terminal. As I arrived, I noticed that about half of the passengers had red hair. Upon further examination I noticed that everyone in the waiting area (with the exception of two sweet grandmas in the back and myself) had a beer in their hand. From that moment in time I have seen very few Irish folks without a beer in their hand.

During the day, people here seem remarkably cold. I rode a bus to Galway (the town where my friend Ian lives), which is a little more than three hours away from the Dublin Airport. I tried talking to everyone. It was early in the morning. I began by saying hello and each person either gave me an upset response, a shrug of their shoulders, or no response whatsoever.

A little more than an hour into the ride, the bus stopped in downtown Dublin, and a very nice red-headed gentleman by the name of Shane stepped onto the bus and sat next to me. Surprisingly, he said "hello" to me. I, being rather starved for personal interaction at the time, immediately began to chat with him. For the next two hours we talked with one another. He was quite interesting. He hailed from Galway, but was living in Dublin. His parents were Jehovah's Witnesses but he was an atheist (I managed to give him a copy of the Book of Mormon though). After about an hour into the conversation I asked my new friend Shane why he was so warm and bubbly when everyone else around was so bleak and cold. He quickly responded "well that's because everyone else is hung over." I laughed and then asked why he wasn't hung over. I was fully expecting a response such as "well because my parents are Jehovah's Witnesses I have decided not to drink." Instead, Shane looked at me and said, "Well I'm still drunk."

Shane asked me about the United States and their drinking habits. He was flabbergasted by the fact that the police would arrest you for being drunk in public. He also was completely confused as to how I had never tasted the "nectar of life."
Ireland is assuredly is a different place than those I am accustomed to. There really are more pubs than markets in this place. There are more pubs than gas stations. There are more pubs than anything else.

Well y'all, until tomorrow...
Let the whisky flow.

Rojo's European Letters

Well I have returned from Europe. Some would say that I conquered Europe. In fact, most would say that I conquered Europe. I think that I conquered Europe.
My trip was amazing. Unfortunately, I did not have internet access for most of my time there, and was consequently unable to keep you updated on the blog. Luckily I brought a journal with me. Unluckily yet quite expected, I lost my journal. The good news after all of this is that I have a mind like a steel trap and for the following days I will be chronicling my journeys for my readership. I hope that each of you will enjoy my European travails and travels. This blog after all is called "Greetings From."

Well bloggers, enjoy the following letters.


Friday, May 11, 2012

Don't Walk Before You Know

Yeah I walked last semester. It felt pretty good. It was a symbollic gesture of 16 years of hard work. It was a symbolic gesture of transcending the difficulties such as dyslexia, depression, ADHD, and a myriad of other disorders. It was a symbolic gesture of hope. It was a symbolic gesture of peace, for myself and for the world. However, when it really comes down to it, it was simply a symbollic gesture.
I still have one credit to pass before I graduate. So I really haven't graduated yet. This credit can be any single thing. It does not have to be in any certain class. It just has to be one credit. I asked my good friend and editor what I should take and he told me to take two .5 credit classes known as I-SYS 100 (excel) and 101 (powerpoint). I then asked others if I should take this class and each person has told me the same thing, that these classes are the easiest classes you will ever take and you need not worry about passing.
I would just like to use this blog to tell all of the people that told me this that I hate you. I'm in a dog fight. Nothing is more freightening than having your life plan being ruined by two classes that everyone else in the world seems to sleep through and pass. I haven't ever experienced something so stressful in my entire life. With this being stated I ask for all of your prayers in my behalf.
until next time

I'll be going HAM

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Who was I to deny Paris?

    Greetings from Paris France, "the city where you shouldn't fall in love." This place is magnificent. I have never seen a city so well designed in my entire life. Here is a little tid bit for all of you travelers out there. France was actually a dirty disgusting and over crowded city until Napoleon III in 1860 bulldozed the entirity of the city. He did this for two reasons. The first was that it was dirty and disgusting. The second was that revolutions would easily spread in the narrows of the deep dark streets of France. Bulldozing and creating larger streets allowed the French army to easily quell the rebellions that were a staple of nineteenth century parisian life.

     We are all the benefactors from these Napoleon III's revolutionary changes to stop revolutions. Every design in the entire city is beautifully manufactured and crafted. The buildings are well designed and well established. Famous art from Rodon and others surround the entire city. Light simply seems to shimmer off of the buildings and onto the pavement in such a romantic way. It is unlike any other city in the world. 
     One easily could fall victim to cupids arrow in this city. It would not be hard. In fact falling in love was not hard. 
I will say that again... Falling in love was not hard. 
     Yes RoJo has had a fling with in the city of Paris. I booked a ticket to France on Ryan Air earlier this week.  For those of you who don't know what Ryan Air is it can best be described as a cross between a playschool plastic picnic table and a sardine can. I managed to sit next to two guys who were speaking French. However, providence smiled upon me and I was asked to take a seat up front. There a met a girl who was from Boston. 

Could I relate to her? No 
Was anything going to happen with this relationship? No 
Did I find her attractive? kind of  

                        But was this Paris?... Yes
 and who am I to deny Paris? 
I would not allow any petty things such as looks, personality, character get in the way of my experience in Paris. How vain would that be of me?

I just kissed the girl on the banks of the Sane River. To the south of me was the Eiffel Tower. To the north of me was the great cathedral of Notre Dame. I tucked her hair back behind her ears and then went in for the kiss and she accepted.

We then went our separate ways and at that moment I thought she was so hot. The experience of being in France and kissing someone in the most romantic place that the world has to offer tends to rob you of reason. In my mind that woman was as virtuous and as lovely as the Effiel Tower.
Unfortunately I was dumb enough to get her number and take her out the next night.

Well bloggers until next time.

The Romantic Rojo.