There are upsides and downsides to living on a Caribbean island of the coast of Honduras. One of the downsides is having to have your wisdom teeth pulled while living there. One of the upsides is that it is quite cheap to do so (US$ 24), and you get to listen to blasting reggae while they are being pulled out. Yes, the dentist was singing along to "Spanishtown" by Sean Paul who was rapping half in Spanish and half in English, both of which were well nigh on incomprehensible given my drugged state. Some of you may be saying to yourselves, "But Jake, if you can't understand reggae lyrics while in a drugged state, then I seriously doubt you've ever understood them, seeing as you quite often seem to be in such a condition." While you may have a quite valid point, I submit that doped up on vicodan with a mouth full of novacaine whilst a Honduran dentist is simultaneously pulling your teeth and carry on a conversation in Spanish about the weather (which is the same every fucking day, hot and sunny, I don't know why they spend so much time talking about it) may inhibit my translating abilties. It did make for a pleasant change from the usual Lawrence Welkish music most US dentists seem to favor. Why do they play so much Bonnie Tyler or Stevie Wonder anyways? One thing they must teach in dental school is a course on deciphering gargling noises into words. Excerpt follows: Sra Dentista: Hace color eh? Me:mmmph (gagging) arrgh! Sra Dentista: Mucho sol eh? Pero creo que va a lluviar. Me: uuuhhhh, tal vez, no se (gurgling noises). Eventually the top two molars are extracted using the time honored "knee to chest for leverage" method and I straggle out into blinding Caribbean sun. Declining several offers to buy fresh mangos and some wierd big green vegetable I've never seen before I manage to flag down a bus to take me to the dock where I catch a boat taxi to the beach I work at. While waiting for enough people to show up at the dock I happen to run into Julio who is a huge islander drug dealer/mango salesman who has a giant joint that we smoke behind his house. I politely decline his polite but insistent offers of mangos and/or cocaine and head back to the dock whereupon I encounter the girl I was talking to at the bar last friday night who after an hour of conversation about, whatever, I wasn't really paying all that much attention, launched into a 25 minute monologue about her boyfriend, during which I drank 3 beers. Suffering from the social disorders of extreme marijuana intoxication and a mouth full of novacaine, I don't think I made the best impression. Please excuse me while I forget what I am saying mid-sentence while constantly wiping drool off the corners of my mouth. Don't think I'll be using the "what happens on the island, stays on the island" line on this one. Well, gotta run. I've got absolutely nothing to do, but it is hot and sunny, as always, and I want to go lie on the beach and enjoy a frosty beverage (a Sprite I'm afraid, I am on antibiotics and all) and chill out. Ever see those Corona "Change your lattitude" commercials? That's how I'm livin, except that I didn't pay my cellphone bill so I don't have one to throw in the ocean when it starts ringing. Just forget that part and concentrate on the beach and the beer.