Cabarete Diaries, part 2

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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There are some photos here taken by some people that i need to give credit to: Mark Pingleton​, Carol Moore​, and a few others who i simply did not know who took them. Most of the photos, however, i have taken under the influence of Catnip & Caffeine.

[video=youtube_share;jzdFHPyufs4]https://youtu.be/jzdFHPyufs4[/video]
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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There are some photos here taken by some people that deserve some amazing credit to: Mark Pingleton, Carol Moore, Clarke Moore, and a few others who i simply do not know who they are. Most of the photos, however, i have taken under the influence of Catnip & Caffeine.

[video=youtube_share;lI_eCPAIAtc]https://youtu.be/lI_eCPAIAtc[/video]
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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I don't know how many people knew Richard--the previous owner of what today is known as "CrossMasters" motorcycle shop (in Sosua--across from Superpolo, down a dirt road--and behind Trade Winds), but he has passed away from an undiagnosed health issue. No one knows yet exactly what it was that caused his health to take a sudden turn for the worst.

I met Richard about 14 years ago when i first started driving up to the North Coast from Bonao. I had a KTM 450 EXC Supermoto at the time, and Richard was the go-to mechanic for delicate carburetor adjustments and anything requiring fine-tuning.

Richard started importing TM (hand-made) motorcycles from Italy with his friend Stefano Marina​--who is now the current owner of the motorcycle shop. He also imported Honda motorcycles and was a Specialist in all things Honda or TM related.

I spent so much time hanging out at his shop and using his tools that I eventually moved above the motorcycle shop and lived in an apartment for numerous years where i enjoyed numerous sex-free escapades like no where else on the island except for say... Passions Brothel in Sosua, or a busy Cabana in downtown Santo Domingo.

Richard allowed me to use his tools to repair and upkeep my motorcycles. He also welcomed me into his home as if i was family. The man was trustworthy, timely, proficient, fair, German, and a man of his word....and that's more than you can say for a lot of people.

He will be sorely missed.

Frank
 

dv8

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Sep 27, 2006
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frank, please, only DR related posts and videos. you will need to take it to OT if you want to post american moto trips. thanks.
 

frank12

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These photos (except for one) are all taken on the North Coast from Mark Pingleton--who lives in Cabarete--and is a motorcycle enthusiast as well as a scuba diver.

[video=youtube_share;1zhXvbIPaLs]https://youtu.be/1zhXvbIPaLs[/video]
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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Damn, they muted the sound because of Copyright infringement.

I have to see if i can fix that.

Frank
 

frank12

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The crabs weren't Dominicans, that's way -- no Dominican related IOWs.....:confused:

Incorrect. Those crabs are from right here on the north coast.

Mark lives on the north coast and scuba dives out of Sosua. Everyone knows him.

But just to make sure, Pat, tell me the crabs you are referring to---at what time do they show up in the video? Give me the exact time, and i'll ask Mark.

Frank
 

frank12

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All photos are taken on the North Coast by Mark Pingleton. Mark lives in Cabarete, and is a motorcycle enthusiast, professional girl watcher, photographer, and scuba diver.

[video=youtube_share;wGzA-7GS378]https://youtu.be/wGzA-7GS378[/video]
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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Part 2: all photos taken on the North Coast by Mark Pingleton.

[video=youtube_share;0teIPTud0rk]https://youtu.be/0teIPTud0rk[/video]
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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Chapter 437 (Facebook Purgatory)

Hmm, I don’t really know where to start with this confession…Ok, I’m grounded. I’m sitting in the “Time-Out” corner. Facebook has put me here for 3-righteous days to think about my naughtiness.

What did I do to receive a 3-day “Time-Out?” I posted a photo of some topless sunbathers on the North Coast that accompanied a short, but true story about some crazy Russian females.

Here is the strange thing about all of this: I realized that there is massive cultural divide between USA vs Scandinavian morals, values, and tastes.

Let me back up…

In Norway, where I live and work part of the year, you can show nudity in any newspaper, magazines, daytime television show, documentaries, movie, games, etc. Nudity is perfectly acceptable. Nudity is considered healthy. Always has been. What is not considered healthy in Scandinavia, however, is violence. You cannot show any kind of what Americans would consider “Normal” violence. Things like UFC, MMA…and until recently….boxing cannot be shown on public TV. Which is a little ironic because the current world champion of female boxing is a Norwegian girl by the name of Cecilia Braekhus. She holds four belts—WBA WBC, IBF, and WBO World Titles.

Back to nudity…

In Scandinavia, nudity is perfectly acceptable and considered…are you sitting down…Healthy. Violence, however, is bad. Nudity is good. On any given day, in any given restaurant, park, train, caf?, etc. you can find Scandinavian women—hundreds of them—whipping out their breasts and feeding their babies in public. It’s finally becoming more common here in the USA, but it still has a long way to go to match the level of Scandinavia.

When I first moved to Norway, back when I had hair & teeth, it was not uncommon to walk past any public park, beach, etc. on a hot, sunny day, and see girls sunbathing topless. Unfortunately, that has become more and more uncommon over the years, probably due to the influx of refugees who, having never seen topless sunbathers, stop and gawk, and snap photos with their cell phones—which did not exist 24 years ago.

So, as I sit here on my three day Facebook-imposed purgatory, the only lesson I have learned in all of this is that there are two vastly different cultures at war: one is a very liberal thinking, freedom-filled, nudity-filled, counter-culture of highly educated culture and society—where everyone has sovereignty and freedom over their bodies, VS a somewhat conservative, highly offended, conventional, righteous, orthodox, traditional, old-fashioned, rightist…did I miss anything…oh yeah, reactionary culture and society of North America.

Between the two different societies and cultures…one is much more violent and aggressive than the other one. Can you guess which one?

[video=youtube_share;onjaC3A2xjk]https://youtu.be/onjaC3A2xjk[/video]
 

Meemselle

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Oct 27, 2014
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Frank, I agree. It's ludicrous. The bus shelter ads in France would be torn down in a skinny minute in most of the US for being pornographic, but the weird cultural disconnect makes it OK for little kids to play Grand Theft Auto and go to movies that scare the bejaysus out of me. When my kid was a baby, I used to worry all the time about feeding him in public, and wound up buying all these nursing shirts with slits in the sides (made in Norway, BTW) and this weird tenty kind of thing so that sheltered, delicate, easily shocked American males wouldn't have to be insulted by the curve of a breast, doing one of its biological jobs while they were on their way to go see porn movies.
 

frank12

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Sep 6, 2011
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Chapter 441 (ISLA Academy: Reality Check)

I just got the biggest reality check of my life. It was like being bitch slapped across my face. I was like being burnt with cigarette butts across my eyelids. It was like being tortured and maimed. What I just went through must violate every Geneva Convention Law ever conceived against inhumane punishment and torture.

The worst part is this: I knew this day was coming. I knew it! But I thought it was ten or more years away. I thought I would be an old man when this day arrived. I really thought I was prepared for the shock and awe. I also thought I was man enough to handle it. Man, was I wrong.

Let me back up…

There was a parent-teacher conference today at ISLA Academy. As I was driving up to the school, I was in a good mood. I was really looking forward to it. I felt prepared. I had spent a lot of time choosing the right outfit for this meeting.

At first I wasn’t sure what to wear? If you know me, then you already know that I only own three pairs of shorts and four t-shirts. So, choosing the right thing to wear should be fairly easy.

I carefully choose the cleanest pair of shorts I own—a pair of black checkered surf shorts with holes running below the middle of the crotch (hard to detect with the naked eye). Despite the holiness, they’re clean. The holes are a result of continuous chaffing—back and forth—against my broken motorcycle seat.

Having settled on which shorts to wear, I focused my attention on which t-shirt to use. Unfortunately, because it’s the middle of the week, I only possess two clean t-shirts. Which one should I choose? I gave a lot of thought to it. I tried them both on to see which one I looked skinnier in. Neither were much help in hiding rolls of fat. Shame. I could really use a loose fitting shirt right now.

Because it was the very first parent-teacher conference of the year, and hence, the most important one, i needed to make a good impression. No, I needed to make a great impression. I held my t-shirts up closely to my nose, and carefully sniffing them underneath the armpits, gave it the sniff test.

I’m happy to report that they both met my high standards and passed the sniff test with flying colors. Man, was I relieved. In the end, I decided to go with the bright pink -t-shirt, because, as we all know, light colors hide fat better!

I also decided I better hold up my checkered black shorts up to my nose and smell them, because, you never know how many stray dogs are wondering loose around the property.

When I got to ISLA, I was 10-minutes late, and I was surprised to find that the conference had already begun without me. Luckily, Big Red was already there representing us.

I walked onto the porch, and started searching for any wine or donuts. One quick glance around the porch and I instantly felt comfortable; I saw coffee and what appeared to be chocolate chip cookies. Wine shouldn’t be too far away with this level of attention to details. I started searching around the porch for wine and donuts. I know myself, having donuts or wine around would instantly put me in a good mood. No, a great mood!

I can prepare myself for any level of horrendous bad news about my child if wine and donuts are being served. Donuts are profound. Wine more profound! Alcohol and sugar are grossly underrated. They have changed the direction of history and mankind for the better.

Your child can be a serial killer, but if wine and donuts are being served, life is good and the serial killing doesn't seem so bad at the end of day. Wine and donuts are the most effective anti-depression medication known to man. And they have the full weight of science behind them. They’re magic, and we all know that magic and voodoo are warranted at any teacher-parent conference being held in the Caribbean.

As I was searching for wine, I heard my name being called out with a Russian accent. ‘****!” I thought, “I’m busted!” Big Red has spotted me. Women are amazing. Woman have a nose for mischief. They’re better than a lie detectors test.

Big Red called me into a side room at ISLA Academy. Sitting there before her was the Spanish-Finnish-Lebanese-French Inquisition…all three beautiful, good looking, charming, funny, and intelligent people...(I drink cappuccinos BTW)! They took one look at me, and did not appear happy. Ok, I was 10-minutes late. I was fixing my hair and trying to cover up my bald spot, because, you never know what Hot teacher you are going to run into a teacher-parent conference. And we all know how horny teachers can be, right?

As I approached the room, I was about to get my first really big reality check…the biggest one of my life. It’s the one reality check I have been preparing for since I turned 50. It’s the one I was dreading and fretting over in the mornings. I knew this day was coming. But I kept on pushing it back into the recess of mind.

As I was approaching the room, Big Red and the international inquisition stopped talking and watched me approach. One of the inquisition members looked at Big Red and asked, “Is this your father?”

“Your father!? What the ****!?”

I almost had a heart attack. I almost had a coronary!

Ok, I know there is an age gap between me and Big Red, but for the love of god, do I really look like her “father!?” is this even possible? Well, apparently so, because, it seemed to be the general consensus of the entire room that I looked like Big Red’s father.

What is the world coming to?

Ok, let me back up again…

Before I left the house, I went into the bathroom and combed my 10-strands of grey hair over my bald spot. I sucked in my gut, and held out my chest. In my eyes—and this is no exaggeration—I looked no more than 23 or 24yrs old. 28yrs tops in really bad lighting!

Ok, maybe…and I say this hesitantly…maybe if is stood sideways, and my gut was released, I might pass as 31 or 32yrs old…but there is no way, I look like Big Red’s father. No way in hell!!

This wasn't just shocking to hear, it was depressing!

Ok, now it was time to go into defense mode and start lying to myself. And no one is a better liar then me when it comes to reality checks.

I started rationalizing things in my head…maybe there is really bad lighting in the room? Maybe these people wear glasses? Maybe they have Glaucoma? Maybe they have taken some kind of hallucinatory drug…maybe really strong hallucinatory drugs? Maybe they have some extra drugs?

I sure could use some right now!
 

Meemselle

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Oct 27, 2014
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Frank: I was the f*cking president of the PTA at my son's wicked expensive, very fency, very Jewish day school in Fairfield County, Connecticut. Gold Coast. After third grade, I stopped going to parent-teacher conferences. The office would call me up and say, "Mrs. Ellenberg: you haven't made your appointments." And I would say, in my nice lady voice (hard for me): "I am not making appointments." Long pause. And the nice secretary would say, "But Mrs. Ellenberg, you are the president of Parents and Friends. You must set an example." And I would say, trying to hold onto nice lady voice: "I know. Thank you for reminding me. I will go and cover the coffee & danish table. But I am not making appointments. Because I know all of the teachers, in Hebrew and in English, are going to tell me that my son is so bright, but so lazy, and why don't I kick his a**." And you know what? I made sure he did what he had to do, and he somehow always pulled it out of his butt at the last minute and got a B. Could he have gotten an A? Sure. Did it matter?

I don't think so. He got into the best Jewish high school in CT. He was the only junior who was ever president of student government. He was accepted to 3 out of 4 colleges to which he applied. He chose my alma mater. He graduated in 3.5 years because of all of his AP and honors classes in high school. He thinks for himself. He always has. Because we let him.

All this bullsh*t with parent-teacher conferences is to intimidate the parents. I stopped going when he was 8. Don't go. It's crap. Trust your kid. Trust your kid's mother. Trust yourself.

I was a teacher. If it was up to me, I would take every parent out and get them wicked drunk and say, you know what? Let your kid be what he/she is/will be/might be/can be and don't listen to a**hats like us.
 

dv8

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Sep 27, 2006
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i decided that my parents did not need to attend any parent-teacher conferences when i went to high school. i explained to them that in HS it simply does no longer happen. they believed me. then i explained to my leading teacher that my parents were not interested in attending. she did not insist.
 

cobraboy

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Because I know all of the teachers, in Hebrew and in English, are going to tell me that my son is so bright, but so lazy, and why don't I kick his a**." And you know what? I made sure he did what he had to do, and he somehow always pulled it out of his butt at the last minute and got a B. Could he have gotten an A? Sure. Did it matter?

I don't think so. He got into the best Jewish high school in CT. He was the only junior who was ever president of student government. He was accepted to 3 out of 4 colleges to which he applied. He chose my alma mater. He graduated in 3.5 years because of all of his AP and honors classes in high school. He thinks for himself. He always has. Because we let him.
Your post brought back memories.

I hardly ever did homework that you didn't turn in in HS. I'd thrash turn-in homework the night before. Always got straight A's on tests & report cards. I figured I learned the s#!t in class the first time, why do the homework? Besides, I had sports to play...

Except for my chemistry teacher, a real old school crabapple named Mrs. Colley, like Bart Simpson's teacher. She was confined to a wheelchair because of the 50's polio epidemic and had blackboards placed low on three walls, corner-to-corner, with erasers placed OCD-like every two feet, so a dusty eraser was always within reach. One day she asked the class to hold our homework above our heads. I, of course, didn't have mine but still had an "A" in the class. She got so angry she threw an eraser at me with the accuracy of a Yankee hot dog vendor, whacking me in the chest, a cloud of chalk dust looking like a blood splatter on a mob hit. She let loose with an entire year of pent-up anger at my academic civil disobedience, letting me know in clear terms I'll pretty much be homeless after my sports efforts waned because I wouldn't do her homework, no doubt destined for either prison or Viet Nam.

Well, last quarter, senior year, and I got an F in chemistry. I was almost a cult hero on graduation day because I was maybe the only kid who didn't fear Mrs. Colley. Not because I tested poorly because I definitely hadn't, I scored a solid A on all the tests and lab practicals. But because I wouldn't do my homework. For years I had to explain to various guidance counselors, even in grad school, why I had a high SAT, got all A's in HS...and one F.

In a weird way, I'm more proud of the F's than the A's...

Props to your spawn. Over-achieving Slackers, Unite!
 

RV429

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Apr 3, 2011
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So Frankie, I share your problem with getting called "old". I can't count the number of times I get asked about my youngest daughter (who is a big Frank fan), "Is she your Granddaughter?" No I reply, Are you calling me old?
Even worse I get: " she is so cute, did you adopt her?". For that one my normal reply is "no, I banged her Mom thanks". Granted I'm old white guy and she is young 1/2 Dominican, but really..