This guy I talked to today was 15yrs old and wanted to quit smoking. He really wanted to stop and he made me think of myself at 15 years old and smoking. He also started very young at like 12 years old. I pleaded with him to stop and told him how much I wish I stopped when he did. It was nice to feel like OK maybe I didn't stop at that age, but that this guy could and that I could help him. That feels nice. I think I'll try and call him to check on him. It is so hard to stop at any time but I really tried to tell him how much harder it will get if he waits. I told him about all the smokers who wish they stopped earlier.

I'm not for prohibition, but I think cigarette advertising should be illegal, and that the manufactures not be permitted to add anything to the tobacco leaf. This is a major crisis in our country and in the world. New York State's goal by the way is to reduce smoking prevalence from 19% to 12% by 2010. It is a lofty goal, but I believe it is a good one.

Wow all of a sudden I'm so tired and then I realized why when I saw (e:jenk)'s latest journal. It seemed like I was hearing sirens all night long. I remember looking at the clock at 2:30 and thinking about when Coffee & burned to the ground which I also was awoken to by the sirens. Again the sirens became part of my dream and this time someone told me that it was far away and that they were just trying to get through to it and everyone had to pass by my house. I guess that sort of makes sense because I do live by a fire station by the Left Bank. At about 4pm two police cars came and blocked off Elmwood at Lexington. The lights were strobing and it was extra disorientating with being groggy from my dream state. My alarm was set for 6pm so I got up and turned on the news and saw the Parish Commons had a serious fire. I drove by on the way to work and wow. My friend who lives directly across the street didn't even wake up. I wonder if the smoke kept him asleep, because it was a really smoky fire and he does sleep very lightly. I couldn't believe he didn't hear it. I hate when things burn.

Today at work I asked where a guy was from and he said Cuba. I said oh your Cubano and he was like "yeah, why do you say it like that?" Then he was all mad cause I told him I had been there. He started yelling at me in English and asked me if I liked Communism or if I was in love with Fidel. He was definitely interested in why I went to Cuba and he was surprised that I spoke in Spanish the way that I do for only having been there for four months. I told him that I hardly knew it at all when I had went, but that I have been working on it and now I work on this bilingual line and get to practice. So overall it was a good conversation, but a reminder of the ways things are. I love getting to ask people what country they are from. Usually they are from PR, but rarely Cuba.

I took the bus tonight home from work. This is the first time since I have started working there because I have been riding my bike because of our extended summer. It was a pretty good experience and some lady even gave me .50 because I couldn't get any change for the bus in the gift store. Was all good timing because by the time I walked to the end of Allen I only had to wait a couple of minutes before the bus pulled up. I even got off the phone a tad late with the Cuban guy, so at least I know that is OK to be a few minutes over.

HSBC Center in Buffalo according to a friend in the know is going carbon free. They are starting here in Buffalo and even composting everything in the cafeteria. They are recycling everything I guess. Here is a little something I found.

Since already (e:tinypliny) has made her own letter to Roswell's Trump regarding better environmental practices, then maybe I can draft something up as well that provides an example of a company as large as HSBC already making these efforts. Surely a cancer institution will do so as well. This all reminds me that I have to look for a washable plate and utensils that come in a small case I can carry to and from work in the meanwhile. I have used more Styrofoam in the last couple of months at Roswell than I have in the whole year. (e:tinypliny) is glaring at me with her beady little eyes of disapproval while I'm eating lunch.

It is Halloween and I have no scary movies and tricker treaters will never reach me in my lair that has no door bell. I haven't had tricker treaters in so long. Today I overheard someone saying that because there wasn't prayer in schools anymore that people were dressing up as devils and what not. I love dressing up as a devil. They are so scary. When I saw who had said this I was surprised at who it was. It seemed like inapropriate conversation (time and place), but I guess I am not always so appropriate either like during my lunch time conversations in the cafeteria that are usually too loud about sex, drugs and carbon polluting.

Here is the man behind the name of the city--Vicente Ybor. He is responsible for bringing the cigar factory to Tampa. Cuban, Italian and Jewish immigrants migrated to the city and worked in the factories.



They have a trolley in Ybor.



This Saturday Market sign is upside down. A sign of discontent and strife?



Ybor City Museum

The museum is housed in this old Cuban bread bakery.





Some guy would crawl into the oven while it was still hot to repair the broken tiles. He would cover himself in wet burlap to do it.




El lector. This person was paid by the workers to read to them. El ingenioso hidalogo Don Quijote de la mancha was a popular read.





Factory work station.



Damn cigarettes.



Ten Year War



José Martí would stay in the house of Paulina Pedroso, a black Cuban immigrant, while staying in Ybor city in order to raise support for the Cuban independence movement. He would often stay up late into the night writing by candle light in her and her husbands house which is now a park commemorating Martí and his devotion to Cuban independence.



Immigrant Statue



Teddy was one rough rider cowboy.



These mosaic tiles are found outside the Columbia restaurant which has very good Cuban food. I love this tile and got a couple of post cards of it.



My mom and I. I had the loma de cerdo (pork) and we shared a pitcher of Mojitos. There were Cubans working there and eating there which I loved. It really reminded me of eating in Cuba especially when the Cuban guys kept checking me out to the point that even my mother noticed. That is Cuban men for you. God help you if you are a woman and a foreigner in Cuba. They will look at you no matter what. They are way more sexual and open then we are.



Here I am an amigo de José Martí. This park where Paulina Pedroso's house once sat is now a park owned by the Cuban government. The park is run by Cuban exiles now who keep it under lock because of vandalism which may be political in nature. They only keep the park open during the week for a couple of hours. Inside is soil from each of the provinces of Cuba. This kind of park is very common in Cuba.


Here he is the man who is adored by all Cubans.



I put my foot in trying to once again touch Cuban land. If I could go back I would....I really would. It makes me so sad that maybe I never will be able to go back. It was so expensive for me to go the first time through UB, I couldn't even afford it then, but I did it anyways. Now I can only go illegally and risk being punished for doing so. Land of the free people, land of the free.



I also stopped at this photo exhibit of pictures from Cuba. They had some nice work there, but I was expecting way more. I could have contributed if I had known.