I had a really great follow up interview at Zeno Group. When it was all over I was told that I will receive a phone call to talk about the "next step." A phrase like that can go two ways. Either we will discuss what day I begin, or he will refer me to a reliable trade school. I am hoping for the former.

At the interview, or should I say, interviews, many people asked where I lived. They were pretty amazed when I stated, so matter-of-factly, Washington Heights. After the jaws dropped, I countered, and assured them that I live in a nice part of Washington Heights. I think Law and Order has given his place a bad rap. Sure this place is no Tribeca, but it is not Eucador. Frankly, there are not enough iguanas for this place to Ecuador.

The other day I decided to walk (for exercise) while my laundry was spinning around in the neighborhood laundromat. It was refreshing to walk in the chilly morning city. I use the term "refreshing" loosely. Normally, when I walk around Washington Heights I am usually headed north the the 168th subway stop or Gristede's grocery store. But that day I wanted to see what was south of my street. Most of it looked like my previous travels. There were a few hardware stores, small markets, and once-beautiful buildings--long neglected.

I walked as far south as 152nd street, and headed west towards the river. This direction led me to a few different sites. This street has two old, large stone churches. One was Presbyterian and the other was Catholic. Both were a little rundown, but definitely a nice addition to the urban backdrop. Along side the churches, were two well-manicured cemeteries. I am not sure how old they were, maybe when I am not in-between laundry loads I can spend more time looking for ancestors. I imagine there is a mix of old and new. From my side of the street I saw new, clean headstones and worn mausoleums. (I am not sure if I spelled it correctly.)

Past the churches and cemeteries I found a neo-classical styled building. I thought that this is an odd place for a museum. I looked up near the roof of the building, and saw the word "Quecha", among others, carved into the granite. I was immediately intrigued. Through a small investigation I saw that the building housed the Hispanic Society, a small hispanic museum, and a small college. I would have looked around more, but it was time to go back to the laundromat and put my clothes in the dryer.

On the way back to 162nd and Amsterdam, I had a true Ecuadorian experience. One thing I had to get used to as a missionary was the constant catcalls from, ahem, well-meaning gentlemen. It is partly flattering, and partly annoying. I walked back to the laundromat briskly, but I still heard that older Latin gentleman calling out, "Preciosa!" I hadn't even showered. I was far from "precious." Besides, after Lord of the Rings that word lost all endearment.

After this experience, and after those in Ecuador, I really question that whole "Latin Lover" myth. Sure it's obvious these men enjoy the female form, but they obviously thrive on the misconception that females actually like being shouted at. These men are brave--a lot braver than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts. But there is something missing in their tactics: subtlety. Oh, and I am sure it would have more effect if they didn't shout at every tall, leggy girl.

Now if I can get those Anglo-Saxon boys to take notice.