Curse you, Chris Martin!!!

Before I say anything else, I'd like to apologize to the five or six of you who read this blog with any regularity. I'll be honest with you, I just haven't really felt like posting anything on here for the past couple of days. It's a horrible thing, apathy; it's a real disease, with doctors, and medicine and everything (Blades of Glory--good movie, saw it on the plane back from Argentina). But enough of my shortcomings, on to the post.

CURSE YOU, CHRIS MARTIN!!! No, I'm not cursing the Christian media designer Chris Martin, nor am I cursing the lame-o Chris Martin who has yet to put up any of his certainly hideous photographs at www.iamchrismartin.com, and I am most definitely not cursing the international superstar frontman of Coldplay Chris Martin. I am cursing the Brooklyn-based drug trafficker Chris Martin.

Yes, his infamy has once again caused my untarnished reputation abroad to fall under the dark shadow of doubt. In case you missed the first go round, you can read the post here.

This time around, I was coming into America via Atlanta, GA. After an incredibly uncomfortable 12-hour flight from Buenos Aires--during which we were diverted around Brazil for lack of permission to use their airspace which forced us to land in Ft. Lauderdale, FL to refuel before we got to Atlanta--I was stopped in customs in the same fashion as last time, diverted down to a sitting area, and told to wait until someone could figure out why I was there. The questioning, once I was called forward, was pretty much the same as last time:

--"Have you ever been to Jamaica?"
--"No."
--"Do you live in Brooklyn?"
--"No. Hey, is that about that guy who sells drugs from Jamaica? Cuz I'm not him."
--"Do you have family in Brooklyn?"
--"No. Hey, when I came into the country earlier this summer they asked me all about this and they said I wasn't him either so . . . "
--"How are you employed?"
--"Un."
--"You sure do a lot of traveling for an unemployed person. Mind telling me how you afford all of that?"
--"Well . . . it all started about six years ago in Laos. I'd heard the legends, we all had, but that's all they were, right? Just legends. As I set out to hike to Cambodia, I had no idea of the adventure on which I was about to embark. The mystery, the intrigue, friends made . . . and lost. And, of course, the treasure . . . I'm just kidding. I have money saved up from other things." *see note at bottom*
--"Well, Mr. Martin, that will be all. You can take your bags right through that door and rejoin your group."

So, I asked her if there was any way that I could get my name somehow put on the "Safe Christopher Allen Martins" list and she said there was nothing that they could do. I asked if I should expect this the next time I return to the country from abroad. She said I should expect it until the other Chris Martin is arrested.

With that said, I am calling on all Christopher Allen Martins (yes, he shares my same exact name) to help me apprehend and destroy this traitor to the name! I'm talking about an army. An unstoppable, vigilante, paramilitary force. I'll let you guys do most of the planning. I don't want to have too much of the power concentrated in one place since, as far as I have been able to tell, I'm the only one speaking up about this and am thus very susceptible to attack. Get on it, guys. I'll be waiting for you to contact me.

In other news, Argentina was awesome. Too much to write here, but a picture says a thousand words so here's a few thousand at least:


This is one of the churches we did construction on. It was in a poor area of a town called La Plata. We built some walls, poured a lot of cement, and painted a lot of stuff.










Here's Johnny putting the final touches on one of the walls we helped build.












This is a shot of downtown Buenos Aires.



















**Note: I didn't actually say anything before that last sentence (I have money saved . . .); it's just what I wish I had said to make the situation a little more comical.