Who Ya Gonna Call?

Alright, I know in my last posting I promised to give you my best moment of February yesterday. For the faithful who were eagerly anticipating this encouraging entry, I can explain. You see, I kind of forgot to pay Moldtelecom for my internet services this month. Like I said, March kind of snuck up on me. So on the freshly snow-covered morning of March 1, I went to check my email before I left the apartment and I got nothing. Have no fears, I paid through May this afternoon.

Now, I am fully aware that I am doing mission work and that as a person doing this type of work my best moment of the month should probably be spiritual in nature. Perhaps a beautiful revelation of God's goodness and grace would be most appropriate for the best moment of a month for a person in my particular cirmumstances. My favorite February moment, unless I really stretch it, is not really one of those type of moments. I'm sure in some way it is. It is just not an overtly spiritual moment. Sorry?

It began like any typical day. I hit my snooze bar repeatedly until, by the grace of God, I somehow rose from the dead. After preparing myself to face the day, which involves plenty of tai chi, I began my pilgrimage to the orphanage. Upon arriving, I find that the guys are already working. Wait, it gets much better.

Amazed, I walk in the "office" to find the guys diligently attacking our mountain of pre-fabricated furniture. I am so schocked that it takes me several minutes to notice that there is music playing. One of the guys brought a radio and they were playing some of their "legally" downloaded music.

Comprised of mainly rap music, Celine Dion, Moldovan pop and random cinematic scores, these compilations were not always audibly pleasing. At times they were downright torturous. The most painful moment was when they played "My Heart Will Go On" three times in a row and then, for the encore, played the Romanian version another two times (note: the woman who sings the Romanian version sounds as if she is being hit with wiffle ball bats as she vocalizes). Needless to say, I was beginning to doubt if, in fact, my heart would continue to go on if this music did not cease.

Then redemption happened.

I hear the beginnings of a song I find familiar. Before I can decipher the song, one of the guys skipped past it. I knew it. But what was it? It was like "name that tune" and I only got one note.

Curiousity took over my body and I yelled, more like bellowed, at them to go back. I knew the song had something to do with the supernatural. I thought to myself "Is this thriller?" No, it wasn't.

Ladies and gentlement, it was the Ghostbusters' song and I was as happy as a schoolgirl at recess. I told them to crank it up, and crank it they did. For the next few minutes we were all singing along and none of us were afraid of no ghosts. Pure joy. But wait, it gets better.

For those of you who are familiar with this song, you know that there is a fantastic intstrumental interlude featuring a virtuosic guitar solo. When this section of the song arrives, so does the best moment of February.

The guitar solo starts and Ivan takes action. He jumps onto a four foot pile of boxes and begins air-guitaring the solo. He really gets into it. He is making the painful guitar playing faces. He is doing some sort of Neal Diamond-esque dancing. He is even strumming right along with the beat. Simply put, he is rocking and/or rolling.

It was one of the purest moments I have ever been a part of and I have Ray Parker Jr to thank for it. For the record, I love Ghostbusters. Remember when Bill Murray didn't just play sad people? I do.

Author's Note: Per my last blog, there are absolutely no Taco Bells in Moldova. The abscence of Taco Bell, not that a marshuka didn't go there, was what was disapressing. If you find youself at a Taco Bell, please eat a chalupa for me. I miss them more than I miss any of you. Also, if you find yourself at Las Palmas, please eat a chimichanga for me. I couldn't begin to tell you how much I miss them. Moldovan-Mexican just isn't the same.