Molly is the singer in a band.

The majority of folks here are Catholic, and that's especially true of the rural areas like Fatima, where I'm staying right now. However, being less centralized and maybe a bit more varied in personal style, the Evangelicals have far more churches. Within a few hundred yards of the school, there are three Evangelical churches for one much larger Catholic Church.

And they are enthusiastic. Every couple of days we can hear the same song being played for hours, mostly just the bass line, coming from the Evangelical church across a small river. I gather that much of this time is practice time, but by about mid-evening it's quite clear that there is a worship service going on, a rather tortured one. We'll keep hearing this song for another two or three hours, without end . . . a chorus with no verses, notes abandoned at the highest part, over and over again, and it just floats across the valley to where we study after dinner. Everything drops away eventually except the woman's voice, at which point it's quite clear that she's no longer singing, but actually sobbing into the microphone. This lasts for about half an hour, and then the preacher takes over from there, and then it's over.

And here's the thing: it's the bass line from "Obladi, Oblada," and we all hum it to ourselves when it's over, without even thinking about it. No joke. "Obladi, Oblada," of course, is Exhibit A in the case against Paul as a force for unbridled evil in this world. The fact that his voice alone makes some of the Beatles' finer moments does not change this.

Also, thanks to Christy for sending along these great shots of IDOT removing Governor Jogging Pants' name from the tollway. I wish they would do the same to Daley's name at the airport, though this is one area where Fitzgerald went home with his tail between his legs.

And I got word today from Jessica that the Clif bars she bought me before I left have been recalled, since Chocolate Peanut Butter Salmonella is, apparently, a dangerous flavor. I've been sneaking a Clif Bar every week since I got here, especially when I was in Guatemala City and the hotel would not allow me to leave to get dinner. And so, maybe I will have salmonella, American salmonella in a country where all the gringos talk about how scared we are to brush our teeth for fear of amoebas. (Tooth-brushing with tap water actually appears to be quite safe, as I have been doing this for a month with no trouble, on the theory that an amoeba is actually more convenient than having to go find agua pura every time I feel the need to brush my teeth. However, this is not to understate the public health crisis that the water system here represents, as anyone can tell you that drinking untreated water is the number one cause of death among kids in the rural areas here.)

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