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In retelling The Kid's story of his Mexico trip to a friend recently -- to the heart of the jungle, to the top of rickety pyramid temples, inside the houses of soviet leaders and famous artists, living for a week inside a truly functional commune in an endangered and secretive society, sleeping in bunks, trading for food, riding for 3 hours in the back of a pick-up truck in driving rain and cold wind on an unpaved road until the truck could not take them any further and then walking the last mile or so uphill in the slimy mud and thick vegetation to the camp -- the thing that I could not stop by obssessive mind from thinking about : no toilets.

Ah, to be 20 again.