summer

Its been an interesting summer for me.   My normal practice is to find a job with a schedule and take the "clock in, clock out"  approach.  This summer was different.  This time I merely hired myself out to people to complete certain projects and worked on these jobs at my own pace.  Granted, many of those who hired me were employers from previous summers, but I was my own man.
When you are your own man you find out how little you actually know.
An owner of a large barn wanted some help repairing the century-old building.  Snow had knocked the roof down and damaged the floor beneath.   The floor also had some rotten boards in need of replacement. The owner,  Reed von Gal,  had experience as a carpenter, electrician, plumber,  and welder.   He was a man who recognized a good worker.  So there I was,  trying to patch holes and replace rotten boards by myself.  My saw buzzed, my hammer hammered,  and my neck got sunburnt.  My accomplishments were about equal to those of an old basset hound on a sultry summer afternoon.  Help was needed.  So I called my friend Marcel.  "When do you need me?" Marcel asked.  "When can you get here?"  I said.  I ignored the project for two weeks waiting for Marcel.  Fortunately,  Reed took a business trip and did not watch his floor continue to molder away.  When Marcel arrived,  we went to the job as early as possible.  He strapped on his tool belt and went right to work.  Since it would allow me to at least look the part of a carpenter,  I  borrowed a tool belt and strapped it on as well.  It was on the loose side,  So while Marcel started repairing a floor,  my main task was trying to keep my tool belt around my waist.  Eventually,  Marcel realized that I was more useful as dead weight than anything else.  "Stand here," he said,  "and hold this board down."   That's when Reed decided to reappear.  He saw Marcel working while I stood still with my hands on my hips.  My daily wage no doubt ran through his head.  He told me to get back to work.  I pulled my tool belt back up and said that I would.   At the end of the day  Marcel appeared to me to have repaired five hundred square feet of floor.  I had nailed down a few sorry planks.  My ego was down on the floor, along with my tool belt, which had managed to slip off again. 
After a few days, Marcel had to return home, and I was left to continue to as best I could.  Well, Reed needed to come on up and help,  but when the dust settled,  there was a new floor in the old barn.  The completion came with quite a sense of relief.  Long days in the middle of July have a certain intensity anyway,  and my lack of experience had been just about as showcased as possible.  My main accomplishment was keeping my toolbelt around my waist,  by hanging it on gloves tucked into my belt and employing a walking gait normally reserved for runway models.  Fortunately, Reed had his head down most of the time.  He also hosted a barn dance a couple of weeks later.  No one fell through the floor, so  my assumption is that my work is no threat to humanity.
Later Marcel called me.  "What are you doing for a job this fall?" he asked.  I told him that I had no idea.  "Why don't you come work with the me?" he continued.  "I don't know,"  I said.  "Will I have to wear a toolbelt?"

Hey everybody,

 I enjoyed the comment on my vampire piece by fellow blogger Calliope.  Enjoy.

[Regarding vampires' teeth, see below ] That is a very likely solution to this quandary. However, you should also consider the possibility that blood is a very base fluid that would not counter act the acidity of saliva, (which I think vampires would produce because as humans they would have produced it, though I doubt that the need any help digesting)and therefore the acid in the saliva would rot their teeth, so any teeth that we would see would be dentures, and of course those can come in any shape and length.

More later,

I woke up the other day wondering why vampires in movies sometimes have longer teeth, sometimes shorter.    Consider, the Cullen clan from the Twilight saga have fangs that are barely longer than normal human teeth,  whereas the blood-suckers from the Underworld movies have really long canines.  Other movies continue the trend. The original Dracula?  Long fangs.  Dark Shadows?  Medium fangs. There seems to be no standard length for vampires.  Even within the movies there is variation.  In Underworld,  the lead character's rival has significantly longer teeth than she does.  There must be some explanation.  Now all these vampires share the same diet, and, considering the whiteness of the teeth, all attend to oral hygiene.  So what is the difference?  Genetics doesn't seem to offer much of a lead;  how do vampire genes even get passed along?  By bites?  Then I thought maybe there was some sort of baby-teeth/ adult-teeth thing going on,  but we never see them trying to wriggle out a loose tooth, hoping the tooth fairy will visit their coffin.  The answer did not occur to me until I saw a friend's pet gerbil.  These pets, along with many other mammals, constantly gnaw to keep their continuously-growing teeth from getting too long.  This must be the explanation for vampires.  Those canines of theirs must be constantly getting longer, and different movies catch them in various stages of growth.  Having an all-liquid diet, the vampires must be chewing on wood when humans aren't around.  This explains why so many vampires live in the forest.  It also makes sense that humans are always killing vampires with wooden stakes: there must be dozens of sharpened sticks lying about.  And perhaps that's why vampires leaves their coffins; they've chewed a hole right through it and need to find a new one.

Day 4

The continuing, and now ending, account of the Ruta de Maya race.

I lost a bet on the above sentence.  After we got back from the Ruta de Maya, I was sitting at my desk arguing about it with my teammate, Lucia.    "Jonathan," she said,  "You acted as if you had a lot more canoeing experience than you did before the start of the race, and I just think you should admit that. "
This was an accurate charge,  but I decided a counter-allegation would be better than admitting the truth.
"Well, Miss Lucia,"  I shot back,  "someone had to steer the canoe while you were busy rolling up your sleeves."  Lucia had incurred my wrath during the trip by stopping paddling to ensure that her arms tanned evenly.  "Someone had to make sure we finished the Ruta la Maya,"  I continued.
This small slip in my novice Spanish was not missed by Lucia:  "Its not Ruta la Maya, Jonathan,"  she said,  "Its Ruta de Maya."
Here I should have just admitted my mistake to her; she knows more Spanish than I do.  But sometimes I just have to be right, even when I'm wrong.
"No," I said, "Its Ruta la Maya."  The argument immediately started going back and forth, because if Lucia and I agree on one thing,  its that we like to disagree.  The debate culminated in a bet that whoever was wrong had to buy the other yogurt, which is a real treat for a volunteer on a stipend.  A quick Google search revealed my error.  "There, you see?" Lucia said, pointing at the screen,  "Now you owe me yogurt."  Although there is no arguing with Google, I continued my grousing.  But defeat was inevitable, as my opponent did not fail to point out.
It was several weeks before I had any money to make good.  Again we were sitting at our desks, and I grouchingly drew the money from my wallet and tossed it to her.  "What's this for?" she said.  "For the yogurt," I grumbled.
"No, you can't just give me money, you have to go buy it yourself and give it to me."
"Lucia, just take the money!"
This was something new to argue about.

day 3

The continuing account of the Ruta Maya race:  day three.

Day three was unquestionably the hardest day for me.  After 20+ hours in a canoe together,  little things that normally don't annoy you suddenly take on a level of aggravation normally associated with clouds of black flies or colic-afflicted infants.  Its like being that infamous fourth day that guests are still at your house.  The novelty is starting to wear off, and you've noticed that they take the last cup of coffee without making more.  Anyway, the same thing happens in a canoe, but a lot sooner because you share a physical space approximately the size of an oven.  Of course, the biggest offense in such a situation is any action that prevents you from paddling.  Snack breaks,  refilling a water bottle, or quickly adjusting one's seat is tolerated, but viewed with distaste.  Anything else is grounds for being thrown overboard. Luckily for me, I was sitting in the back of the boat, so no one noticed when I took my hat off to tan my head evenly (who wants a huge tan line across their forehead?) or when I snuck an extra snack.  Fortunately,  Christian charity prevailed and we made to the end of the paddling day without ever repurposing our paddles as clubs.   But that was where the trip got tough.  Previously,  the crews had been camping on open fields, where we had plenty of room.  Now, we were ensconced on about two and half acres between the river and the access road to a nearby village.  The scene was a zoo.  Total strangers pitched their tents, and their laundry, right on top of each other.  We had to clear several people off the truck so we could get our equipment inside.  The smell of marijuana drifted across the whole campsite, but no one, certainly not the detail of law enforcement on hand, seemed to take notice.  As I may have mentioned,  the Ruta Maya is not only a river challenge, but a four day national party.  So the music was blasted, along with a few of the people.  In all this, we had to try make a camp and get dried out before turning in.   The Rutat Maya was three-quarters done, but it was far from over.

the crews

Here are some shots of us at the end of the race!

day 2

There was something extra special about rounding a bend and seeing the finish line of a day's leg of the race.  Even though it was not the end of the whole thing,  there was something rewarding about finishing for the day.  That was why we were so excited when we say a huge rope with  banners stretched across the entire river after eight hours of paddling on day two.  The crowd on the side of river were cheering and waving, the sky was blue, the sun was warm upon the water, and life seemed pretty good.  I turned the canoe from the middle of the river toward the shore.  But something was funny,  there was only one other canoe resting on the bank.  We had rowed hard, but there were over 50 boats, by virtue of athletic crew or better design,  that had simply outpaced us that day.  Then I noticed that the crowd didn't seem... big enough.  My turn had brought us closer to the shore, and now we could here the "fans" more distinctly.  They were shouting for us to keep going.  Cries of "keep is up!" and "you're almost there" drifted across the water.  Turns out that the people of this particular Creole village had simply strung their own line across the water.  Who knows why?  Decoration for their party?  A big practical joke?  A cruel tease?  I'm sorry, but after hours of paddling,  "You're almost there!"  almost always sounds like,  "You have a ways to go!"  which is not encouraging by any means.  We didn't want to almost be there, we wanted to be there.  Until I was there, I didn't want to hear how much farther I had to go. As for the banner-bedecked  rope on the water, that bordered on paddler abuse.
That leads me to another factor about the fans on the side of the river.  While most were generally encouraging, a few were not above lying to your face.  They would tell you how the finish line was close,  even tell you how bends in the river lay between you and your destination.  These bits of information were always wrong.  The raced finished not "four bends" away, but sixteen,  but who's counting?  It was true that it was only "half an hour and your done,"  but only if you counted that half hour ten miles after you spoke to the person.  I admit I may have called these people some names after their advice proved false.
At any rate,  day 2 did finally end, and not terribly long after we mistakenly thought it would.  Ironically, the actual finish line was less gaudy then the faux one, with no flags or banners.   It goes to show that things are not always what they appear.  As for our appearance, it was beginning to deteriorate.  But more one that next time.

day 1

the river was exploding in shouting and a literal stampede of canoes.  The first team to reach the "low bridge" would win a thousand dollars, so every team was sprinting for the that first quarter mile.  I never thought canoes could make the water so rough.  So here we were, three volunteer teachers with four hours's experience of rowing together, and it looked as if we were going to flip and then get run over.  Some canoes did flip, which required some last-second digs into the water to avoid hitting them.  Lucia earned her Indian name "Beautiful Hawkeyes" here, guiding me around tipped boats. I suppose that the low bridge had people we knew among the crowd, but my world had contracted to the 200 feet of water directly in front of my canoe and the thirty feet on either side.  We managed to steer under the bridge, an accomplishment as some canoes actually ended up sideways against the pilings, pinned by the current.  Then we were racing again, trying to maintain position in the pack.  The early morning sun reflected off the water and nearly blinded me, so I had to have Lucia shout "More to the left" or "Right! Right! Right!" from the front.
Day 1 was 49 miles, so I was very anxious if we would even be able to finish.  I simply did not know what our team was capable of.   What should have worried me more, and certainly was Betsy's greatest concern, were the dozens of rapids along our route.  The key to rapids is to keep on paddling. Pulling your oars out of the water robs the boat both of its balance and momentum.  The concept is the same as riding a bicycle: stop peddling, and it becomes a lot harder to stay upright.  But rapids are freaky, and its hard to think about paddling when six inches of water splash over the sides of the boat.  Nonetheless, we did well enough and kept our overall position.  However, after 90 minutes a fork in the river proved too much.  I did not pick a side to follow soon enough and we slammed into the small island in the middle of the river.  I had carefully instructed Betsy and Lucia to "never ever let go of your paddle if we tip."  They held on perfectly.  I promptly let go of my paddle when we tipped, proving that those who teach, can't do.  Four or five boats passed us while we were bailing the boat and getting back in.
Two hours later, this loss of position proved helpful,  we were just catching up to two boats when we came up on a much more dangerous set of rapids.  On the right was a huge dead tree, on the left currents swirled dangerously.  We watched as the two teams attempted the rapids.  The first team took the left and flipped in the current.  The second team took to the right and ended up running their canoe up onto the dead tree, where in promptly broke in half.  We breezed through the middle,  looking up just long enough to see three paddlers clinging to the tree. 
After seven hours of paddling we rounded a bend and were shocked to see the finish line of the first day.  We we were relieved.  I had a headache from steering through rapids, and we were all sore from the long day.  But we were done, and had arrived on our own steam.  It was a good day.

pain

As I lay in my tent on Sunday night, listening to the rain that would soon be pooling under my sleeping bag, I tried to recall why I had signed up for this canoe race across an entire country.  I guess I could not resist the allure of another adventure with which I could regale attentive audiences for years to come.  I suppose that Betsy and Lucia's enthusiasm has also helped convince me, but now the rain, damp, cramps, and 20-plus hours of paddling had somewhat cooled everyone's zeal.  There was one exception to this.  Some highly intoxicated local was still staggering around the crowded park, shouting his not-to-keen insights about the race standings to an imagined audience.  I was to learn later that several of my fellow-racers contemplated assault, but did want to drag their cramped bodies out into the rain to do it.  I rolled onto my side and tried to cover my face from the spattering of rain that came right through my tent.
In truth, I had wanted to do the Ruta de Maya for some time, although I only got that chance at the last minute.  It is basically Belize’s combination of the World Series and the Boston Marathon, and the chance to participate in such an adventure had always been attractive.  It would be an exaggeration to say that nothing had prepared me for it.  My wilderness trips during college gave me a pretty good idea of how to prepare for it physically, and I insisted on buying enough food to feed a small army.  I was also fairly confident that I could push a paddle for four days, and that my team would probably pull through.   Lucias was a star athlete in high school, and Betsy’s small stature was more than compensated for my her iron will. As I said, this is the country’s biggest event of the year, and that took me by the most surprise.  The first day we arrived at the river and found it filled with seventy or more canoes of every description.  The professional teams were already line up by the time we got in the water.  Their boats reminded me of switchknives, sitting low and sleek in the water.  But the amateur teams were a motley crew.  Teams from Belize, Canada, Britain, America, and I know not where else had turned the country over for anything resembling a canoe.  Some were flying flags patriotically, others had matching purple mohawks.  None of us were lined up well, and there was a lot of bumping and awkward paddling was we tried to point our boats downriver.  It was like trying to untie a knot in your shoelaces right before a sprint.  The three and one minute warnings increased our anxiety as made our last minute attempts to straighten our boat out.  The professional teams kept creeping forward under the bridge that formed the starting line.  The announcer repeatedly warned them to back up, in increasingly angry tones, but none of them were willing to surrender their position by compliance.  Finally, the announcer gave up and sounded the horn.  The water and air exploded with shouting of 2000 people and the splashing of 200 paddles.
The Ruta de Maya was underway.

river

hey everybody,

Man, things are getting busy around here and time keeps getting away from me.  This weekend our crew,  Betsy, Lucia, and myself, headed down to the river to put in a little practice for the Ruta de Maya.  We had never all been in a canoe together, so there was a lot to accomplish.  First, I had to establish the ranks of command.  Naturally, I named myself captain of the boat, and started shouting orders. We practiced turning and paddling in unison, with me shouting helpful hints like, "Row!" and "Row harder!"  We made a lot or progress.  The mutinous threats that a overheard from Lucia I took as hyperbole.
 We also practiced shooting some "rapids," which weren't very, but were enough to tip our little craft.  So we also practiced bailing and trying to flip the canoe in the water.  At this second thing we were not successful, so we had to swim to shore.  Then I ordered the boat sunk deliberately so we could practice again.  The mutinous threats now came from both of my compatriots.  After a few minutes, it became clear that our strategy will be to head to shore before attempting to reenter the canoe.  Locals say that crocodiles hang out on some of the shoreline, but I'm not letting that worry me. 

I hope all is well with you guys, you will get updates from the river!

race

Hey everybody,

I just got a last-minute opportunity to participate in the annual Ruta de Maya race, which is a four day, 170 mile race down the Belize River to the coast in canoes.  See pictures below.  Now, I'll get straight to the point.  We need to fundraise $500 U.S. in order to buy food, gas, and pay our registration fees.  So the 2012 Mount Carmel Volunteer teachers' team is asking for your help.  If you can make a donation, it would be very appreciated.  Please give or send any money to my parents.  It you write a check, make it out to William Rensch and my dad can transfer the money to my account.   If you have any questions, feel free to email me at joffwr@gmail.com.  Hope to send you plenty of more pictures from our trip!

coolest moment ever!

Hey Everybody,

I just wanted to tell you about my coolest moment here in Belize so far.  As some of you may know,  Dr. Robert Carlson, the co-founder of WCC and my professor for Humanities and the Trivium, came down to speak to the parish community about the liberal arts.  So the parish invited the high school teachers, Solt religious sisters and brothers, and others to come hear him in the parish hall. Before he spoke, I asked if I could introduce him instead of the the pastor.  They let me, for which I was really honored.  Given the academic occasion, I decided to tell everyone the story about his most important lesson to me, and then gave the podium to him.  The moment really bowled me over, to be introducing my old professor while on my new mission.  I was so excited.
By the way, my most important lesson from Dr. Carlson came when he kicked me out of class my junior year.  I had decided that some book was more important than his lesson, and he wouldn't stand for it.  It certainly taught me to pay attention.
I guess it should also humble me when my students aren't paying attention. After all, I was not very different only a short time ago. 
But I can still kick them out of class.

valentine

Happy Valentine's day everybody!  Its a pretty big deal down here in Belize, all the kids have come in pink, red, and white, and we just crowned the king and queen of Valentine's.  Two of the teachers also get crowned, in this case, it was a couple of the volunteers who are in their third year here.  Awesome. 
Its pretty neat that people would be willing to give three years of their lives to others,  especially since when there is so much pressure to start a paying career.  Sometimes, it can feel like "my life" is on hold down here.  Because Belize exists a world apart in many ways,  sometimes its hard to see how your efforts will really impact the rest of your life, or even if they are doing any good.  Its a leap of faith I guess.  In the meantime, we are all plugging away; today, all the volunteers are celebrating Singles' Awareness Day (Have a happy SAD day!)  by listening to sappy romantic songs and eating lots of cookies. (I'm reminding everybody that though we are single, we are not alone!)  So have great day everyone, and keep us all in your prayers.

Jonathan

Jonathan

resumes

Think of all the equivalencies between dating and having a job.  You
start going out with somebody, its like getting hired.  The first kiss
is like a raise.  Dating, job- both may cause you to move.  You break
up with them, you quit.  They break up with you, you’re fired.  Things
are bad, you complain to your friends, things are good, you don’t want
to make them jealous.  And as Seinfeld pointed out, the first date is
basically an interview.  But why do we go into that first date totally blind?
You’re not just hired off the street, but with dating, the guy risks
money, the girl an outfit, and both a whole evening.   Why not avoid
this hassle by submitting relationship resumes to each other?  Then
you only have interview (go out with) those that catch your attention.
 These resumes would have relationship history, references, and goals,
just like a business resume has employment history and so forth.  Some
things that might come up:

“Let’s see here, this guy dated the same girl from 2006 to 2009, broke
up, but then they were back together for three months in 2011.  What’s
the story there?”\

“Ooh, his past relationship history includes an Italian model.  Must be cute.”

“She hasn’t seen anyone since high school. Not good.”

“Hmm, goals include engagement and marriage.  I don’t think I can
offer something that long term.”

“Why is the same girl in his relationship history and his references?
This is going to circular.”

But, you may ask,  haven’t dating websites and the like solved the problem of not knowing
your date?  C’mon, it’s the internet, people will say anything there.  No, he is not a three-time
Triathalon winner.   And I doubt that she is fluent in Russian and Mandarin Chinese. This is why you should submit a resume to the other person; people are a lot more honest when they put things on paper.  Especially if its 100% cotton fiber.

kitchen

I don't mean to alarm anybody with this story, I just want to have some record out there in case I die. 

You see, usually when we come into the rectory in the kitchen,  there are all the clean dishes in a rack next to the tables where we eat out meals, which are pretty much picnic tables, and we sit on picnic benches.  (Sitting down at the table is a pretty gymnastic dance if there are other people sitting there:  approach table, stand on one foot,  kick other foot through gap between benchtop and tabletop, straddle the the bench, swing other foot over and through gap, put food down, sit down.  Not everyone uses this order.)  Anyway, I came in today and just grabbed a glass and plate off the rack.  I poured myself some juice, which prevented me from seeing the bottom of the glass.  It was only as I got near the bottom that I saw some foreign white substance sitting at the glass bottom.  I assumed it was perhaps a piece of orange pith that had fallen in the juice. Foolishly, I took another sip.  This allowed me to see more clearly the white slimy mold at the bottom.
At the time, this did not disturb me too much.  But now I realize that this stuff is swirling around in my intestines, and I expect to come down with a case of who-knows-what.  It may prove fatal. So if my life ends, have drink in my honor.  Just inspect your glass before you put anything in it. 

collection

today we are enjoying a delicious chicken broth, made from the chicken the Donya Jean killed right outside our kitchen just a day or two ago.  There are still feathers floating around in the floor.  This may not be unusual except that we got the chicken from the Sunday collection.  I'm not making this up.  On Sunday, someone brought a box with a live chicken in to donate in the collection at Mass.  This I have never seen before.  Live poultry instead of cash.  Brilliant.
Apparently, however, this is not a new idea. We asked Fr. John, the pastor, if this was the first live animal he had recieved at Mass.
"Nope."  he said.
He didn't go into it any more than that, which of course just piqued my curiosity.  Has anyone donated a lot of chickens? That would be funny to have in the church, a dozen or so hens clucking during the offertory hymn.   Could I donate goat? How about livestock?  Do you have to push a cow in those doors,  or do you just tie it up outside?
Fascinating.

staple

Today Sean found a staple in his food.  It was our typical fair of rice and beans and chicken, which is a pretty sloppy dish, but we didn't think that is was meant to hold the food together.  What was it doing there?  What would have happened if one of us had accidentally swallowed it?   Why did none of us stop eating?  The questions were many. But I think this last one is the kicker.  Fortunately, its also the one I have an answer for.  At some point, I guess we have all accepted the bizarre as an everyday occurrence.  Why question why a man is carrying a life-sized female doll down the street?  Why question that a dog is on our roof?  The man walking down the road completely naked probably couldn't tell you why he was doing it if you asked him. Half of the population only speaks Spanish anyway; we couldn't understand the answer if there was one.
In light of all this, a staple in dinner is a small thing.
But the question I am yet to answer is why none of us, including Sean, stopped eating.  Well, we were hungry, and frankly, it just didn't seem that likely there was another one. 
I think we should've questioned that though.

security

I like to travel, but my recent trip through Cancun reminded my that I dislike security screenings. here's why:

1.  Let's face it, I personally tend to look like a bad guy from a movie.  If you are going to "randomly" pat someone down, who are you going to pick, me or Grandma Lois back there?

2. Speaking of which, there's nothing more ominous than the curt, "step over here please sir."   You know you've done something wrong, you just don't know what.  Your mind races to that pair or scissors you used to cut off a tag of a new shirt.  A new shirt which is definitely in your bag.  Did the scissors end up in there too?

3.  Belts were invented for reason, why are they making me take mine off and then shuffle around?

4.  Searching luggage:  Do you really want to show everyone in the airport that I can't fold clothes and am carrying a copy of Pride and Prejudice, the Kiera Knightly version?  (It was for my sister.)

5.  That Swiss Army Knife was a gift!

But really,  those TSA officials work hard and take a lot of flak, so I feel I should do something for them.  Maybe a gift or something. And there's this sale on cattle prods down at the Ag store;  hey, I won't break the bank.

 Jonathan

racism

I walked to church with a Mayan man about my age yesterday.  He told me that he was an author and a poet.  I asked him if he liked living in Benque.  He said that he did because he was more accepted here than in Belize City.  He went on to explain how the dominantly Creole population of the coastal areas often consider those of Mayan descent non-Belizean, and hence a sort of second-class citizen at best.   The belief is that most Mayans are illegal immigrants from Gautemala, and basically don't belong.  My friend has been mugged and beaten up a few times; he used to visit Belize city to recited his poetry but not anymore.  I was taken aback by all this.  I guess I thought that racism was only something that white people indulged in, but the must be a narrow view.

I'm not going to color this with too much more commentary, but there it is for your consideration.

something a little different

 Hey everybody,  just got back from vacation, so I'm taking the opportunity to offer you all something a little different.

I'm trying to figure out what is with those billboard/curtains that movie stars are always posing in front of.  Ever noticed them? Every movie star spends all this time posing in front of these partitions with the logos of different entertainment companies, magazines, events, and so forth.  Here is my short list of questions.
1) Why don't actors just take a lead from Nascar and wear the logos of their sponsors?  Mariah Carey wearing a dress plastered with mag titles Vogue and Cosmo,  or Taylor Lautner sporting a jersey with the Lionsgate logo.  Then we would not have to spend so much time erecting these temporary walls.
Or if we wanted to leave them up,  2) Why not have the actors still wear the clothing above - as camoflouge?  It would help them hide from the paparazzi. 
3)  Is the reason we have to put up names and logos on the wall so that stars don't confuse them with real walls?  I mean, we wouldn't want Scarlet Johanssen posing and smiling all down her hallway just because she got confused,  "Wait a second, why am standing here if no one is taking my picture and I just wanted to go the linen closet?"
4) Are these things cue cards gone to the extreme? 
Reporter:  Are you excited to be here?
Star:  Oh yeah, Every year I'm pumped to be at the uh.. um...(glance over shoulder ) Grammies!  Yeah, I'm totally stoked to be at the Grammies.