Archive | February, 2010

I ate someone else’s post then pooped it out

28 Feb

I love pictures. I vacationed with eight friends in Puerto Rico two months ago, and one of them is a very good photographer with great gear and an eye for kodak moments. His pictures are some of my favorites of me and my friends; we were all so happy to spend a week under the sun, away from work and snow, and he quietly captured our huge smiles, silliness, and camaraderie. My friends and I browsed those hundreds of pictures for days, IMing each other the same “put me back there NOW.”

A blogger wrote about love and his desire to make his time with the girl he loved “stand still.” Sometimes we feel so intensely – and because we are such selfish creatures – we must own these perceived perfect moments. But one can lay out hundreds of pictures, perfectly aligned to “recreate” minutes or hours that once were present… and to our dismay, these don’t suddenly tele-transport us back. As I sat in my office post-Puerto Rico, fantastically tanned, sipping Fefo’s coffee, and looking through the pictures, I smiled at the memories but felt a bit of sadness for having been brutally pulled back to ‘reality.’

Photographs should be held dearly, but one should also understand well what they are: a representation of something that has passed. What we have that is infinitely more intense than reliving good times is the present. It’s a chance to feel through skin, mind and heart, with vividness and complexity that only exists now. Right now. Looking through pictures of vacations, of a romantic dinner with a boyfriend, of a night of beautiful music that flowed right through the body as though it weren’t solid… looking at all this long enough will eventually lead to frustration. Memories can give us short jolts of happiness and inspiration, but we can only truly live in the right now.

Aldous Huxley has made me beat my chest and holler in aliveness with some of his writings (which themselves are only “representations” of the intangible).  Maybe I should’ve scrapped this whole post and just quoted him:

At the back of the World’s Biggest Drug Store, among the toys, the greeting cards, and the comics, stood a row, surprisingly enough, of art books. I picked up the first volume that came to hand. It was on Van Gogh, and the picture at which the book opened was “The Chair” – that astounding portrait of a Ding an Sich, which the mad painter saw, with a kind of adoring terror, and tried to render on his canvas. But it was a task to which the power even of genius proved wholly inadequate. The chair Van Gogh had seen was obviously the same in essence as the chair I had seen. But, though incomparably more real than the chairs of ordinary perception, the chair in his picture remained no more than an unusually expressive symbol of the fact. The fact had been manifested Suchness; this was only an emblem. Such emblems are sources of true knowledge about the Nature of Things, and this true knowledge may serve to prepare the mind which accepts it for immediate insights on its own account. But that is all. However expressive, symbols can never be the things they stand for.*

So let us put down the pictures, books, movies… and step outside, breathe fresh air, talk to a person, pet an animal, ride the subway, sink our feet in sand, drink a cold beer, play an instrument, touch someone else’s flesh… because none of these experiences can ever be contained in an album.

*From Doors of Perception


Groupies and guitars

28 Feb

I like coming up with sayings. My newest ones are:

More Whores, Fewer Wars
A good woman spreads her ideas more often than her legs

When I was 14, I listened to 80’s and 90’s rock nonstop. Guns N’ Roses, Motley Crue, Skid Row, Metallica, Faith No More, Soundgarden… all these guys. I was also browsing the internets, often in AOL chat rooms and occasionally having inappropriate conversations with older men (dude… everyone was doing it). I went through a period of obsession with the rock n’ roll scene which led to lots of readings about groupie adventures.  I learned that Axl Rose was into golden showers and Steve Tyler was the best lay ever. All kinds of sordid details were proudly shared by women whose lives were consumed by the pursuit of rock n’ roll semen.  I was young and impressionable and I thought those girls/women were super cool for hanging out with rock stars; I wanted to be one of them.  Of course I never actually TRIED – my first concert was a Metallica show at the former Tweeter Center and I was scared shitless of all the biker dudes surrounding me. They sported booby biker chicks on their shoulders, flashing the crowd in hopes of appearing on the big screen, just like I’d seen on countless music videos.  One of them suggested my brother put me on his shoulders too and I clung to his arm.  “Nah, she’s good right here,” he said. Thank god for older brothers. And yeah, I knew then that I could never be a groupie.

At a N.E.R.D. concert years later, the manager was picking girls out of the audience post-show. The girls were lined up in front of the stage after re-applying lipgloss and pushing their boobs up even higher inside their padded bras. I stood in the back with my friends watching the scene. The ones who were chosen were jumping up and down screaming with joy, quick to leave their unchosen friends behind. The others were bummed and walked out in defeat.

Years later still (god, I’m getting old), I was lucky to score a free fourth row ticket to the UFC the first time they came to New England. Wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white girly t-shirt, I was seated behind Chuck Liddell, Rich Franklin, Randy Couture, Hermes França, and had Goldberg and Rogan in view. I’ve been a UFC fan since the early 90’s, back when it was a free-for-all dominated by the never-before-seen awesomeness of Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Needless to say, I was ecstatic to go.  The event, as we know, is mostly attended by meat-heads who don’t know much about the sport, but love screaming out nonsense and watching fist-drawn projectile blood. These types find validation in the diameter of their biceps and the cup size of their companions, so naturally, lots of “companions” were present.  There were also a lot of boobs that came with their owners in search of penis with sizable wallets. I make this claim because these women weren’t paying attention to the fights; they were flirting with guys, whispering to one another, or scoping out the crowd for a wallet to talk to. I was caught on camera stuffing my face with pizza and yelling at Forrest Griffin who was fighting Elvis Sinosic. You can find me on the DVD for UFC 55.

I definitely say that with pride. I think that feeling attractive and ‘wanted’ by men is great -I certainly have my share of push-up bras and mini skirts (though I avoid wearing both at the same time). But these women have crossed a line where I believe their sense of self-worth is much too dependent on their sex appeal.  Even as a grown woman, I sometimes have to reassure myself that I do not need to weigh 100lbs to be happy and that there is love to be found with flat shoes.

With all this said… I still believe there is a place for groupies. I think dudes who can play the guitar real fast should get lots of vajayjay and chicks with big boobs and deep throats who like diamonds should get rock star penis. Look at Slash and Perla – it’s a match made in heaven!  I just think that a good chunk of these girls have more to offer and would be happier pursuing other dreams. Some of them should be on stage themselves; instead they choose to hang outside tour buses for hours hoping a compliment or diamond bracelet will bring meaning to their lives.  They never grow out of fantasizing about being Pamela des Barres. I know I’d rather fantasize about being Gwen Stefani (or an awesomer version of myself).

Tori, the destroyer, and overcoming inexplicable laziness

28 Feb

Friends who come over and see my laptop wonder how the fuck I live with myself. I guess I have a high tolerance for shit (and lots of love for my dog). I mostly use my laptop on the couch or in bed, with Tori right next to me. Sometimes she decides I need love, so she jumps on my lap, puts her front paws on my shoulders, licks my face and/or rubs her neck on it. I call it face-raping. It’s pretty gross and I usually wash my face after, but you can’t deny it’s super cute.

On the way to or off my lap, if I’m not careful, she steps on the keyboard and may yank a key or two. The first key to go was backspace, two weeks after I’d purchased the laptop four years ago. I was furious. Then went the left side ‘shift’, the z, the +, and the o. The o was the worst. Do you know how often that letter is used? It sucked. I had to copy and paste it each time. The majority of posts you see on this blog were written without the o key.

For some reason, without researching I had decided that replacing a keyboard would be costly, so I never bothered to check prices. After someone told me they were super cheap, I got one on Ebay for $14 including shipping. It arrived on Wednesday and I thought I’d bring it to my dad on Sunday for him to install it.

This morning, as I sat on the bed with the laptop, Tori started howling at the noisy ambulance driving on our street. I love it when she does that, so I barked a little to encourage her. She jumped on me and started face-raping. I had a coffee in my hand so I wasn’t careful when removing her off me… she pulled out the e and d keys with her nails.

How the fuck can I write without an e, d, o, or z? It’s way more than I can handle. Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures, so I found online that I might easily be able to replace the keyboard on my own. I skipped a couple of steps that I deemed to be extraneous/difficult, but the new keyboard works. I’d been avoiding the word ‘crazy’ like crazy but now I can go crazy with it.

I was quick to brag about my MacGyver-ish self-reliance to my friend (oh, and everyone on Facebook).

For a while you were the only writer I know without a [proper] keyboard. Quite an accomplishment. I congratulate you.

I congratulate myself too.

“What’s in the plastic? Is it food?”

I hope I don’t need screws ’cause I just lost them


The Wall

27 Feb

He a raggedy, cornered, orphaned doll of deep and hollow eye sockets.
She a giant vagina with jiggly testicles mounted on muscular legs
fast on calloused feet,
mocks him and his sentiments.
the doll floats in nothingness; he can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel
even if the body does.

The giant is sensuous and stomps the motionless body.

Bars in the window
I am crazy

The shape-shifter surrounds and suffocates
He once tried – nails dug into vertically infinite concrete.
Scab and blood the only proofs.

He’s awake. He’s terrified.
She is massive and the foot threatens

Tear down the wall

A cascade of ugly shit from her mouth.
He sees choking hands and bitten nipples
Ripping open a blouse, exposed breasts in shame.
Uniformed rape.

Physical punishment
Faceless body unquestioning into the abyss.
The crowd cheers as the skies fall on the heads of
Queers, jews, junkies, students
Beaten and stripped.

When eyes were still in the sockets
A blade sharply removed eyebrows
and skin,
and blood.

The scars didn’t matter for a rock star
He still got pussy. Even more, for being eccentric.
By now the scars were gone and with them
any vestige of humanity

They found him nearly lifeless
Television blasting.
Where’s the commander now?
Where are the uniform and the megaphone
and the followers and destroyers?

A shot of adrenaline.
A forced re-entry.
Humiliated and sub-human

She built the wall
And she blew it up.
With it went his mind.
Little children solemnly sort pieces from debris.

Pink Floyd: The Wall (film) was so fucking fantastic I had to try to capture the imagery. I apologize for compressing and diluting the work with my self-indulgent little challenge. I couldn’t not.

Happy Friday

27 Feb

It’s ALL Politics

25 Feb

In the past week I’ve learned lots of new blogging-related stuff but have also realized there’s more out there than I care to know. Found it hilarious that there are “giveaway” online communities: comment on my blog and you’re entered to win, say, a box of expensive chocolates! It’s a tried and true method; people like getting stuff for free. I attracted new members to my student organization meetings with pizza, and Eric Cartman got tons of people to attend his “anti re-release of classic movies” group with free hats. For the time being, I’ll just post and be content with that. No free chocolates. I’d probably eat them or take too long to ship them and then get some kind of negative feedback and lots of hate.

A little quid-pro-quo. I’ve always been bad at it. I don’t know if it’s naiveté, but I always feel a little sleazy trying to imply a “do this for me and I’ll do this for you.” Case in point: I was recently in a car accident, so Shrek is in the shop, getting fixed. I sent him to my boss’ mechanic because the guy would be able to “take care” of me by “working the numbers” so I wouldn’t have to pay my $500 deductible. That sounds pretty damn awesome – except I couldn’t get the words out to ask for it.

What am I supposed to say?? Hey, can you lie on your estimate so I can get some money out of this? I’ve never met you, but I promise I’ll be a loyal customer.

So my boss offered to do the talking. Call me a wuss, or inexperienced… I have a hard time doing that kind of stuff. I’m not shy when fighting for my rights, but when it comes to “favors,” I shudder. That’s why I hated my sales job. Some of the same people are still working there, years later, making bank and loving their jobs. It’s a nice company and Kendall Square is a nice area, yada yada. But I couldn’t stand having to twist my words – ever so slightly – knowing that I was giving the customer a visual that wasn’t exactly accurate. So I quit with my dignity upheld and low funds in the bank.

Listening to the health care summit this afternoon raised every hair on my body. I cannot, for the life of me, comprehend how a [expletive adjective] [expletive noun] could possibly sit in front of his colleagues, in front of cameras, and to the people who pay his $170,000 salary + phenomenal benefits say: “We have the best health care system in the world.” How the fuck dare you?

These people are spreading the notion that things are fine the way they are, the free markets will adjust themselves, that the reform will cost too much, that catastrophic care is perfectly fine for most, and that, if treatment is expensive, people will “make do” with just the necessary. Are we hearing this? These people are throwing us to the lions. We live in a world where doctors are compensated by pharmaceutical companies to prescribe more and more medicine. Where over a billion dollars are spent yearly on lobbyists – in 2009 there were eight of them for each congressman – and where health insurance companies raise their premiums by as much as 39%. It’s a circus. It’s a free-for-all for all the [pluralized expletive] with no shame in engaging in a little quid-pro-quo. Money for me is money for you. Both democrats and republicans listen to lobbyists. But it’s at times like THIS when we see who (despite selling out) still wants to make people’s lives better. Who is still trying to find solutions with an open mind and without eyes strictly on the money. I don’t think democrats are saints. I just think that politicians who say feeding welfare children is like breeding unwanted strays and those who quote and support the stupidity that came out of CPAC and Tea Party orgies… these creatures should be sent off to an island, given shit-tons of fake money, bibles and barely-legal porn for all eternity.

The point of the matter is… after all of this drawn out bullshit, it is pretty clear that it’s time to move on. Pass the bill and tell them to fuck themselves. OK? And then please, grow some balls and stop bickering with each other.

There are also those who think we need to “scrap this” and “start over”… I understand; the plan isn’t perfect. But unless you’re gonna take up arms and stage a coup, you get this plan or you get nothing at all for another decade. And if you think this isn’t the case, then you’re [very] naive.

If this post offends you, don’t worry, deep breaths – you’re a republican. Just start reading and listening to some news for a few weeks, ask questions, and have a democrat friend checking in once in a while to clarify some concepts you may never have heard before. Have patience, and when in doubt, read Paul Krugman, Bill Maher, or watch The Daily Show. You will begin to understand.

Widgets: Blogging of the future

22 Feb

Yeah, I changed blog URL and layout one more time. I have a problem. Except this task takes longer than the usual re-arranging furniture at 3am, so the likelihood of sleeping is super tiny. Though I must say, I love all-nighter snacks.

My mom thinks I don’t take care of myself and eat crap all the time. I told her she’s cuckoo; most of my friends don’t even really grocery shop; their fridges are empty, and when there’s something in them, I usually hear, “uuuh I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.” Then I check the expiration date, and it’s been bad for two months. Saturday night was an extra special similar moment. My friend had some chips, cheese, and tomato sauce. I figured I’d throw it all in the microwave for some ghetto nachos. “Uh, I don’t know how long that’s been in there.”  Well, it’s tomato sauce, it lasts for a long time. I opened it and the smell was pretty freaking fowl. It had expired in June of 2009. He probably had that thing for two years in there.

I, on the other hand, try to keep a stocked fridge. I’m a poor planner, so I might have to pop into the market more than once a week, but my shopping’s mostly done on Sundays. With a stocked fridge and a well-rested body, staying up doesn’t seem so scary.

To give the blog a face-lift, I tried to create a new wordpress username with an e-mail address I rarely use. It was already registered and so I was reminded of a forgotten blog I once created. It only had one entry (I guess I got bored REALLY quick). It seems I wasn’t into capitalization that month. Here it is:

i had a blog while in college. a livejournal. it was a lot of fun; write down your thoughts, your friends read it, next day you think “wtf did i make that public,” and change the setting to ‘private only.’’s layout is rather sleek and important-looking and nowadays respectable people and drunk students alike are socially accepted members of the blogging community, so why not?

i’m a big fan of customization. i even enjoy customizing professional hair cuts (because years of schooling and experience do not a perfect stylist make – if i fail, i call it “wearable abstract art” and maybe invest on bobby pins). so before writing a post, i head on over to the elusive ’settings’ section (wordpress is pretty but it’s not quite intuitive) only to find that i can apply some widgets to my page and/or change the css. i don’t know what this means. i was hoping i’d be able to enter some html tags to change some colors and fonts around. I check Wiki for ‘widgets’ and get: “bladibla bla social networking bladibla.”   i ask my friend ben for help. he’s gonna be an IP lawyer one day. he taught me what IP lawyers are. he said: “it’s like a functional “banner” of sorts. basically used to describe a miniature functional application that links to some bigger functionality/site.”

now, why wikipedia couldn’t just have put that on their definition, i don’t know. after all this, i realize i need some widgets on my page, and so i add them. but i still don’t know how to change fonts and colors. so we’re back to zero.