It's baffling. The show began back in July, when I finally made the decision to take my writing public. Snippets here and there, sleep-deprived sessions centered around my world and the things that influence me the most. It has been an incredible 2010, kicked off by an unforgettable Vega$ trip with old and new friends - a trip where I almost lost an eye, and spent a Saturday night in ER, due to it. I wore an anaconda around my neck on my last night there.. blissful trip. In comes the summer and here in New England, we are blessed with some of the greatest summer weather ever; highlighted by numerous parties, trips to the beach, and many long nights spent amongst friends, in particular, some of the best people I know and love. The kids enjoyed it immensely as well, trips to amusement parks and the beach..but I digress. You see, if you would have asked me back in January if I would ever even ponder writing on the Web, I would have probably dumped a soda on your head.. it was unthinkable, yet I'm not sure why it was... what was the fear..?
As I look back at 32 sessions beginning in July, I feel not proud, but rather satisfied - satisfied that I made the jump and never looked back. That regardless of what the topic was, if it piqued my thought process, I wrote about it. I talked about Grape Crushing in the New World, I shared my experiences in the stunning land of Costa Rica, I wrote about love in many forms and about music and dreams and books and Paris and change..! Yes, change...! I've learned that I am to be a father again come June of next year and I recently started a new job.
Still.. I remain satisfied, perhaps even accomplished to an extent. I reflect and smile and sometimes emotion overwhelms me when I read back my own writing, my very own thoughts and tribulations. And I think to myself - there is nothing in the world that fills my soul more than writing; allowing thought and opinion to manifest itself - full of unbridled and effervescent emotion. I thank those that have read and those that have pushed me to 'ramble on'. The pleasure is indeed all mine. Happy Holidays!! See you in January.
Love, Irving
Monday, December 20, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Astray
It rejected me as if I did not belong there. My deserving rest wrestled away from me, pried from my aching feet, lifted from my heavy eyelids. The walking was lazy. Strolling through my kitchen in the wee hours of the night. Searching for familiarity not commonly found in drawers or fridges. It all felt dreamlike. This altered state of being did not bode well I thought. I was a wanderer, a stranger in my own reality. Disconnected, I froze. It was the kind of cathartic experience perhaps not found in the day to day doldrums of life. I suppose it helped to reset the brain as it resonated with confusion and dissonance.
Was there anyone else out there? No sound. No air. The lights remained off and I struggled to find the kitchen counter. I felt the need to lean on something; on someone. Realizing perhaps in this distant state, that I was very much alive and well. That although the time indicated otherwise and the house was pitch black, the sun would rise in a couple of hours. Things became common once more. Complexities and strangeness seemed like forgotten memories. The inevitable grasp of all things familiar breathed life into me and I walked up the stairs, into my room.
It was five in the morning. Dead in bed. Far off somewhere else. Searching once more, for that kitchen counter.
Was there anyone else out there? No sound. No air. The lights remained off and I struggled to find the kitchen counter. I felt the need to lean on something; on someone. Realizing perhaps in this distant state, that I was very much alive and well. That although the time indicated otherwise and the house was pitch black, the sun would rise in a couple of hours. Things became common once more. Complexities and strangeness seemed like forgotten memories. The inevitable grasp of all things familiar breathed life into me and I walked up the stairs, into my room.
It was five in the morning. Dead in bed. Far off somewhere else. Searching once more, for that kitchen counter.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Lunacy Sets In...
As I review the amount of strange and unusual words I've collected as I read the Wake, I've come to one clear conclusion. I am a lunatic. I mean after all, taking on this task of attempting to decipher this book, is the equivalent of walking on broken glass. Endless scribblings and words that seem to not make sense..yet somehow they kind of do. There is no concise story at this point. No real plot or characters. Simply, Joyce's words are the main characters. That's it. I've accepted this as fact at this point, yet feel compelled to push forward. I must be a masochist. Most people would have given up by now I suppose. After all, the book defies all known structure or discipline.
It may explain those strange dreams I've been having. Hmmmm... ok back to the Wake.
It may explain those strange dreams I've been having. Hmmmm... ok back to the Wake.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Avalanche
Scary huh? Yet, all I can picture, is cascading snow; enraged by a scream or a thunderclap. Despondent yet transforming. I mean after all, an avalanche does change its surroundings. One of nature's sudden whims to scrap a written page and commence anew, with the hope that the alteration of the nearby terrain will be effervescent and purposeful. Something with much more spark than previously envisaged. The key to the avalanche, is change. And change is good, most of the time. The majority of us are sticklers to routine and any flicker of addition or subtraction generates panic! I mean after all, this is what I..like..to do...right...right? Why oh why does it have to change..? There are changes taking place around me that will forever alter the fabric of who I am, or at least, who I thought I was - a sudden introduction of agents accosting me at all corners. Changes that will bring forth an avalanche of sorts, and with it, questions that beget answers, actions that must be taken. I can hear the drum roll in the distance. "Let's get lost", as Chet Baker would say. Dye the soul color blue and dive right into this mess of snow and rock coming straight at me.
Sudden whims huh? I can see it all now.... A strangeness at first, like driving to a new job on day one. Scrap that last page and commence anew. Effervescence and purpose are on their way.
Sudden whims huh? I can see it all now.... A strangeness at first, like driving to a new job on day one. Scrap that last page and commence anew. Effervescence and purpose are on their way.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Book Club Membership in 1986
Back in 1986, I barely spoke or read English. I had just docked into American waters oblivious to signs and newspaper articles. The inevitable sense of doom was overwhelming. I was 11 years old and I pretty much felt like I sucked at everything. Add to that, the inability to communicate in the native tongue, and you can bet your ass I was concerned. I didn’t even know what ‘fuck you' meant. Sixth grade came and with it a gravitational pull towards jean jackets and stonewashed jeans…and glasses. Fucking glasses. It was not fashionable to wear glasses in 1986. In fact, it was the “Golden Era of the Nerd”. You wore glasses you were a geek. Add to that the fact that I could barely mutter my home address, and yep, I shit you not; I was a geek and a mute.
It was the late 80’s and it was all about metal and freestyle - rocking jean jackets, spiked hair and Nike sneakers. As part of my introduction to the school system in the US, I was placed in the bilingual section of the curriculum, which consisted of another 6 kids. Though these kids had been born in the States, their English was pathetic at best, hence their placement into the club. I needed to learn to speak English pronto damnit! How the hell was I supposed to talk to these girls? Sign language was not an option, unless I wanted to get my ass kicked.
Enter the “60 Book Club”. Simply, you had to read at least 60 books and provide a book report for each. At the end of the year you would be rewarded with a “membership card” and public recognition in front of the entire school. God, I was such a nerd. Nonetheless, it was my ticket out, and I planned to capitalize on it.
The books available at the time ranged from “Pygmalion” to “The Karate Kid” to “A Raisin in the Sun” and so on. I dedicated myself all year to reading these books, and writing book reports for all. I stumbled at times – the pressure of all this reading combined with the combustible atmosphere that is junior high made for quite the cocktail. I was a nerd, plain and simple – but my ambitions were high, and I knew full well that this year of devotion to books would serve as a stepping stone for the rest of my life.
Last week of the school year. 64 books. A cheesy ceremony where I wore my Dad’s old suit, and my god-awful glasses. I had arrived. 64 book reports. A shiny membership card and the official stamp of nerd. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as this spurred me to continue to read and read some more. It certainly didn’t help me in my affairs with the female population, but all roads must be crossed twice sometimes. Inevitably, you find your way.
Perhaps I’m still that kid in my Dad’s old suit. 64 books. I should find that card and frame it.
It was the late 80’s and it was all about metal and freestyle - rocking jean jackets, spiked hair and Nike sneakers. As part of my introduction to the school system in the US, I was placed in the bilingual section of the curriculum, which consisted of another 6 kids. Though these kids had been born in the States, their English was pathetic at best, hence their placement into the club. I needed to learn to speak English pronto damnit! How the hell was I supposed to talk to these girls? Sign language was not an option, unless I wanted to get my ass kicked.
Enter the “60 Book Club”. Simply, you had to read at least 60 books and provide a book report for each. At the end of the year you would be rewarded with a “membership card” and public recognition in front of the entire school. God, I was such a nerd. Nonetheless, it was my ticket out, and I planned to capitalize on it.
The books available at the time ranged from “Pygmalion” to “The Karate Kid” to “A Raisin in the Sun” and so on. I dedicated myself all year to reading these books, and writing book reports for all. I stumbled at times – the pressure of all this reading combined with the combustible atmosphere that is junior high made for quite the cocktail. I was a nerd, plain and simple – but my ambitions were high, and I knew full well that this year of devotion to books would serve as a stepping stone for the rest of my life.
Last week of the school year. 64 books. A cheesy ceremony where I wore my Dad’s old suit, and my god-awful glasses. I had arrived. 64 book reports. A shiny membership card and the official stamp of nerd. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as this spurred me to continue to read and read some more. It certainly didn’t help me in my affairs with the female population, but all roads must be crossed twice sometimes. Inevitably, you find your way.
Perhaps I’m still that kid in my Dad’s old suit. 64 books. I should find that card and frame it.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Finnegans Wake
I have spent most of my adult life doing two things in particular; reading and writing. As far as reading is concerned, I've taken on them all rather successfully; from the Bible to Hemingway to Kerouac and down into Shakespearean territory. Now granted, I have run into fits of despair and may have destroyed a copy or two of Naked Lunch - it all comes down to the following story. A colleague of mine in Galway, Ireland, sent along a book to another travelling colleague of mine, with the sole purpose of it arriving in my hands safe and sound. I was unaware of what book I was to receive. I simply knew that a book was crossing the pond; something unexpected, perhaps something with a greater amount of substance than anything I've ever encountered.
James Joyce.
Yes, James frigging Joyce. I've never read anything from an Irish author in the past, and as fate would have it, James Joyce will be my first rendezvous. In particular, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. A rather complicated work of fiction known as one of the most difficult in the English language. It arrived Monday, and as of yesterday, colleagues at work were calling me a dork, for even attempting to comprehend it. Finnegans Wake, from word of mouth, defies regular storytelling. Its approach is strictly stream of concsiousness; a never ending loop.
Perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew, but this is a legit challenge unlike any other. No cliff notes or abbreviated summaries will be employed. I will commit myself to this book and no other, for the next few months. 628 pages, to be dissected; my own notes scrawled upon scraps of paper, napkins, whatever is close. It may drive me crazy, I may lose whatever I have left of hair... I will report back with my findings. James, we have a date.
James Joyce.
Yes, James frigging Joyce. I've never read anything from an Irish author in the past, and as fate would have it, James Joyce will be my first rendezvous. In particular, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. A rather complicated work of fiction known as one of the most difficult in the English language. It arrived Monday, and as of yesterday, colleagues at work were calling me a dork, for even attempting to comprehend it. Finnegans Wake, from word of mouth, defies regular storytelling. Its approach is strictly stream of concsiousness; a never ending loop.
Perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew, but this is a legit challenge unlike any other. No cliff notes or abbreviated summaries will be employed. I will commit myself to this book and no other, for the next few months. 628 pages, to be dissected; my own notes scrawled upon scraps of paper, napkins, whatever is close. It may drive me crazy, I may lose whatever I have left of hair... I will report back with my findings. James, we have a date.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sometimes We Become Muddled and Lazy
I often wonder why it is that people wait for an unfortunate event to occur, before they take action. The action I speak of focuses on each one’s legacy. What will you be remembered for when you leave this Earth? How will your children remember you? Will your friends recall stories and memories from long ago where you played the main character? I know…many questions. Perhaps as one gets older, these questions creep in much more often than not. I am fortunate that my folks are both alive and that my younger brother is alive. I do not take them for granted. I speak to them at least twice a week. I reach out to my closest friends as much as I can.
When I ask these questions from others, the answers are often muddled and lazy. “Yeah you are right, maybe I should call him.” “It’s been about three weeks..I think.??” It never escapes me, how important family is, how important those few I call friends are. Life is busy, I know. It’s easy to fall into a quagmire of inactivity; a despondent state of affairs.
A dear friend of mine was here this past weekend, and we chatted about simple things. We talked about the past and brought up fantastic and incredibly funny stories. It didn’t escape me then either, how important those memories are. Years have passed and once in a while, a window opens, when you are reminded, purposely or not, that action must be taken. We must do what we can, while we can.
Legacy.... May your actions and memories linger in boisteroius laughter and joyous admiration, when you are no longer here.
When I ask these questions from others, the answers are often muddled and lazy. “Yeah you are right, maybe I should call him.” “It’s been about three weeks..I think.??” It never escapes me, how important family is, how important those few I call friends are. Life is busy, I know. It’s easy to fall into a quagmire of inactivity; a despondent state of affairs.
A dear friend of mine was here this past weekend, and we chatted about simple things. We talked about the past and brought up fantastic and incredibly funny stories. It didn’t escape me then either, how important those memories are. Years have passed and once in a while, a window opens, when you are reminded, purposely or not, that action must be taken. We must do what we can, while we can.
Legacy.... May your actions and memories linger in boisteroius laughter and joyous admiration, when you are no longer here.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 7)
March 17 - Leaving Samara. Sad morning, but hopeful that our travels ahead remain full of adventure and steady doses of ice cold beer. As we bid adieu to Samara, we see Napoleon and Pollo driving by us on the other direction, frantically prompting us to yell out to them in unison.."Pollo...!!!" He waves smiling, as if to say, "see you guys soon". Beach bums, gotta love 'em and their unyielding spirit of doing absolutely nothing but enjoying life. We could learn from them.
Onwards we go, north, closely hugging the coast, taking in the ocean scenery, passing small villages, dirt roads, kids kicking soccer balls, the vastness of the Pacific. We make it a point to stop at random beaches along the way, Playa Garza, Playa Rosada.. gorgeous pieces of the Pacific. Then...we hit the mother load; miles and miles of unpaved road, gravel, rocks, the works. The caravan slows to a crawl, to avoid a flat. Jason's lulled almost to sleep with the constant rocking. It feels..endless. The journey takes a strange twist when the Caravan finds itself head on with a semi flooded road. I get out and go in the water with a branch to check its depth. The last thing we want is to be stuck, but we must push forward to our destination - Playa del Coco. The girls get off the Caravan and I instruct the Jason to charge ahead, like a battalion with bayonets..."Chargeeee". Our vehicle makes it through the water unscathed, and the rest of us make it via a walk ramp, safe and sound.
Soon, the road becomes paved. We stop for snacks along the way, replenish our beer stash and on we go. Finally, we reach our destination, and first stop by a soda for some much needed lunch. From there, it's on to the apartment that will become our base of operations for the next three days. Welcome to Playa del Coco.
Onwards we go, north, closely hugging the coast, taking in the ocean scenery, passing small villages, dirt roads, kids kicking soccer balls, the vastness of the Pacific. We make it a point to stop at random beaches along the way, Playa Garza, Playa Rosada.. gorgeous pieces of the Pacific. Then...we hit the mother load; miles and miles of unpaved road, gravel, rocks, the works. The caravan slows to a crawl, to avoid a flat. Jason's lulled almost to sleep with the constant rocking. It feels..endless. The journey takes a strange twist when the Caravan finds itself head on with a semi flooded road. I get out and go in the water with a branch to check its depth. The last thing we want is to be stuck, but we must push forward to our destination - Playa del Coco. The girls get off the Caravan and I instruct the Jason to charge ahead, like a battalion with bayonets..."Chargeeee". Our vehicle makes it through the water unscathed, and the rest of us make it via a walk ramp, safe and sound.
Soon, the road becomes paved. We stop for snacks along the way, replenish our beer stash and on we go. Finally, we reach our destination, and first stop by a soda for some much needed lunch. From there, it's on to the apartment that will become our base of operations for the next three days. Welcome to Playa del Coco.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
My Attempt at Poetry
Lost in Writing
Scattered papers, shapeless stars
Endless words, unscripted scars
Numerous tales of woe and disaster
Life in effect seems ever faster
Bringing its noise to a sudden halt
It resonates in the ever after
Where I discuss my melodrama
I choose death before dishonor
Yet everything at last fades
Into silence, endless shades
Rebelling as I speak
I sense this world to be unique
Yet at the peak of its own fate
Lies the line between love and hate
The mind is muddled with hysteria
The body rots and life gets wearier
Laying upon this bed of leaves
I dare to challenge your beliefs
From here and everywhere
Undeniably aware
Unequivocally rare
The room now fills with air
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 6)
March 16th - Woke up at 7:30am, wanted to head out and walk on the beach, clear my head and take it all in. Already the heat was evident, a gorgeous day. Took my sunglasses and camera and out the door I went, headed straight towards the beach, intending to at least walk the entire right side of it.
The water was calm at this time, while everyone still slept, recovering from the prior night's debacle. It was a tranquil walk, and I felt very relaxed; listening only to the sound of waves and just taking everything in; breathing deeply and feeling lucky to have come to this part of the world. My only encounter eerily enough was with a vulture who sat steadily on a rock and saw me wander around. I managed to take a picture of it, which I'll post later. It was as if to say, if you decide to die, I will have you for lunch. I picked up some gorgeous seashells and headed back after a cool walk. It was time to surprise the kids with seashells in the morning.
As I made my way back to Hotel Giada with pockets full of seashells, I spotted Jason, nonchalantly sitting on the porch, reading. He seemed tranquil and I didn't feel like disturbing his reading, but he spotted me, and asked me about the walk to the beach. Waking up the kids was a joy; they were so surprised about the seashells; I could see a sparkle in their eyes, as if a newly discovered comet had been observed. Their reaction coupled with the walk on the beach, made my morning.
The rest of the day was spent on the beach, taking in the sun, fighting the surf, boogie boarding, and snapping pictures at every turn. Great sunshine, great day to spend on the water.
By nighttime, after dinner, we made our trek back to Locanda Bar and its alluring arms. Salsa in the air, drinks, and just truly feeling as if anyone who was anyone was at Locanda's, and there was no one else in the world, but us; thoroughly enjoying a rich and glorious time at the shores of the Pacific.
The water was calm at this time, while everyone still slept, recovering from the prior night's debacle. It was a tranquil walk, and I felt very relaxed; listening only to the sound of waves and just taking everything in; breathing deeply and feeling lucky to have come to this part of the world. My only encounter eerily enough was with a vulture who sat steadily on a rock and saw me wander around. I managed to take a picture of it, which I'll post later. It was as if to say, if you decide to die, I will have you for lunch. I picked up some gorgeous seashells and headed back after a cool walk. It was time to surprise the kids with seashells in the morning.
As I made my way back to Hotel Giada with pockets full of seashells, I spotted Jason, nonchalantly sitting on the porch, reading. He seemed tranquil and I didn't feel like disturbing his reading, but he spotted me, and asked me about the walk to the beach. Waking up the kids was a joy; they were so surprised about the seashells; I could see a sparkle in their eyes, as if a newly discovered comet had been observed. Their reaction coupled with the walk on the beach, made my morning.
The rest of the day was spent on the beach, taking in the sun, fighting the surf, boogie boarding, and snapping pictures at every turn. Great sunshine, great day to spend on the water.
By nighttime, after dinner, we made our trek back to Locanda Bar and its alluring arms. Salsa in the air, drinks, and just truly feeling as if anyone who was anyone was at Locanda's, and there was no one else in the world, but us; thoroughly enjoying a rich and glorious time at the shores of the Pacific.
Friday, September 17, 2010
I Seem to Have Forgotten Your Name
I see you. Between the waves. Smiling back at me, relentlessly. I recall your long blonde hair and your enticing eyes yet I don't recall your name. The sun was at its brightest on that day, and God decided it was time to unveil you in front of the world. You spoke to me from afar, and every once in a while, you smiled, and the world was a better place because of it. Beneath the clouds, the sun, and those fantastic waves, you spoke about where you were from. You spoke about your past and about your day to day. It was one of those encounters, where you look back now and think to yourself, I wonder how she's doing. I wonder what one of God's greatest creations is doing. On that day, that bright sunny day, we spoke about waves, and about wind. We spoke about music and what is best in life. All the while, I wondered where you had descended from; one of His very own angels, lounging around the surf, dancing to your own beat. Seemingly oblivious to the world around you. Your attention, simply, on me. Inquisitive yet playful. Perhaps my perception changed on that day. I realize now that encounters such as these are few and far in between.
Wherever you are, sun-kissed, green-eyed, and angelic, I hope you are doing just fine. I hope perhaps you remember me, brash and cocky, yet stunned from the mere sight of you. A boy, who remembers you, and wonders how you are doing after all this time.
I seem to have forgotten your name. Then again, angel would suffice. I hope wherever you are, you remember me as I remember you.
Wherever you are, sun-kissed, green-eyed, and angelic, I hope you are doing just fine. I hope perhaps you remember me, brash and cocky, yet stunned from the mere sight of you. A boy, who remembers you, and wonders how you are doing after all this time.
I seem to have forgotten your name. Then again, angel would suffice. I hope wherever you are, you remember me as I remember you.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Interview
As I stood there waiting for my interview, thoughts came to mind; random thoughts that sparked fires of paranoia and delusion. The room was devoid of any furniture, aside from an old desk and a chair. Though the room lacked windows, the air was cool and electric. In a flash, something out of nowhere startled me – it led me towards that desk and that chair. I sat down slowly, with my head down, unsure of what would happen next. Upon lifting my eyes a person sat in front of me, looking at me intently; gazing into my soul. He did not speak, he did not budge; he simply looked at me, intently.
In amazement, the first words came out of my mouth. “What should I do?” “Where do I go from here?” The questions kept bubbling up, to the surface. Questions about myself, about my future, about life.
No answers. Simply that gaze, fixed and unequivocally familiar.
As time ticked, the questions subsided, and I focused my attention on this person in front of me. Familiar yet strange. Silent. Unyielding.
Anger. Perhaps a result of frustration, of his unresponsive nature. I struck him. I lunged at him with force, crashing through the mirror. In an instant, I knew. All along it had been me on the other side of the desk. My own reflection. Questions unanswered. Responses that shattered through the air in a million little pieces. The interview that never was, concluded with cuts on my face and arms. A reminder perhaps, that the truth can be as painful and severe as the silence of a windowless room.
In amazement, the first words came out of my mouth. “What should I do?” “Where do I go from here?” The questions kept bubbling up, to the surface. Questions about myself, about my future, about life.
No answers. Simply that gaze, fixed and unequivocally familiar.
As time ticked, the questions subsided, and I focused my attention on this person in front of me. Familiar yet strange. Silent. Unyielding.
Anger. Perhaps a result of frustration, of his unresponsive nature. I struck him. I lunged at him with force, crashing through the mirror. In an instant, I knew. All along it had been me on the other side of the desk. My own reflection. Questions unanswered. Responses that shattered through the air in a million little pieces. The interview that never was, concluded with cuts on my face and arms. A reminder perhaps, that the truth can be as painful and severe as the silence of a windowless room.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 5)
March 15th - After our incredible stay at Arenal Paraiso, our travels would take us down a different path. This time we were headed towards the Guanacaste region, which ultimately meets the Pacific Ocean. Our ultimate destination would be a sole beach by the name of "Samara". Just thinking about Samara brings smells of salt in the air, sunshine, surfboards and the great Pacific.. Wish I was there now.
On to our trip. We boarded the trusty Caravan and headed west, zipping around Lake Arenal, a vast pool of turquoise waters. Along the way, we observed vibrant European nuances; houses built like suisse chalets, and luckily, a German bakery. That's right, I said it, a German bakery, in the middle of Costa Rica. And even better it serves beer.... my God, what is this place??? Are you kiddin' me?? Okay, where's the hidden camera... But, no joke, a German bakery hosted by Germans who serve beer...German beer.. Fuck me sideways!!!! I actually had the gall to ask our lovely German hostess if they served beer... her response was like a slap across the face with a wooden sandal.."Of course we serve beer, it's a German establishment?!" Really she was saying to herself... "What are you a fuckin' idiot??" Yeah I laid a huge goose egg on this one.. but moving on, we proceeded to enjoy great German beers on tall glasses and stocked up on more for the road. I bid adieu to this fine establishment, with the reminder that someday, sooner rather than later, I would come back to this very spot, and order a German beer from that very hostess, before I even said hello. Prost..!
We caught our first glimpses of the Pacific upon our arrival to Samara. After unloading and catching a quick meal at Hotel Giada, we walked down towards the beach. I was overwhelmed after seeing the Pacific for the very first time, regal and sparkling; white foam rushing all around. Palm trees stretched out near us as the only shelter against the sun. It was late afternoon and after taking several dips, we hung around until the tide came in and swept away our bag, towels, kids' toys, etc... clearly a welcoming sign from Samara. Aside from the wild waters of Samara, the area itself is very cool. Clearly, a surfer's town, with many surf shops and souvenir kiosks and your share of new and repeat tourists, you just can't get enough of the coolness of Samara. Wicked high cool factor.
The late afternoon was not complete, until we decided to mount horses for a ride by the beach. The girls went over to negotiate prices with two fellows aptly named Napoleon and Pollo; characters who live and die by the beach. Their ocean breeze and salt blasted faces tell the whole story; these guys are legit beachbums. Drunk ones at that; but I digress. We mounted our sturdy friends and yours truly decided to bypass the lesson and take off to higher ground. My horse did not agree with this decision and decided not to follow directions or listen me, after numerous requests. He came and went as he pleased, to the thrill of the crowd and one Shirley, who could not stop laughing... more on her in a bit.. Finally I made it back to Napoleon and crew, a beaten man. Getting back to Shirley though... she was on a horse for a max of 5 minutes. Fear and loathing soon took over and she proceeded to dismount, feeling safer on land than on horse.
After returning to our comfortable digs and cleaning up, we walked out into the evening to explore our surroundings. We weaved our way around souvenir shops in search of a decent place to eat. At first we arrived at a bar, devoid of people; a dark and dreary place where the dead go to drink. We passed on the chance and to our surprise, a bar named Locanda loomed near. L
Locanda is one of those places on Earth that is not bound by the same rules as other places are. What I mean is, this place is magical; literally glowing, enthusiastic, energized, life resides here in bundles. The soundtrack? Simple. Salsa. All night. That's all. No other form of music. And you know what? It works. Especially if the place is but feet from the ocean, the wood carved tables are surrounded by palm trees decorated with Christmas lights, and the ocean breeze takes you away to some other location. Out of sight, out of mind. We pass the night here overwhelmed by the most amazing night sky I've ever witnessed. The first time I see the milky way, over the Pacific Ocean, what a sight. Great night amongst friends, the drinks and food kept coming until it was time to close shop for another day.
On to our trip. We boarded the trusty Caravan and headed west, zipping around Lake Arenal, a vast pool of turquoise waters. Along the way, we observed vibrant European nuances; houses built like suisse chalets, and luckily, a German bakery. That's right, I said it, a German bakery, in the middle of Costa Rica. And even better it serves beer.... my God, what is this place??? Are you kiddin' me?? Okay, where's the hidden camera... But, no joke, a German bakery hosted by Germans who serve beer...German beer.. Fuck me sideways!!!! I actually had the gall to ask our lovely German hostess if they served beer... her response was like a slap across the face with a wooden sandal.."Of course we serve beer, it's a German establishment?!" Really she was saying to herself... "What are you a fuckin' idiot??" Yeah I laid a huge goose egg on this one.. but moving on, we proceeded to enjoy great German beers on tall glasses and stocked up on more for the road. I bid adieu to this fine establishment, with the reminder that someday, sooner rather than later, I would come back to this very spot, and order a German beer from that very hostess, before I even said hello. Prost..!
We caught our first glimpses of the Pacific upon our arrival to Samara. After unloading and catching a quick meal at Hotel Giada, we walked down towards the beach. I was overwhelmed after seeing the Pacific for the very first time, regal and sparkling; white foam rushing all around. Palm trees stretched out near us as the only shelter against the sun. It was late afternoon and after taking several dips, we hung around until the tide came in and swept away our bag, towels, kids' toys, etc... clearly a welcoming sign from Samara. Aside from the wild waters of Samara, the area itself is very cool. Clearly, a surfer's town, with many surf shops and souvenir kiosks and your share of new and repeat tourists, you just can't get enough of the coolness of Samara. Wicked high cool factor.
The late afternoon was not complete, until we decided to mount horses for a ride by the beach. The girls went over to negotiate prices with two fellows aptly named Napoleon and Pollo; characters who live and die by the beach. Their ocean breeze and salt blasted faces tell the whole story; these guys are legit beachbums. Drunk ones at that; but I digress. We mounted our sturdy friends and yours truly decided to bypass the lesson and take off to higher ground. My horse did not agree with this decision and decided not to follow directions or listen me, after numerous requests. He came and went as he pleased, to the thrill of the crowd and one Shirley, who could not stop laughing... more on her in a bit.. Finally I made it back to Napoleon and crew, a beaten man. Getting back to Shirley though... she was on a horse for a max of 5 minutes. Fear and loathing soon took over and she proceeded to dismount, feeling safer on land than on horse.
After returning to our comfortable digs and cleaning up, we walked out into the evening to explore our surroundings. We weaved our way around souvenir shops in search of a decent place to eat. At first we arrived at a bar, devoid of people; a dark and dreary place where the dead go to drink. We passed on the chance and to our surprise, a bar named Locanda loomed near. L
Locanda is one of those places on Earth that is not bound by the same rules as other places are. What I mean is, this place is magical; literally glowing, enthusiastic, energized, life resides here in bundles. The soundtrack? Simple. Salsa. All night. That's all. No other form of music. And you know what? It works. Especially if the place is but feet from the ocean, the wood carved tables are surrounded by palm trees decorated with Christmas lights, and the ocean breeze takes you away to some other location. Out of sight, out of mind. We pass the night here overwhelmed by the most amazing night sky I've ever witnessed. The first time I see the milky way, over the Pacific Ocean, what a sight. Great night amongst friends, the drinks and food kept coming until it was time to close shop for another day.
Lessons from the First Grade
Where has the time gone? Alex is now 6 years old and in first grade already?!! This past Tuesday I took him to school to meet his teacher and scout the surroundings, and it struck me; it wasn't that long ago that my own mother was taking me to first grade. As I recall, she took me by the hand on my first day and once I was seated, she bolted. Here I was in this strange new world of boogers, whiners and newness. In retrospect, I should have never punched Johnny in the nose. Weird times.
So as I let go of Alex in class this past Tuesday, those memories rushed back, and I observed him, seating there, no longer a baby, but a kid, with his own curiosities and view of the world around him. I lingered intently, to observe his movements- would he talk to anyone, maybe a hi here or there. He seemed content. He had arrived. And I felt at ease, as he caught me lurking, and waved at me from afar, smiling as if to say, "it's ok Daddy, I'm good to go".
As I drove back to work, I felt relieved. Perhaps this is how my mother felt. Here he is world..! Release. Life goes on. As I get older, I tend to appreciate moments like this more so. Nothing is trivial. These lessons became evident, as I lingered and watched my kid step into the spotlight. The first of many grades in life.
So as I let go of Alex in class this past Tuesday, those memories rushed back, and I observed him, seating there, no longer a baby, but a kid, with his own curiosities and view of the world around him. I lingered intently, to observe his movements- would he talk to anyone, maybe a hi here or there. He seemed content. He had arrived. And I felt at ease, as he caught me lurking, and waved at me from afar, smiling as if to say, "it's ok Daddy, I'm good to go".
As I drove back to work, I felt relieved. Perhaps this is how my mother felt. Here he is world..! Release. Life goes on. As I get older, I tend to appreciate moments like this more so. Nothing is trivial. These lessons became evident, as I lingered and watched my kid step into the spotlight. The first of many grades in life.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I'm Sick, Therefore, I Must Blog
Clearly it is the only solution. Fever induced dreams. Sweating. Aches everywhere. I can't find the goddamn tylenol. Oh well.. thanks to a friendly virus, I find myself knee deep in loathing. Ugh... I haven't gotten sick in - it seems like - centuries..! Can't sleep, no appetite. Lethargic at best. Glad it doesnt take much energy to type away. Crap..the ice bag's melted, well not the bag...but you get my point. My hope is that somehow the energy coming out of my PC will inevitably transfer itself to me, and fix me!
I long for avocado in late summer. A pinch of salt...and voila.
Ok, I'm off. Bon soir!
I long for avocado in late summer. A pinch of salt...and voila.
Ok, I'm off. Bon soir!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Days 3 - 4)
March 13, 14 - An early morning gives way to our planned getaway towards the Arenal volcano area. The drive is about a little over three hours, through winding hills , small villages and gorgeous views of the countryside. Illiana had mentioned something about queso Palmito and we decided to make a few stops for both coffee and some fresh Palmito cheese. Stringy and bitter goodness....yummm. The drive continued listening to a great Salsa station and taking in the great scenery.
The Arenal volcano rises ahead, imposing and majestic, following us as we get closer. We reach the Arenal Paraiso resort - a gorgeous pool and hot springs laden spot with great views of the volcano. I must pause here and truly describe what this place looks like, because it truly is paradise. Plants everywhere, beautiful flowers, colorful birds singing, I mean the place is one of a kind. Their cabins are rustic and comfortable, with a cozy porch looking out towards the volcano. Such is this place, filled with colors and pockets of lava warmed water, green with minerals.
During our stay here we managed to do a few things that truly endeared me to Costa Rica. I visited my first "soda" which is the equivalent of a cafe, but less expensive and the food is fresher. The place welcomed us for lunch with an array of native food choices, black beans, rice, steak, green beans, etc. All of it wonderful. For dessert, we got free samples of a native delicacy made with milk; sweet goodness and the perfect way to end the meal. Jason and I went hiking in the late afternoon through the forested area behind the resort. We stumbled upon monkeys and zip line platforms. It was a great way to spend the late afternoon, and I managed to bring along some frozen Imperials which quickly thawed due to the heat. We stopped short of our destination as the trail became steeper by the minute, and the thought of getting lost in the woods as darkness approached was not a viable option.
"Guario Speedragon". It should be copyrighted, as it is our original creation of a simple but exquisite drink. Take equal parts Cacique and Fresca, shake with ice and serve. Refreshing, and devastating at the same time. A fresh sample of what getting kicked in the nuts feels like, while relaxing in a pool on a hot summer night in Costa Rica. We made the most of our stay in Arenal Paraiso, which also involved watching the movie "Hot Chicks" and laughing hysterically, discovering Duval beers to our amazement, tanning, eating left over queso palmito and of course, lashing out at a Panamian waiter who tried to hustle us at the very same restaurant where two dogs decided to have sex next to our table. And of course, taking it all in, the setting, the view, the freshly made breakfast with the best orange juice in the planet, discovering my own personal waterfall aptly named Ving Falls; paradise indeed.
The Arenal volcano rises ahead, imposing and majestic, following us as we get closer. We reach the Arenal Paraiso resort - a gorgeous pool and hot springs laden spot with great views of the volcano. I must pause here and truly describe what this place looks like, because it truly is paradise. Plants everywhere, beautiful flowers, colorful birds singing, I mean the place is one of a kind. Their cabins are rustic and comfortable, with a cozy porch looking out towards the volcano. Such is this place, filled with colors and pockets of lava warmed water, green with minerals.
During our stay here we managed to do a few things that truly endeared me to Costa Rica. I visited my first "soda" which is the equivalent of a cafe, but less expensive and the food is fresher. The place welcomed us for lunch with an array of native food choices, black beans, rice, steak, green beans, etc. All of it wonderful. For dessert, we got free samples of a native delicacy made with milk; sweet goodness and the perfect way to end the meal. Jason and I went hiking in the late afternoon through the forested area behind the resort. We stumbled upon monkeys and zip line platforms. It was a great way to spend the late afternoon, and I managed to bring along some frozen Imperials which quickly thawed due to the heat. We stopped short of our destination as the trail became steeper by the minute, and the thought of getting lost in the woods as darkness approached was not a viable option.
"Guario Speedragon". It should be copyrighted, as it is our original creation of a simple but exquisite drink. Take equal parts Cacique and Fresca, shake with ice and serve. Refreshing, and devastating at the same time. A fresh sample of what getting kicked in the nuts feels like, while relaxing in a pool on a hot summer night in Costa Rica. We made the most of our stay in Arenal Paraiso, which also involved watching the movie "Hot Chicks" and laughing hysterically, discovering Duval beers to our amazement, tanning, eating left over queso palmito and of course, lashing out at a Panamian waiter who tried to hustle us at the very same restaurant where two dogs decided to have sex next to our table. And of course, taking it all in, the setting, the view, the freshly made breakfast with the best orange juice in the planet, discovering my own personal waterfall aptly named Ving Falls; paradise indeed.
Monday, August 16, 2010
My Favorite Things
True. It is a symbolic song recorded by one John Coltrane. Invoking memories of distant lands and precious moments, it speaks to me. Subtle hints of coffee from Costa Rica, salt in the air from Boqueron, Puerto Rico, steel drum beats in St. Thomas, exotic jungle in Mexico. I have been blessed to have had the opportunity to travel to these places in different occasions. The one thing that strikes me about these favorite things of mine is that they are not isolated to a physical place, but rather, the experience. I've enjoyed some of the greatest food ever in dirt floored restaurants, where dogs wander in; where soccer matches are followed with fervor and passion, in a 19 inch television set.
I met a guy the other day at a Boston bar. His name is Tom Brown, perhaps 55 - 60 years of age. Likeable, weathered soul. Yet, friendly enough to converse and generous enough to buy me a beer. Hell I even took a picture with him. These are the type of experiences that drive my fervor for travel, for discovery. It's about these things, simple, yet necessary. People, good citizens of the world, that are willing to share a smile and conversation, regardless of where you are from. Food that is mystical, lush, yet enjoyed on dirt-floored cafes, or beach side kiosks. Wondrous sights that don't cost you anything more than just your time and attention span.
Do it. Go somewhere and experience something different. Feed your soul with these simple experiences. You will walk away richer for having experienced them. Life's perspective, perhaps altered. Nature's compass guiding us towards something else, deep into the map of the human heart. Unequalled moments that stay with us, like our favorite things.
I met a guy the other day at a Boston bar. His name is Tom Brown, perhaps 55 - 60 years of age. Likeable, weathered soul. Yet, friendly enough to converse and generous enough to buy me a beer. Hell I even took a picture with him. These are the type of experiences that drive my fervor for travel, for discovery. It's about these things, simple, yet necessary. People, good citizens of the world, that are willing to share a smile and conversation, regardless of where you are from. Food that is mystical, lush, yet enjoyed on dirt-floored cafes, or beach side kiosks. Wondrous sights that don't cost you anything more than just your time and attention span.
Do it. Go somewhere and experience something different. Feed your soul with these simple experiences. You will walk away richer for having experienced them. Life's perspective, perhaps altered. Nature's compass guiding us towards something else, deep into the map of the human heart. Unequalled moments that stay with us, like our favorite things.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
In An Elevator
It was in early winter when I found myself in an elevator. This elevator was the only physical structure for miles, and in that instance, it served as my friend, my confidant, my most dearest of ears. I pleaded, in this cold night, alone and in desperation. Such strange circumstances I thought. Here I am in this metal box, pleading my case, in silence, yet such was the emotion coming out of that silence, that its walls vibrated. At times, the floor shook. My watch was no longer ticking. Time had stopped. Yet, it was one of the longest nights of my life.
It was all of a blur after all. I recall walking down a long hall; cries in the distance, coming out of many caves. The hall was dimly lit, and a haze hung that made it almost impossible to see clearly. Before I walked into that metal box I felt I had taken the longest walk in my life. I left her there alone, scared, while they took her, and moved her to another floor... and I walked...into that metal box.
The metal doors closed, and there I was, and I asked in silence for help, for him, for her. For their sakes. I didn't care at that point about myself. Every shred of who I am, every shred of myself was peeled away, and left on that elevator floor, naked; humbled. I begged for help, I demanded for him to be okay, crying out towards the metal roof. With every breath I took I became more ill, wasting away as my strength became his. In the ensuing three weeks I became deathly ill, bedridden, barely able to breath. In that metal box I left it all. Never had I surrendered as I did then.
As the doors opened, I ran towards them, knowing in my heart, I had given all I could, in that cold, unyielding metal box. It was the moment I became a father, thanks to a little divine intervention and the solitude of an elevator, in early winter.
It was all of a blur after all. I recall walking down a long hall; cries in the distance, coming out of many caves. The hall was dimly lit, and a haze hung that made it almost impossible to see clearly. Before I walked into that metal box I felt I had taken the longest walk in my life. I left her there alone, scared, while they took her, and moved her to another floor... and I walked...into that metal box.
The metal doors closed, and there I was, and I asked in silence for help, for him, for her. For their sakes. I didn't care at that point about myself. Every shred of who I am, every shred of myself was peeled away, and left on that elevator floor, naked; humbled. I begged for help, I demanded for him to be okay, crying out towards the metal roof. With every breath I took I became more ill, wasting away as my strength became his. In the ensuing three weeks I became deathly ill, bedridden, barely able to breath. In that metal box I left it all. Never had I surrendered as I did then.
As the doors opened, I ran towards them, knowing in my heart, I had given all I could, in that cold, unyielding metal box. It was the moment I became a father, thanks to a little divine intervention and the solitude of an elevator, in early winter.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 2)
March 12th - The day begins with Jason puking, due to his marathon drinking from the previous night. The dude can't even eat breakfast. At least he accompanies me to the Panaderia La Parada, where I get myself a ham, cheese and onion sandwich. What a pleasure to eat..sitting' down in the patio table at La Guacima, feeling the early morning breeze. A great start. What IS missing however, is some coffee. Dark, strong and vibrant.
We make our way up to Volcan Irazu, and I discover a radio station that becomes my beacon for all that is wonderful in the world - Salsa. 24 hours a day, Salsa and more Salsa, old, new, and in between. Awesome.
Another thing I discovered, is that EPA does not stand for "Environmental Protection Agency" in CR, it is simply a Home Depot type of store. Nice job Ving.
On our way we stopped to grab some Queso Palmito, fresh, from a little store on the road. It was so good. Salty and peels like string cheese; a good companion to beer.
As we arrived at Irazu, we decided that a jolt of java was necessary. The cafeteria in the parking lot served up a great cup of coffee. We asked and were told that the name of the coffee was "Del Valle". Awesome cup of vibrant, strong cafe. Of course, Shirley and I being the only cool people, had our cups. Irazu was impressive, with its chartreuse lagoon in the middle, ringed by sulfur. It was very windy, after all, we were over 10,000 feet above sea level. Found a couple of lava rocks, and on we headed towards Cartago.
What can we say about the Basilica de Los Angeles in Cartago; impressive, majestic. With its statue of the Archangel Michael slaying the dragon at its peak. It was a nice break from our activities; a more focused moment as we approached it and explored its inside. We read the story about the Basilica and why it was built. Saw the holy water spouting, and how the local ticos in the area flock to it, and bathed and washed their faces and hands. Some even drank from it. Faith is a powerful thing.
On our way out of the Basilica, I remembered how Shirley mentioned that her now deceased grandfather would always stop at a restaurant across the street for a cup of joe. We made our way across the street to La Perla del Sol and proceeded to enjoy some strong Costa Rican coffee and some outstanding seafood rice.
As we left Cartago we realized that there was an outstanding item on our to do list for the day; the drive on the Orosi Loop. What a gorgeous ride, across small villages, majestic views of the mountains and lakes; well worth it. We stumbled through the finish line, exhausted and overjoyed, and spent the night relaxing at La Guacima amongst friends.
We make our way up to Volcan Irazu, and I discover a radio station that becomes my beacon for all that is wonderful in the world - Salsa. 24 hours a day, Salsa and more Salsa, old, new, and in between. Awesome.
Another thing I discovered, is that EPA does not stand for "Environmental Protection Agency" in CR, it is simply a Home Depot type of store. Nice job Ving.
On our way we stopped to grab some Queso Palmito, fresh, from a little store on the road. It was so good. Salty and peels like string cheese; a good companion to beer.
As we arrived at Irazu, we decided that a jolt of java was necessary. The cafeteria in the parking lot served up a great cup of coffee. We asked and were told that the name of the coffee was "Del Valle". Awesome cup of vibrant, strong cafe. Of course, Shirley and I being the only cool people, had our cups. Irazu was impressive, with its chartreuse lagoon in the middle, ringed by sulfur. It was very windy, after all, we were over 10,000 feet above sea level. Found a couple of lava rocks, and on we headed towards Cartago.
What can we say about the Basilica de Los Angeles in Cartago; impressive, majestic. With its statue of the Archangel Michael slaying the dragon at its peak. It was a nice break from our activities; a more focused moment as we approached it and explored its inside. We read the story about the Basilica and why it was built. Saw the holy water spouting, and how the local ticos in the area flock to it, and bathed and washed their faces and hands. Some even drank from it. Faith is a powerful thing.
On our way out of the Basilica, I remembered how Shirley mentioned that her now deceased grandfather would always stop at a restaurant across the street for a cup of joe. We made our way across the street to La Perla del Sol and proceeded to enjoy some strong Costa Rican coffee and some outstanding seafood rice.
As we left Cartago we realized that there was an outstanding item on our to do list for the day; the drive on the Orosi Loop. What a gorgeous ride, across small villages, majestic views of the mountains and lakes; well worth it. We stumbled through the finish line, exhausted and overjoyed, and spent the night relaxing at La Guacima amongst friends.
Friday, August 6, 2010
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now...?
Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor. Reachin' for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore. And I wonder if I ever cross your mind. For me it happens all the time...
Those are introductory lyrics to song called "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. It's definitely one of my favorite songs this year, but it wasn't until the other day, that I actually started paying attention to the lyrics. And I wonder how many of us out there find themselves in these situations; wanting to reach for the phone, but not acting on that impulse. Rather, we pocket that impulse, and save it for a rainy day. Most of the time, that day never comes, and we continue to set aside those impulses, and they pile up into the unknown...farther and farther from our reach, until simply forgotten. Gone baby gone.
I wonder how many of us live our lives like this, simply setting thoughts aside or actions that never see the light of day. Like puppets on broken strings, a misstep here or there - gone with a flash. Is it simply in our nature to set "things" aside until some point in the foreseeable future...? Do we perhaps over analyze things to the point where we simply surrender and say to ourselves - maybe later...maybe next week...
We've all heard the cliches, "Live like you were dying" and so on... Some will say, life is too complicated, or that there are too many obstacles on the way. Perhaps as we get older, complexities and obstacles start to fade and give way to opportunities to act on impulse, much more than in our youth. Depends on who you ask these days.
Still, we sit here and continue to wonder, if I ever cross your mind.
Those are introductory lyrics to song called "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. It's definitely one of my favorite songs this year, but it wasn't until the other day, that I actually started paying attention to the lyrics. And I wonder how many of us out there find themselves in these situations; wanting to reach for the phone, but not acting on that impulse. Rather, we pocket that impulse, and save it for a rainy day. Most of the time, that day never comes, and we continue to set aside those impulses, and they pile up into the unknown...farther and farther from our reach, until simply forgotten. Gone baby gone.
I wonder how many of us live our lives like this, simply setting thoughts aside or actions that never see the light of day. Like puppets on broken strings, a misstep here or there - gone with a flash. Is it simply in our nature to set "things" aside until some point in the foreseeable future...? Do we perhaps over analyze things to the point where we simply surrender and say to ourselves - maybe later...maybe next week...
We've all heard the cliches, "Live like you were dying" and so on... Some will say, life is too complicated, or that there are too many obstacles on the way. Perhaps as we get older, complexities and obstacles start to fade and give way to opportunities to act on impulse, much more than in our youth. Depends on who you ask these days.
Still, we sit here and continue to wonder, if I ever cross your mind.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Come...And Talk To Me
At one point or another, it happened. Whether it was at Ms. Callahan's class sophomore year in high school , or as I filled one of many notebooks, with thoughts and observations - it happened. I became a writer. Now, that does not mean I am going to write a book or anything like that. I know myself well enough to know, that I lack the discipline to write a novel; to weave a storyline together, intricate and involving.
I belong here; where I can write whatever comes to mind. Where I can flow freely, in this so called ocean of thought. Hell, I just let the fingers do the typing. I merely sit here and let them guide me along. Words come across in a flash, type this, type that. I am no longer in control, and that's how I like it. It should always be effortless. Not a whole lot of thinking or intellectual conversation. Hemingway one said, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." Everything after that, is gravy. Writers are victims to their own admiration; they emulate their favorite writers, without knowing it.
It's so much simpler to just...let the fingers do the talking. Come... and talk to me.
I belong here; where I can write whatever comes to mind. Where I can flow freely, in this so called ocean of thought. Hell, I just let the fingers do the typing. I merely sit here and let them guide me along. Words come across in a flash, type this, type that. I am no longer in control, and that's how I like it. It should always be effortless. Not a whole lot of thinking or intellectual conversation. Hemingway one said, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." Everything after that, is gravy. Writers are victims to their own admiration; they emulate their favorite writers, without knowing it.
It's so much simpler to just...let the fingers do the talking. Come... and talk to me.
Jazz...So Damn Cool
What the hell is it about this style of music that drives me crazy. It makes me heal, feel all around better. I just dont understand it, and perhaps I never will. All I know is that it moves me, and at times, tears me to shreds. There's such complexity in Jazz, and I capitalize it damnit because it deserves to be capitalized. It's almost undescribable. It feeds the soul, heals the spirit. I remember driving to college in my early years and listening to a now extinct Jazz station. Made me feel invincible.
Jazz, even the name is cool, never mind Coltrane or Davis or Monk or Evans. Those guys served one master, and that master was Jazz. Cool and effervsecent. Lifeblood. Takes you away from this world, and drops you in a smoky lounge, with dim lighting and plush booths. All of a sudden martinis are being served, and you are tapping your feet; feeling it. So damn smooth...good God. You wonder if this music was actually composed in heaven. Perhaps God after all is a Jazz fan through and through.
It lingers...like a kiss. Its lips wrapping around yours like a Christmas gift...just because it's Jazz. Heaven's very own soundtrack.
Jazz, even the name is cool, never mind Coltrane or Davis or Monk or Evans. Those guys served one master, and that master was Jazz. Cool and effervsecent. Lifeblood. Takes you away from this world, and drops you in a smoky lounge, with dim lighting and plush booths. All of a sudden martinis are being served, and you are tapping your feet; feeling it. So damn smooth...good God. You wonder if this music was actually composed in heaven. Perhaps God after all is a Jazz fan through and through.
It lingers...like a kiss. Its lips wrapping around yours like a Christmas gift...just because it's Jazz. Heaven's very own soundtrack.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Rain
Rain.
Truly a wonderful thing. Energy, flowing from the skies like unstoppable tears. Emotional, powerful. A reminder that life is better when is wet, lush and filled with passion. I've always fondly recalled rain to be a sign of good things. Full of silvery luster, like moonlight on a starless night. It soothes the soul, looking outside my window. Watching the rain fall. Nature's music, listening to the drops fall around me. Engaged in a ritual unlike any other. Listening; not a whisper, or thought. The sky cries out and we become the audience, of nature's greatest concerto.
Truly a wonderful thing. Energy, flowing from the skies like unstoppable tears. Emotional, powerful. A reminder that life is better when is wet, lush and filled with passion. I've always fondly recalled rain to be a sign of good things. Full of silvery luster, like moonlight on a starless night. It soothes the soul, looking outside my window. Watching the rain fall. Nature's music, listening to the drops fall around me. Engaged in a ritual unlike any other. Listening; not a whisper, or thought. The sky cries out and we become the audience, of nature's greatest concerto.
Jukebox Years (Chapter 1)
Times were different. No longer was my job 5 minutes away, but now I had to drive an hour plus to and fro. It was a royal pain in the ass, sitting in traffic every day and I did my best to lash out in all sorts of forms. At times, cursing at the idiots doing 50 on the highway and sometimes even openly threatening them with their lives. It did help to catch up on the conceptual things in life, such as the Howard Stern show and the assortment of rock music on WAAF and WBCN.
The job was an analytical position in Boston, which luckily landed me dead center in the financial district. The perimeter consisted of your local assortment of bars, dives and clubs in addition to a plethora of sandwich shops. I took the Orange line from Medford which dropped me right at the building’s doorstep.
Never had I witnessed the collective hopelessness and degenerate attitude of people until I began to take the Orange line. Glimpses of desperation and boredom were abundant, as were the aromas of the filthy bastards who used the train as their personal toilet. It was nightmarish, but my consolation was that in 20 minutes it would be over. That’s what I would tell myself to retain my sanity. It was hell on wheels and I was a castaway, lost in its sea of shipwrecked souls.
Things at Standard were looking up. The job was challenging and I was learning quickly, although determined to stay away from any projects or extra responsibility. I was there to do the bare minimum and go home. Many days were spent surfing the Internet or calling my buddy Jason and chatting about the latest video game. The routine was executed to perfection. Projects thrown my way were quickly discarded and replaced with social tours of the floor and endless personal phone calls to my buddy Steven. He was content with his new venture as it gave him more freedom and according to him, opened more doors. We kept in touch for a while until he started to become repetitive and desperate, finishing his phone calls by saying “things were looking bleak” or that, “World War III is imminent”. He sounded to me like a man on his way to the guillotine, or worse.
The job was an analytical position in Boston, which luckily landed me dead center in the financial district. The perimeter consisted of your local assortment of bars, dives and clubs in addition to a plethora of sandwich shops. I took the Orange line from Medford which dropped me right at the building’s doorstep.
Never had I witnessed the collective hopelessness and degenerate attitude of people until I began to take the Orange line. Glimpses of desperation and boredom were abundant, as were the aromas of the filthy bastards who used the train as their personal toilet. It was nightmarish, but my consolation was that in 20 minutes it would be over. That’s what I would tell myself to retain my sanity. It was hell on wheels and I was a castaway, lost in its sea of shipwrecked souls.
Things at Standard were looking up. The job was challenging and I was learning quickly, although determined to stay away from any projects or extra responsibility. I was there to do the bare minimum and go home. Many days were spent surfing the Internet or calling my buddy Jason and chatting about the latest video game. The routine was executed to perfection. Projects thrown my way were quickly discarded and replaced with social tours of the floor and endless personal phone calls to my buddy Steven. He was content with his new venture as it gave him more freedom and according to him, opened more doors. We kept in touch for a while until he started to become repetitive and desperate, finishing his phone calls by saying “things were looking bleak” or that, “World War III is imminent”. He sounded to me like a man on his way to the guillotine, or worse.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 1)
3/11/2009 - Finally, our bags are packed. We are operating on a dangerous mix of excitement and delirium due to our lack of sleep. Then again, who the hell sleeps before heading to Costa Rica? Or as my boss stated a couple of days prior to my departure, "Who goes to Costa Rica in the middle of a recession?". Therein lies the rub. You see, this trip has been in the making for well over a year. Meticulous itineraries have been drawn and replaced ad nauseum. The land of volcanoes, ticos and great coffee awaits!
1:30pm - We finally touch down in San Jose after a ridiculous two hour joyride around the Newark airport lot, with visibility at zero and about 20 planes ahead of us. The torture was too much, and I knew right there and then, that I should have flown first class. I must admit, arriving at San Jose and feeling the immediate warmth as we walked through the gate, was a joyous occasion. Now if I can just make it thru immigration without any hiccups.."Sir, why does your passport say Santa Claus?"....
2:00pm - Well I certainly did not expect Juan Santamaria airport to be this busy... ants everywhere, bobbing and weaving on their way to baggage claims, or to exchange their hard-earned USD. Lots of folks waiting to carry our bags, into the shuttle and on to pick up our vehicle. After spending some time going over minutiae at the car rental place, our horse awaits - a burgundy Chrysler Caravan that will forever live in legend, due to its extraordinary exploits.
3:00pm - On our way to La Guacima (Shirley's house), we finally make the necessary stop at a licorera (liquor store), that's gated like Fort Knox. I swore I would get an electric shock from trying to jar the gated contraption open. Here's where I purchased the "jumping" Imperials - more on that in a bit. I soon discovered that with Jason doing all the driving, I could sit back and enjoy as many beers as possible...without interruptions. That is, until Shirley invaded the front seat. I rode over 20 minutes with her sitting on my lap, as I explored my first of many six-packs.
3:15pm - We make a pit stop at El Rancho (Manuel and Clara's), where a six-pack of Imperials follows me out the door as if to say, "we are with you all the way..". Alex proceeds to soil his pants after a chihuahua chases him around the house. Quick pictures and hi's, and on to La Guacima. Famished explorers need their chow, and there's plenty of it here, as we mow thru salads, arroz con pollo, the works. It was delicious. My first true Costa Rican dish. On we move towards the supermarket to stock up on what else....beer....rainbows of it. To our surprise, Belgian beers await for us, as if to say, "welcome - drink me". Hundreds of dollars later, we are back in La Guacima chillin', until an unexpected guest arrives.....
5:00pm and on - As the evening unfolds, Illiana delights us with her presence and brings some suitable items, such as a boombox, and a mixer (for margaritas). We love her for it of course, and she even brings a delightful fruit called Pejibaye (sp?) that is eaten with mayonnaise...don't ask. Our first Costa Rican night evolves into a music-filled event, with plenty of beers and multiple trips to the licorera for some Cuervo; a great start to our trip, dare I say an awesome first night. A surefire sign of things to come.
1:30pm - We finally touch down in San Jose after a ridiculous two hour joyride around the Newark airport lot, with visibility at zero and about 20 planes ahead of us. The torture was too much, and I knew right there and then, that I should have flown first class. I must admit, arriving at San Jose and feeling the immediate warmth as we walked through the gate, was a joyous occasion. Now if I can just make it thru immigration without any hiccups.."Sir, why does your passport say Santa Claus?"....
2:00pm - Well I certainly did not expect Juan Santamaria airport to be this busy... ants everywhere, bobbing and weaving on their way to baggage claims, or to exchange their hard-earned USD. Lots of folks waiting to carry our bags, into the shuttle and on to pick up our vehicle. After spending some time going over minutiae at the car rental place, our horse awaits - a burgundy Chrysler Caravan that will forever live in legend, due to its extraordinary exploits.
3:00pm - On our way to La Guacima (Shirley's house), we finally make the necessary stop at a licorera (liquor store), that's gated like Fort Knox. I swore I would get an electric shock from trying to jar the gated contraption open. Here's where I purchased the "jumping" Imperials - more on that in a bit. I soon discovered that with Jason doing all the driving, I could sit back and enjoy as many beers as possible...without interruptions. That is, until Shirley invaded the front seat. I rode over 20 minutes with her sitting on my lap, as I explored my first of many six-packs.
3:15pm - We make a pit stop at El Rancho (Manuel and Clara's), where a six-pack of Imperials follows me out the door as if to say, "we are with you all the way..". Alex proceeds to soil his pants after a chihuahua chases him around the house. Quick pictures and hi's, and on to La Guacima. Famished explorers need their chow, and there's plenty of it here, as we mow thru salads, arroz con pollo, the works. It was delicious. My first true Costa Rican dish. On we move towards the supermarket to stock up on what else....beer....rainbows of it. To our surprise, Belgian beers await for us, as if to say, "welcome - drink me". Hundreds of dollars later, we are back in La Guacima chillin', until an unexpected guest arrives.....
5:00pm and on - As the evening unfolds, Illiana delights us with her presence and brings some suitable items, such as a boombox, and a mixer (for margaritas). We love her for it of course, and she even brings a delightful fruit called Pejibaye (sp?) that is eaten with mayonnaise...don't ask. Our first Costa Rican night evolves into a music-filled event, with plenty of beers and multiple trips to the licorera for some Cuervo; a great start to our trip, dare I say an awesome first night. A surefire sign of things to come.
Clarity
There are moments in our lives that clearly define us and maybe even elevate us to another level of being. For some these events can range from the birth of a child, to getting "that" promotion, scoring a role in a movie, getting married, becoming a recording artist, surviving an illness, climbing Everest. Notice a pattern here? These are all tangible things, usually dependent on another person or a chain of events. But...what if that instance of ascendance, that moment of je ne se quois, happens outside of this realm. What if it happens, when you least expect it...? A sudden flash of emotions overwhelming the spirit, and in that instant, knowing that you've reached the edge; inherently knowing that you've gone farther than you ever have. For most of us, events such as these are rare. Humanity's defining trait after all, is our dependence on one another. We saw this after 911; how the world reached out, and embraced itself telling those suffering from pain, loss or simply shock - you are not alone.
Yet, what if alone in your house, one day, while sifting through old cd's, watching the snow fall...it hits you. A sense of heightened awareness, of control, of command. Everything changes. Clarity. What triggers it? Perhaps we all seek it in some form or shape, or rather wait for an event to take place, to finally recognize it. "You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe what you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes."
Not as far from the truth as we might think...
Yet, what if alone in your house, one day, while sifting through old cd's, watching the snow fall...it hits you. A sense of heightened awareness, of control, of command. Everything changes. Clarity. What triggers it? Perhaps we all seek it in some form or shape, or rather wait for an event to take place, to finally recognize it. "You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe what you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes."
Not as far from the truth as we might think...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Where Were You...?
I was at home recovering from days of little to no sleep after that epic 2004 American League Championship Series. I remember purchasing a 12 pack of Sam Adams Oktoberfest and taking out my Red Sox baseball cards out of dusty shoe boxes, as a kind of exorcism ploy, and strategically positioning them around the living room. My youngest wasn’t born yet; he was probably stirring in my wife’s belly wondering what the hell was going on. Alex was 9 months, sitting on a swing, bewildered by my crazed actions, which included in no particular order, praying on my knees, sobbin' at random times, stomping on the floor and sprinting. When the final out was recorded, I was delirious. Crying, laughing, spilling beer and going out of my mind, as my favorite team on Earth had done the impossible. They were World Champions.
I celebrated at home with my wife and kids; I celebrated with my brother, parents and friends via multiple cell phones and communication contraptions. I also celebrated with the millions out in the streets of Boston, at the bars and at their own homes, because we all felt the same emotion. Joy. Boundless and effervescent. Unbridled excitement, as we stood there shaking our heads and telling ourselves over and over, did this just really happen...who's fucking with me?. I drank beer and shed tears. I hugged my wife and kids and jumped up and down. The sentiment was the same across the phone lines, down in Florida and up in New Hampshire. The boyhood dream had come true...at last. How many times did I replay that scene over and over in my head, as the final out was recorded? We came back from the depths of hell and clawed our way out all the way to redemption. Redemption in the eyes of all that are faithful, whose parents and grandparents displayed the same love for the Olde Towne Team. Unforgettable. I thank God that I was alive, to see the ALCS play out in its entirety. Every pitch, every inning, all the way into the Series finale.
The moment may never be duplicated, given how they got there, but it will certainly be relived from generation to generation as the question is posed; where were you when the Red Sox won the championship in 2004? Where were you when the hearts of millions across the globe beat out of pure joy and excitement, for a simple backyard game of stick and ball? For the love of the game and all that is wonderful in life. Family, friends, beer and baseball...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Summah in New England
There's a vitality that summer offers, unlike anything else. It isn't just the sunny skies and the heat; it's something else altogether. The X factor in this case, is the "sense of urgency". Here in New England, summers are short, and usually rainy, kind of like in 2009, when there was no summer. It was the year summer was snuffed out entirely. Winter gave way to spring and spring gave way to fall... what the hell is wrong with that picture..?? Yes, summer here is like a drug, you need it, and you want it as long as possible. So we make our treks to Browns for lobster and steamers, or to the Cape, or up the New Hampshire coast for beaches and fried dough. The alarming thing about it is that almost tangible sense of urgency that arises, especially now, around late July, knowing full well that once August hits, the countdown begins.
I'm beginning to feel that the fall is near...that my fried dough will be snatched up. That there will be less sunshine, more darkness... With that said, I'm going outside to catch some sun and drink a margarita or two..
I'm beginning to feel that the fall is near...that my fried dough will be snatched up. That there will be less sunshine, more darkness... With that said, I'm going outside to catch some sun and drink a margarita or two..
Jukebox Years (Intro)
I’m not sure how it all began, but it seems as if it was decades ago when I stumbled upon the streets of Boston like fire raining down from the heavens. Those days are long gone, but hot damn they were inspiring times! Despite the chaos that September 11 left, I reveled in its aftermath; thinking that at any point a missile would land at my doorstep and wipe me and the rest of us to Kingdom Come. Those were dark times, when decadence and fear ruled. The only cure was to drink as much alcohol as possible, and hope that the end came swiftly, amidst the writing on the wall.
It was February 2001 and I needed to get the hell out of Dodge; in this case Dodge was a company called Stonewall Investments. I was 25 years old and going nowhere fast; stuck in a thankless glorified operator job with a bunch of deadbeats and unfulfilled souls. I desperately needed change. Recently married and looking towards the future, I began to sift through the Internet for work. My buddy Steven was also at the end of his rope as we shared a common pessimism about our worthless jobs. We both struck quickly. Steven had contacted a recruiter in Boston, and within two weeks he had landed a job in the city at a small financial firm. He selflessly gave me the recruiter’s number, knowing full well that I was about to unleash mayhem at Stonewall unless I found something else quickly. The end had already begun.
I became a malcontent, doing less than the bare minimum, being a regular pain in the ass, belligerent and completely unruly. I even walked uninvited to my manager’s office and openly mocked him about how incredibly important I thought my job and his job was. It was time for a fresh start. I called the recruiter and quickly landed an interview with him. I remember him as a redheaded man in his late twenties; probably someone who once had a dream, but had now settled for a stool job at an empty desk; a desperate ending that I did not want any part of. I recall his office looking more like a jail cell with him playing the part of a helpless inmate. In a matter of two weeks I scored three interviews with three different companies, until the big one bit.
It was a mid-size financial firm in Boston called Standard Investments. My interview with the hiring manager was an awkward experience where I rambled about my so-called analytical background in marine biology, and he stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights looked reserved for the dumbest of beasts; but he hired me. Unknowingly, I had walked into a bear trap of sorts. A psychopath was going to be my boss; a simpleton at that. One of those guys they usually find strapped to a chair with a baseball bat up his ass. The type the neighbors usually recall “pissing in the middle of the street” or “the one with the crazy look in his eyes, ready to stomp at any time”. I was in for a ride. It was March of 2001; year one of the Jukebox years...
It was February 2001 and I needed to get the hell out of Dodge; in this case Dodge was a company called Stonewall Investments. I was 25 years old and going nowhere fast; stuck in a thankless glorified operator job with a bunch of deadbeats and unfulfilled souls. I desperately needed change. Recently married and looking towards the future, I began to sift through the Internet for work. My buddy Steven was also at the end of his rope as we shared a common pessimism about our worthless jobs. We both struck quickly. Steven had contacted a recruiter in Boston, and within two weeks he had landed a job in the city at a small financial firm. He selflessly gave me the recruiter’s number, knowing full well that I was about to unleash mayhem at Stonewall unless I found something else quickly. The end had already begun.
I became a malcontent, doing less than the bare minimum, being a regular pain in the ass, belligerent and completely unruly. I even walked uninvited to my manager’s office and openly mocked him about how incredibly important I thought my job and his job was. It was time for a fresh start. I called the recruiter and quickly landed an interview with him. I remember him as a redheaded man in his late twenties; probably someone who once had a dream, but had now settled for a stool job at an empty desk; a desperate ending that I did not want any part of. I recall his office looking more like a jail cell with him playing the part of a helpless inmate. In a matter of two weeks I scored three interviews with three different companies, until the big one bit.
It was a mid-size financial firm in Boston called Standard Investments. My interview with the hiring manager was an awkward experience where I rambled about my so-called analytical background in marine biology, and he stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights looked reserved for the dumbest of beasts; but he hired me. Unknowingly, I had walked into a bear trap of sorts. A psychopath was going to be my boss; a simpleton at that. One of those guys they usually find strapped to a chair with a baseball bat up his ass. The type the neighbors usually recall “pissing in the middle of the street” or “the one with the crazy look in his eyes, ready to stomp at any time”. I was in for a ride. It was March of 2001; year one of the Jukebox years...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Paris
Paris...
It speaks to me through dreams, though stars. My muse, my never ending love for you is as clear as a night sky in July. How I love thee...yet the question beckons...why? Though I've never seen you with my own eyes, I've watched you from afar, through pictures and conversation with individuals that have felt your presence. I've tasted you on occassion, when the time is just right. Your voice reverberates in my head like a forlorn love song. What a love story we share huh? How I love the way you walk, red lipstick and velvet skirt; your lips inviting, subtle of course, as nothing you do is ever forced. It is the eyes of you that strike me best; light-filled eyes, full of passion and romance.
I know you are upset...I know I've let you down. No visits or roses, just plans and empty promises. Daydreams and nights longing, for your touch, forever mourning. Inexplicable forces have kept us apart, yet we hope that someday we'll see each other eye to eye. I'd like to tell you I'll bring roses, but that would be undeserving of you. You, who the world admires and loves, deserves so much more... Perhaps a kiss and a bon jour mademoiselle would be enough; to have you in my arms and softly tell you je t'aime ma cherie...because I've always loved you...and I always will.
It speaks to me through dreams, though stars. My muse, my never ending love for you is as clear as a night sky in July. How I love thee...yet the question beckons...why? Though I've never seen you with my own eyes, I've watched you from afar, through pictures and conversation with individuals that have felt your presence. I've tasted you on occassion, when the time is just right. Your voice reverberates in my head like a forlorn love song. What a love story we share huh? How I love the way you walk, red lipstick and velvet skirt; your lips inviting, subtle of course, as nothing you do is ever forced. It is the eyes of you that strike me best; light-filled eyes, full of passion and romance.
I know you are upset...I know I've let you down. No visits or roses, just plans and empty promises. Daydreams and nights longing, for your touch, forever mourning. Inexplicable forces have kept us apart, yet we hope that someday we'll see each other eye to eye. I'd like to tell you I'll bring roses, but that would be undeserving of you. You, who the world admires and loves, deserves so much more... Perhaps a kiss and a bon jour mademoiselle would be enough; to have you in my arms and softly tell you je t'aime ma cherie...because I've always loved you...and I always will.
When the Wind Was Fierce and Desperate
In times when the fire is hot and burning, it is when you expose your soul to the world; when you soothingly float in the night air inhaling its exquisite perfume. At the end of the world where stars meet unwillingly, silently weaving their illusions and desires - that's where you belong. Carelessly bathing you in moonlight under a starless sky. Never again will the elements meet like the did back then; when the wind was fierce and desperate, isolated from everything. Where the only sound you could hear was your own beating heart, faintly, in the distance, as if gasping for air, for life. Exciting and bewildering desires that kept you young and vital; these are tonight's thoughts. While the rest of the world sleeps and the music wields its sword into darkness; lasting forever.
Color Green
I have realized that I enjoy beer in green colored bottles. I feel like I'm drinking something special and distinct. It reminds me of absinthe and emeralds and Miles Davis. Green fascinates me. It is my favorite color because it oozes serenity and vigor; clarity in nature. The Green Lantern comes to mind and so does Kermit the Frog. That old green-hornet looking automobile I see in the mornings on my way to work with the for sale sign; it reminds me of it as well. Rain forests and grass fields as far as the eye can see. It works wonders and allows me to engage my senses; to make certain feelings tangible. I recall The Matrix and its green motif - it's in almost every scene, inescapable. Green, lush, intense, serene, tangible, engaging. The green bottle allowing its contents to take on magical properties, as it rushes down my throat. The alcohol in the bloodstream making me smile, as I think of the color green. Emerald green, luscious green. The night is at its end, yet green persists, in dreams and sensations.
Grape Crushing in the New World
Some kind of world we live in eh? We live our lives and don't stop to blink; to embrace the air and make it our own. Sadness creeps in and removes your soul and you surrender, to the emptiness, without flinching. What will it take to awaken the soul and resurrect the passion? What grandiose plans await us who stand by, idle, waiting for the tide to come in? Inevitably, it comes for us all; that tidal wave of emotion and restriction - that God-awful restrain that harps on the negativity and salivates at our despair. Maybe we sit back and clap once in a while, to our own demise, to our own retreat. Well fuck that.
In plain English, it takes balls, to stand up and do what we do. These times are the real-deal, and there is no fucking around that won't go unnoticed or unpunished. Whether it is at work, or in a relationship, the guys in the black suits await. One step in the wrong direction, one wink, one whisper, and you are but a flash in the pan, nothing more; a cockroach waiting to get squashed by the size 22 boot of life. And you want to know why this is the current state of affairs? Because we let it be so. We forgot we had balls, and stored them in our asshole, out of sight, out of mind. No wonder we walk funny.
The spirit of relentlessness and adventure await us all, and it is in out best interest to take a sword in one hand and a cigar on the other and march forward. Live how you want to live, shit with all of these diseases going around, natural disasters and wars, might as well strike while the iron is hot. I take it my view is an anti-fatalistic one, but it is what it is. Look, we don't have the luxury of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for the race to end. So it rains every weekend and the wine store across the street is closed. Find your way around it; make your own fucking wine, crush your own fucking grapes. Gravitate towards constructive thoughts and listen to good vibes. These will heal your soul and help get your ass off the chair.
While I write that last sentence, I realize that my ass is on a chair; a very small chair which is quote uncomfortable. And I realize two things - I'm out of wine and I need a real chair. The buzz is gone and my ass is incredibly sore. At least Bill Evans continues to play in the background, and I find myself smiling at 2:36am on this 29th of August, 2009. Good vibes my friends, good vibes.
In plain English, it takes balls, to stand up and do what we do. These times are the real-deal, and there is no fucking around that won't go unnoticed or unpunished. Whether it is at work, or in a relationship, the guys in the black suits await. One step in the wrong direction, one wink, one whisper, and you are but a flash in the pan, nothing more; a cockroach waiting to get squashed by the size 22 boot of life. And you want to know why this is the current state of affairs? Because we let it be so. We forgot we had balls, and stored them in our asshole, out of sight, out of mind. No wonder we walk funny.
The spirit of relentlessness and adventure await us all, and it is in out best interest to take a sword in one hand and a cigar on the other and march forward. Live how you want to live, shit with all of these diseases going around, natural disasters and wars, might as well strike while the iron is hot. I take it my view is an anti-fatalistic one, but it is what it is. Look, we don't have the luxury of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for the race to end. So it rains every weekend and the wine store across the street is closed. Find your way around it; make your own fucking wine, crush your own fucking grapes. Gravitate towards constructive thoughts and listen to good vibes. These will heal your soul and help get your ass off the chair.
While I write that last sentence, I realize that my ass is on a chair; a very small chair which is quote uncomfortable. And I realize two things - I'm out of wine and I need a real chair. The buzz is gone and my ass is incredibly sore. At least Bill Evans continues to play in the background, and I find myself smiling at 2:36am on this 29th of August, 2009. Good vibes my friends, good vibes.
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