Monday, November 17, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Maybe i'll go back to sleep
If I were to note this moment in history, it would make me seem vulnerable and unsafe. Pride and defensiveness are victors tonight, winning over the delicacy of admitting what just happened. I am just here to note that it happened.
Me puede, vieja, esa mujer me puede.
Maybe I'll go back to sleep.
Me puede, vieja, esa mujer me puede.
Maybe I'll go back to sleep.
Monday, November 03, 2008
While in Nevada...
I am a witness of nascent love.
A person of the utmost sobriety in character is transforming into an impassioned, irreverent, inarticulate victim of the enchantments of that exact feeling. It's enchanting, but also slightly cloying.
Meanwhile, I talk of the past and pretend to know the future.
A person of the utmost sobriety in character is transforming into an impassioned, irreverent, inarticulate victim of the enchantments of that exact feeling. It's enchanting, but also slightly cloying.
Meanwhile, I talk of the past and pretend to know the future.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Corporate
Can I ask you something?"
I think this may be an Americanism. In the midst of healthy, seemingly open conversation, the other person will stop to ask for an enquiry permit. It always throws me off, but I think it often has to do with the peculiarity of the conversation, and the fact that regularly accepted social norms of etiquette and restrain may not yet have been tested on the particular subject. Questions have usually abounded in the conversation, but something else is coming, and it needs a preface like that.
"What do you mean? Can I respond?"
For what is a question with such a prelude but nothing more than a doubtful statement, an admission of ignorance, a fear of painful learning? And what alternatives are out there? Suppose I say 'No' and turn the potential dismissal of that question straight into a complete rejection of the rights to enquiry itself. What happens then? Do you transfer curiosity over to me? Does that shy wonder become your ashamed secret?
"Oh, yea, nevermind, well..."
I am sorry I threw you off like that. I had been watching you play with your hair and fiddle with your hands as the train left the station. And I knew that the small talk was not going to persist if our eyes stayed intently focused on each other, with only sporadic stares out the window and through the real world, which jealously reminded us that it was still there. Still, I did not foresee the transitionary formality. We had just been asking everything of each other, without permission of train guars, bosses, or whoever that was who you mentioned was waiting for you at your stop. Yea, him. Oh, boyfriend, you say? I remember now. Lucky guy.
"Ask ahead."
I do mean it. Your original question was, in short, naive and out of place.
"Well, I was just going to say, do you think you are ever gonna go corporate?"
Hmm... is there anything from our conversation that hinted at you that such secretiveness was warranted for this question? Did you think that would offend me? I see you feel naked now, because I offer the killer, chilidish, pedantic smile that tells you I was in ESL class when you were playing the violin in Catholic school. The truth is I don't know what I could even offer them, if nothing more than validating their existence. I lecture you on how we should be safe enough to ask each other anything, and answer kindly that I do not plan my life too much in advance, at least not yet, and that I'll let you know if and when I do.
But I was lying, there are questions that we hold back sometimes. Here's mine:
"Are you scared of how I am judging you because I know how our lives are headed in different directions after we get off this train?"
Response not needed.
I think this may be an Americanism. In the midst of healthy, seemingly open conversation, the other person will stop to ask for an enquiry permit. It always throws me off, but I think it often has to do with the peculiarity of the conversation, and the fact that regularly accepted social norms of etiquette and restrain may not yet have been tested on the particular subject. Questions have usually abounded in the conversation, but something else is coming, and it needs a preface like that.
"What do you mean? Can I respond?"
For what is a question with such a prelude but nothing more than a doubtful statement, an admission of ignorance, a fear of painful learning? And what alternatives are out there? Suppose I say 'No' and turn the potential dismissal of that question straight into a complete rejection of the rights to enquiry itself. What happens then? Do you transfer curiosity over to me? Does that shy wonder become your ashamed secret?
"Oh, yea, nevermind, well..."
I am sorry I threw you off like that. I had been watching you play with your hair and fiddle with your hands as the train left the station. And I knew that the small talk was not going to persist if our eyes stayed intently focused on each other, with only sporadic stares out the window and through the real world, which jealously reminded us that it was still there. Still, I did not foresee the transitionary formality. We had just been asking everything of each other, without permission of train guars, bosses, or whoever that was who you mentioned was waiting for you at your stop. Yea, him. Oh, boyfriend, you say? I remember now. Lucky guy.
"Ask ahead."
I do mean it. Your original question was, in short, naive and out of place.
"Well, I was just going to say, do you think you are ever gonna go corporate?"
Hmm... is there anything from our conversation that hinted at you that such secretiveness was warranted for this question? Did you think that would offend me? I see you feel naked now, because I offer the killer, chilidish, pedantic smile that tells you I was in ESL class when you were playing the violin in Catholic school. The truth is I don't know what I could even offer them, if nothing more than validating their existence. I lecture you on how we should be safe enough to ask each other anything, and answer kindly that I do not plan my life too much in advance, at least not yet, and that I'll let you know if and when I do.
But I was lying, there are questions that we hold back sometimes. Here's mine:
"Are you scared of how I am judging you because I know how our lives are headed in different directions after we get off this train?"
Response not needed.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
My dream world
My dream world is better off without me trying to describe it. It would rather inhabit exclusively in its natural habitat. My dream world, you see, is shy and humble. It doesn't really want to travel anywhere. My dream world is probably gonna stay in my dreams for the rest of my life, and maybe for longer.
My dream world says, "you got everything you need where you are standing right now, as long as you are standing with everything you need". It talks like that, so I can't really explain its intricacies to you. Plus, it would not want me to. My dream world likes it when I keep my words to a minimum so I can say more. Specially if I am talking about it to others.
My dream world does not like the big city, or even it's urbanized surroundings. That is why my dream world does not visit where I live. It stays back, mixing cocktails of childhood and progress; decorating cupcakes of irony with chocolate chips of joy. My dream world is corny like that. I don't know where it buys its ingredients, but it's a good end result in my dream world.
My dreamworld does not like the countryside either, nor the jungle. In fact, it does not care much about the soil. Or the sky. Or the wind. Or your family. Or your friends. Or your citizenship. Or your religion. Or what any of the aforementioned think when I tell you to escape with me to my dream world.
My dream world tells me it would love to pour a soft rain over our heads as we lean over for a kiss. It fantasizes about our love with a strength only matched by the rationality we have put into being apart.
If my dream world had wishes, they would be like me. It would talk, and talk, and think, and act, and love, and hug, and make love and pray. It would raise good kids and drink good wine. And it would not be able to help the abrupt endings to its nightly sleep. And it would die.
My dream world is happy where it is.
My dream world says, "you got everything you need where you are standing right now, as long as you are standing with everything you need". It talks like that, so I can't really explain its intricacies to you. Plus, it would not want me to. My dream world likes it when I keep my words to a minimum so I can say more. Specially if I am talking about it to others.
My dream world does not like the big city, or even it's urbanized surroundings. That is why my dream world does not visit where I live. It stays back, mixing cocktails of childhood and progress; decorating cupcakes of irony with chocolate chips of joy. My dream world is corny like that. I don't know where it buys its ingredients, but it's a good end result in my dream world.
My dreamworld does not like the countryside either, nor the jungle. In fact, it does not care much about the soil. Or the sky. Or the wind. Or your family. Or your friends. Or your citizenship. Or your religion. Or what any of the aforementioned think when I tell you to escape with me to my dream world.
My dream world tells me it would love to pour a soft rain over our heads as we lean over for a kiss. It fantasizes about our love with a strength only matched by the rationality we have put into being apart.
If my dream world had wishes, they would be like me. It would talk, and talk, and think, and act, and love, and hug, and make love and pray. It would raise good kids and drink good wine. And it would not be able to help the abrupt endings to its nightly sleep. And it would die.
My dream world is happy where it is.
Monday, October 13, 2008
You promise?
"What year are you in school? What's your major? Oh, poli sci? That's cool, man, mom must be proud. You are almost done. Listen, I know what you are feeling, man. I have been called a nigger while in uniform. Sometimes, you gotta swallow that shit up and know, in your heart, that you are better than that. That you are better than them. Promise me you are gonna do that. You promise?"
I promised.
Backhandedly, I learned that I should have gotten in more fights in high school. After all, all it would have meant was to learn a big life lesson in a practical manner, rather than in a theoretical way. That way it felt emptier.
Always careful and rational, I missed the lesson that the classroom, church, or the bedroom could not have taught me. In essence, I understand the situation to be detrimental in a short-term: detentions, reputations, bad vibes, and distractions. And potential for it spiraling out of control.
My only fights, displays of anger, threatening shouting matches, and dealings with policemen were during my last year of college. And they were for all the reasons that the previous outbursts did not happen. It was the same desire to learn that prevented them before.
Hindsight, they call it.
I promised.
Backhandedly, I learned that I should have gotten in more fights in high school. After all, all it would have meant was to learn a big life lesson in a practical manner, rather than in a theoretical way. That way it felt emptier.
Always careful and rational, I missed the lesson that the classroom, church, or the bedroom could not have taught me. In essence, I understand the situation to be detrimental in a short-term: detentions, reputations, bad vibes, and distractions. And potential for it spiraling out of control.
My only fights, displays of anger, threatening shouting matches, and dealings with policemen were during my last year of college. And they were for all the reasons that the previous outbursts did not happen. It was the same desire to learn that prevented them before.
Hindsight, they call it.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Kites
Seasons of disillusion,
Kites of my heart,
Roam with no good reason,
Back to the place of our first love.
Scribbles in my notebook,
Remember the tone of your voice,
Evoking your ways of being,
A girl in woman vase.
But when the Southern wind blew,
Dragged me to your latitude,
And I look for you in the back of this bar,
Or the streets of any city.
Kites of disillusion,
Everything changes as I change too
I am afraid of that truth,
If I find you,
What will you see?
Give me one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Where did you hide,
And where are you going,
Send me a letter,
If by chance you remember,
All those days
They were only ours.
As this sensation floats on,
Just like that flying kite,
Nonetheless it’s all an illusion,
And I am a ghost in transition.
And today’s wind is not enough,
To push you in my direction,
I would need more than a hurricane,
Or the strongest forces of the Earth.
Give me that one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Why did you hide,
And where will you go,
Do send me that letter,
Because I know you remember,
All those days,
They were only ours.
Seasons of reconstruction,
Kites of my heart,
Tied up on a light pole,
Like all our divine and blue dreams,
Kites of dissilussion,
Everything changes as I change too,
I am scared of knowing that truth
If I find you,
Then what will you see… in me?
Kites of my heart,
Roam with no good reason,
Back to the place of our first love.
Scribbles in my notebook,
Remember the tone of your voice,
Evoking your ways of being,
A girl in woman vase.
But when the Southern wind blew,
Dragged me to your latitude,
And I look for you in the back of this bar,
Or the streets of any city.
Kites of disillusion,
Everything changes as I change too
I am afraid of that truth,
If I find you,
What will you see?
Give me one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Where did you hide,
And where are you going,
Send me a letter,
If by chance you remember,
All those days
They were only ours.
As this sensation floats on,
Just like that flying kite,
Nonetheless it’s all an illusion,
And I am a ghost in transition.
And today’s wind is not enough,
To push you in my direction,
I would need more than a hurricane,
Or the strongest forces of the Earth.
Give me that one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Why did you hide,
And where will you go,
Do send me that letter,
Because I know you remember,
All those days,
They were only ours.
Seasons of reconstruction,
Kites of my heart,
Tied up on a light pole,
Like all our divine and blue dreams,
Kites of dissilussion,
Everything changes as I change too,
I am scared of knowing that truth
If I find you,
Then what will you see… in me?
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
It's here
It's in California.
The ambassador debates well. But he is just an ambassador. Still, he looks terribly familiar. I wanted to hug him and buy him a beer. While he was cool and self-restrained, those yuppies were there throwing caca in his words. Fuck you Ivory tower idiots.
The ambassador debates well. But he is just an ambassador. Still, he looks terribly familiar. I wanted to hug him and buy him a beer. While he was cool and self-restrained, those yuppies were there throwing caca in his words. Fuck you Ivory tower idiots.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Letter to self, circa April 2007
Found during room cleanup:
It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?
Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.
Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.
In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.
Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.
Be fair. Let go. Grow up.
Honor your father and mother.
Change people's minds.
Live on other people's shoes.
Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.
Fight (with a smile on).
It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?
Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.
Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.
In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.
Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.
Be fair. Let go. Grow up.
Honor your father and mother.
Change people's minds.
Live on other people's shoes.
Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.
Fight (with a smile on).
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Retraction
I do have a different role in Public Allies.
I talk a lot and I have, given previous my previous apprehension to do so, opened up a lot. A simple activity of surface-level life stories where all participants spoke for an average of 10 minutes turned into an activity of its own that included Samy's death and my other cousins deaths, my being called an 'indian' in school, mom's hospitalization, my roamings around Westwood, and my eventual spiritual departure from the United States, as well as the last-minute drawback from whatever that was. The tirade lasted 45 minutes. I suspect I will still leave after Public Allies.
On Thursday, I texted ten friends with the not-so randomly selected word "breathe". Two former roommates of utilitarian tendencies asked "Why?", two reluctant lovers asked "how did you know", and some did not respond. I still don't know who won. I think I did.
I talk a lot and I have, given previous my previous apprehension to do so, opened up a lot. A simple activity of surface-level life stories where all participants spoke for an average of 10 minutes turned into an activity of its own that included Samy's death and my other cousins deaths, my being called an 'indian' in school, mom's hospitalization, my roamings around Westwood, and my eventual spiritual departure from the United States, as well as the last-minute drawback from whatever that was. The tirade lasted 45 minutes. I suspect I will still leave after Public Allies.
On Thursday, I texted ten friends with the not-so randomly selected word "breathe". Two former roommates of utilitarian tendencies asked "Why?", two reluctant lovers asked "how did you know", and some did not respond. I still don't know who won. I think I did.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Thoughts at night
-Got a haircut today on 7th and Hill. The stylist was a Puerto Rican that taught me the difference between gel and pomade, and what type of occassions call for each one.
-My teacher for "Intro to community organizing" is a Marxist. We are going to clash soon, but I still have not decided when.
-The blog (undergroundundergrads.com) is going to pick up soon.
-I feel very creative and my thoughts outpace me a lot of the time. I don't say a lot lately.
-I am out of love. A crushing blow of rationality has left me content on my solitude, and the train is my only lover. This is what it would have been like in Lanus. Except I have Enrique, Margarita, and Sophia instead of Lucia, Adolfo, and Gisela.
-I am already the class clown in Public Allies. So much for taking on a different role.
-Steven has a son. I failed as a jr. high youth group leader 6 years ago.
-I want to be good at soccer again. Joining a saturday league.
-My teacher for "Intro to community organizing" is a Marxist. We are going to clash soon, but I still have not decided when.
-The blog (undergroundundergrads.com) is going to pick up soon.
-I feel very creative and my thoughts outpace me a lot of the time. I don't say a lot lately.
-I am out of love. A crushing blow of rationality has left me content on my solitude, and the train is my only lover. This is what it would have been like in Lanus. Except I have Enrique, Margarita, and Sophia instead of Lucia, Adolfo, and Gisela.
-I am already the class clown in Public Allies. So much for taking on a different role.
-Steven has a son. I failed as a jr. high youth group leader 6 years ago.
-I want to be good at soccer again. Joining a saturday league.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Two weekend lists
Friday Night: List of songs I performed at Karaoke night for the Downtown Labor Center staff (for Susan's last day on the job).
1. I can't freaking remember. Some song I did not choose, but jumped up and sang.
2. Queen's - "Bohemian Rhapsody"
3. Los Del Rio - "Macarena"(duet with Liz)
4. Outkast - "Hey Ya!"
5. Nas - "I Can"
6. Usher - "Caught Up"
7. Black Eyed Peas - "My Humps" (duet with Liz)
8. The Mamas and the Papas - "California Dreamin'"
Saturday Morning: List of books I gave Facundo for his philosophical explorations in the coming school year, his second at UCSD studying computer science, arranged by date of publication.
1. Machiavelli, "The Prince"
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "The Social Contract"
3. Karl Marx, "The Communist Manifesto"
4. Friedrich Nietzsche, "On The Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo"
5. Albert Camus, "The Rebel"
6. Noam Chomsky, "Government in the Future"
7. Paulo Freire, "Pedagogy of the Oppressed"
8. Jared Diamond, "Guns, Germs, and Steel"
9. George Lakoff, "Whose Freedom?"
1. I can't freaking remember. Some song I did not choose, but jumped up and sang.
2. Queen's - "Bohemian Rhapsody"
3. Los Del Rio - "Macarena"(duet with Liz)
4. Outkast - "Hey Ya!"
5. Nas - "I Can"
6. Usher - "Caught Up"
7. Black Eyed Peas - "My Humps" (duet with Liz)
8. The Mamas and the Papas - "California Dreamin'"
Saturday Morning: List of books I gave Facundo for his philosophical explorations in the coming school year, his second at UCSD studying computer science, arranged by date of publication.
1. Machiavelli, "The Prince"
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "The Social Contract"
3. Karl Marx, "The Communist Manifesto"
4. Friedrich Nietzsche, "On The Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo"
5. Albert Camus, "The Rebel"
6. Noam Chomsky, "Government in the Future"
7. Paulo Freire, "Pedagogy of the Oppressed"
8. Jared Diamond, "Guns, Germs, and Steel"
9. George Lakoff, "Whose Freedom?"
Friday, September 12, 2008
Friday night
I am not good at remembering the things I said I would write about whenever I got in front of the computer. Also, I find myself as a multiple personality writer with regards to what goes on this space, and others.
Finished first week. Public allies retreat. Two busy work days. Lots of public transportation.
Currently reading... Let Them In: The Case for Open Borders by Jason L. Riley. Libertarianism, eh?
Finished first week. Public allies retreat. Two busy work days. Lots of public transportation.
Currently reading... Let Them In: The Case for Open Borders by Jason L. Riley. Libertarianism, eh?
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Last day of summer
I am remodeling what will now be my room, and making the rest of the family adapt to my wishes. Sophia landed a TV/DVD player combo as well. The living room now hosts a computer that adds to the clutter. My new bookshelf, a craigslist purchase that looks brand-new thanks to a two-day varnish inspiration, has sections on religion and philosophy, as well as a giant stuffed ant looking over the bed and out the window.
Not much else is familiar to me right now. I am not leaving to Argentina anymore, and thus cancelled some visits, scratched some plans, and stopped logging on to couchsurfing, where those who agreed to host me will have to wait. My cancellation was short and generic, nothing like the introductory emails that feigned the right amount of pioneering excitement.
I feel like I am personally regressing, yet moving forward in life. But I have more time to do the things I want to do. Hopefully that time availability will still be matched with energy by the time routine kicks in. Exciting three days ahead at the Public Allies retreat, followed by a banquet on Thursday, one of many union events to come in the next 10 months.
Today I shed two tears while watching Inside 9/11 on NatGeoTV. I can only do that when it's impersonal.
Not much else is familiar to me right now. I am not leaving to Argentina anymore, and thus cancelled some visits, scratched some plans, and stopped logging on to couchsurfing, where those who agreed to host me will have to wait. My cancellation was short and generic, nothing like the introductory emails that feigned the right amount of pioneering excitement.
I feel like I am personally regressing, yet moving forward in life. But I have more time to do the things I want to do. Hopefully that time availability will still be matched with energy by the time routine kicks in. Exciting three days ahead at the Public Allies retreat, followed by a banquet on Thursday, one of many union events to come in the next 10 months.
Today I shed two tears while watching Inside 9/11 on NatGeoTV. I can only do that when it's impersonal.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Conversation on the RNC
Courtney: so...cindy mccain, sarah palin or michelle obama?
me: i had a dream
Courtney: as a MILF
all 3?
me: that i was dancing cumbias with michelle obama
with barack taking pictures
Courtney: haha
me: but since its barack
i couldnt do that
so, palin
she looks like a freak
this is what i would do to her:
first, she reads the bill of rights
Courtney: omg
me: then, i dress as a vietnamese prison guard
and she is a fighter pilot
Courtney: omg
me: ok?
ok, im done
haha
Courtney: ok good
me: my own thoughts were starting to disturb me
Courtney: yeh, me too.
me: i am turning more republican by the second
Courtney: lol
sometimes i feel bad for him that he can lift his arms
me: i know
but thats good cuz he gets to always underhug
which is the best way to hug
girls get away with it most of the time
Courtney: lol
do you think about this?
me: you gotta think about the things you gotta think about
me: i had a dream
Courtney: as a MILF
all 3?
me: that i was dancing cumbias with michelle obama
with barack taking pictures
Courtney: haha
me: but since its barack
i couldnt do that
so, palin
she looks like a freak
this is what i would do to her:
first, she reads the bill of rights
Courtney: omg
me: then, i dress as a vietnamese prison guard
and she is a fighter pilot
Courtney: omg
me: ok?
ok, im done
haha
Courtney: ok good
me: my own thoughts were starting to disturb me
Courtney: yeh, me too.
me: i am turning more republican by the second
Courtney: lol
sometimes i feel bad for him that he can lift his arms
me: i know
but thats good cuz he gets to always underhug
which is the best way to hug
girls get away with it most of the time
Courtney: lol
do you think about this?
me: you gotta think about the things you gotta think about
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Disturbing thought of the week
Question:
What impact, if any, do you think my moving back home and staying up late has on my parents' sex life? Dad is 49 and mom is 45. It's supposed to be great times for them, right, with the Viagra and whatnot?
I am launching a full investigation on this issue. Results to come at a later date.
Edit: this question was not supposed to have any type of Oedipean implications. The inquiry is based on the proximity between the rooms in our household, difference in sleeping patterns, and such considerations.
What impact, if any, do you think my moving back home and staying up late has on my parents' sex life? Dad is 49 and mom is 45. It's supposed to be great times for them, right, with the Viagra and whatnot?
I am launching a full investigation on this issue. Results to come at a later date.
Edit: this question was not supposed to have any type of Oedipean implications. The inquiry is based on the proximity between the rooms in our household, difference in sleeping patterns, and such considerations.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Thoughts
Lately I have been, once again, changing my course. This time I want to go to law school.
I fear grad school in political theory will leave me restless, and I am figuring out that philosophy itself is something I like to do in my free time, not as a career.
Plus, I kinda-sorta figured out that academia is a little bit like this and often times students are like that.
I fear grad school in political theory will leave me restless, and I am figuring out that philosophy itself is something I like to do in my free time, not as a career.
Plus, I kinda-sorta figured out that academia is a little bit like this and often times students are like that.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Welcome September
I visited New Orleans for the first time in March of this year. I abandoned the Clinton Global Initiative Conference for some time, looking to mesh with the locals and share their stories. After learning how to eat crawfish with a bartending fratboy in Bourbon Street, I ended up sharing drinks with two Marrero-based cab drivers in the Harrah's Casino. They cussed out at the crime rates, and talked about their plans. Their lives, like everyone else's there, were changing and moving on up.
"I am going back to school at the community college and taking some hotel management classes."
"My wife and I gon' take a trip soon, wanna see the Niagara Falls."
But their dream-sharing was different from mine. They were not presented, like the elite college-aged world changers at the conference I was ditching, with a world of opportunities and empowerment. Their optimism was different in that they had nowhere to move but up. An innocent optimism of sorts.
It reminded me of my brother and I, alternating between couches at the Sumac living room for a few adolescent years. It's still blurry when I think about it. But we had nowhere to move but up and that we did, somewhat. This time more people are okay, and Gustav seemed to have been no Katrina. But the more things change the more they stay the same. They knew it, too.
"Man, you've been talking about that damn Niagara trip forever now. Can't see the day you go to fuckin' Niagara"
"Well, I don't think you ever setting foot in a college again, bitch."
"I am going back to school at the community college and taking some hotel management classes."
"My wife and I gon' take a trip soon, wanna see the Niagara Falls."
But their dream-sharing was different from mine. They were not presented, like the elite college-aged world changers at the conference I was ditching, with a world of opportunities and empowerment. Their optimism was different in that they had nowhere to move but up. An innocent optimism of sorts.
It reminded me of my brother and I, alternating between couches at the Sumac living room for a few adolescent years. It's still blurry when I think about it. But we had nowhere to move but up and that we did, somewhat. This time more people are okay, and Gustav seemed to have been no Katrina. But the more things change the more they stay the same. They knew it, too.
"Man, you've been talking about that damn Niagara trip forever now. Can't see the day you go to fuckin' Niagara"
"Well, I don't think you ever setting foot in a college again, bitch."
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The perks of borderline insanity
Last night, in a dream, I spoke to Ralph Bunche by the statue of his face in North Campus. He told me to re-write the POC tour. Then we were talking about his family, which apparently is the family of Andy Pinedo because all of a sudden he was a Peruvian and we were in the Crystal Cathedral.
The night before I dreamed of penis envy and policy fellowships. True story!
I say keep 'em coming!
The night before I dreamed of penis envy and policy fellowships. True story!
I say keep 'em coming!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Last hurdle
"If you end up staying, what's gonna happen to all those people that promised to buy you drinks if you left?"
Decisions, decisions.
Decisions, decisions.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Un poco paranoico
Hay que pensarlo bien. El hecho es que los factores no se entrecruzan. En sí, no se conocen. Y ese es el motivo por el cual la desconcentración y la confusión se fortalecen. La frontera entre lo ético y lo estético, dijo el seductor, dejando entrever que las decisiones aquí tomadas poco tenían que ver con salarios y momentos, y todo con una vida que debía saberse vivir.
Mientras tanto, sonaba la decadencia con un nuevo recordatorio de que los amores, como los caminos, siempre estaban llenos de curvas, idas, y venidas.
Mientras tanto, sonaba la decadencia con un nuevo recordatorio de que los amores, como los caminos, siempre estaban llenos de curvas, idas, y venidas.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Guelaguetza
I threw up in the Union Station bathroom.
I was waiting for Puchero to pick me up and take me home after another week as a vagabond.
This time I started with touring UCLA with El Polaco and going to SPS. Then it was the cabin, a red-eye United Airlines flight, the Contemporary Resort in Walt Disney World and the cabin again, albeit a different host.
In Orlando, the monotony that Disney has over the city is sickening, from the time one first gets off the plane. There is never-ending stimulation of the senses, either through music, characters, or tour guides.
Yesterday, Andrea and I went to the Guelaguetza festival in Koreatown. We ate chapulines (crickets) that we bought from the Oaxaqueños and bought Tepache from the Comunidad Tlacolulence de Los Angeles. My first time having either one. We laughed a little, shared horrible sex stories, and stole beers from a Mexican wedding at the Greek Orthodox Church.
Then I slept. But not so well. I am back home now.
I was waiting for Puchero to pick me up and take me home after another week as a vagabond.
This time I started with touring UCLA with El Polaco and going to SPS. Then it was the cabin, a red-eye United Airlines flight, the Contemporary Resort in Walt Disney World and the cabin again, albeit a different host.
In Orlando, the monotony that Disney has over the city is sickening, from the time one first gets off the plane. There is never-ending stimulation of the senses, either through music, characters, or tour guides.
Yesterday, Andrea and I went to the Guelaguetza festival in Koreatown. We ate chapulines (crickets) that we bought from the Oaxaqueños and bought Tepache from the Comunidad Tlacolulence de Los Angeles. My first time having either one. We laughed a little, shared horrible sex stories, and stole beers from a Mexican wedding at the Greek Orthodox Church.
Then I slept. But not so well. I am back home now.
Friday, August 08, 2008
nightmare
y si hubiese crecido en guillon, quien seria hoy? en el sueño estaba la señorita mabel, arquitecta de lecturas y aprendizaje, parada delante de un contador gigante que no paraba para reflexionar.
cuantos hay como yo? como llegaron a serlo? porque todas las bendiciones que he tenido se terminan convirtiendo en pesadillas? porque llegan a ser pesos irrevocables? si nadie me manda, quien me manda?
como sera la rehabilitacion? como estare con la morocha? cuando podre derramar estas lagrimas que me sofocan? cual es el precio del desahogo? y donde lo compro?
perdoname otra vez. escuchemos la de gardel, la que dice que las estrellas van a estar celosas. pero nunca me digas que si. no me lo merezco.
cuantos hay como yo? como llegaron a serlo? porque todas las bendiciones que he tenido se terminan convirtiendo en pesadillas? porque llegan a ser pesos irrevocables? si nadie me manda, quien me manda?
como sera la rehabilitacion? como estare con la morocha? cuando podre derramar estas lagrimas que me sofocan? cual es el precio del desahogo? y donde lo compro?
perdoname otra vez. escuchemos la de gardel, la que dice que las estrellas van a estar celosas. pero nunca me digas que si. no me lo merezco.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Old post-it note, vol. I
I had stopped writing for a while, except I would randomly open up a post-it and pen up random shit. Here's some of that random shit, about Arepa's rendition of a Soda Stereo song:
El tributo es difícil. Desde que Caín, siendo un tontito granjero, se calentó con Jehová,e inventó el ateísmo, las miles de ocasiones en que los seres humanos han ofrecido tributo, ya sea a dioses o otros humanos, han llegado con respeto, controversia, y hecatombe.
La ultima edición del tributo como ritual pagano es la versión de Arepa de "Te Para Tres", canción original de los rockeros argentinos semi-divinos Soda Stereo que la nueva banda angelina ha re-mezclado y re-editado hasta formar un nuevo gusto: el Te de Mierda.
Hay demasiadas incongruencias en la versión arepeana de Te de Mierda. Primero, es una mierda porque es una combinación vacía de una guitarrita y las cuerdas vocales de Polly Salas, la cantante/modelo/actriz/viudanegra del conjunto. Hicieron, entre dos, un te para tres. Que gran pelotudez.
Segundo, es una mierda porque, al mantener las letras de la original, dejan a la pobre Salas con ciertas tendencias lesbianísticas que no se presentan en ninguna otra letra. En sí, le dejan la boca, como dirían en el lenguaje local, llena de mierda.
Tercero, esta mierda no es Arepa, señores. Si hasta ahora la fama sub-local se la ganaron por hacer bailar al pueblo, no se conviertan en la versión pobre de Ely Guerra. Porque aunque vale la pena tomar lecciones de ella, también hay que saber que la Ely no haría tanta mierda.
Por último, el pueblo yanqui myspaciano seguirá buscando a alguien que ocupe el trono abandonado por Ozomatli, aquel de sonido latinotendencioso más original del sur de California. Quizás algún día llegue a ser Arepa, pero no mientras nos tributen este te de mierda.
I go to Florida tomorrow. Promoting Underground Undergrads.
El tributo es difícil. Desde que Caín, siendo un tontito granjero, se calentó con Jehová,e inventó el ateísmo, las miles de ocasiones en que los seres humanos han ofrecido tributo, ya sea a dioses o otros humanos, han llegado con respeto, controversia, y hecatombe.
La ultima edición del tributo como ritual pagano es la versión de Arepa de "Te Para Tres", canción original de los rockeros argentinos semi-divinos Soda Stereo que la nueva banda angelina ha re-mezclado y re-editado hasta formar un nuevo gusto: el Te de Mierda.
Hay demasiadas incongruencias en la versión arepeana de Te de Mierda. Primero, es una mierda porque es una combinación vacía de una guitarrita y las cuerdas vocales de Polly Salas, la cantante/modelo/actriz/viudanegra del conjunto. Hicieron, entre dos, un te para tres. Que gran pelotudez.
Segundo, es una mierda porque, al mantener las letras de la original, dejan a la pobre Salas con ciertas tendencias lesbianísticas que no se presentan en ninguna otra letra. En sí, le dejan la boca, como dirían en el lenguaje local, llena de mierda.
Tercero, esta mierda no es Arepa, señores. Si hasta ahora la fama sub-local se la ganaron por hacer bailar al pueblo, no se conviertan en la versión pobre de Ely Guerra. Porque aunque vale la pena tomar lecciones de ella, también hay que saber que la Ely no haría tanta mierda.
Por último, el pueblo yanqui myspaciano seguirá buscando a alguien que ocupe el trono abandonado por Ozomatli, aquel de sonido latinotendencioso más original del sur de California. Quizás algún día llegue a ser Arepa, pero no mientras nos tributen este te de mierda.
I go to Florida tomorrow. Promoting Underground Undergrads.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Perspective
Punches you in the face sometimes, reminding you to hug your mom more often, spend time loving, and don't lose a moment.
I made a phone call for the usual bantering and some catching up after a prolonged game of phone tag and the occasional text message. Summer school over, deadlines extended, thinking of cruises, story ideas and, like always, politics. That conversation will have to wait.
As you know, it's hard for me to pray about these things, but I'll defer to my mom to pray for your uncle.
Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Si el sol dejara de alumbrar, y no brillara nunca mas,
Yo igual confio en el Señor, no me va a fallar.
I made a phone call for the usual bantering and some catching up after a prolonged game of phone tag and the occasional text message. Summer school over, deadlines extended, thinking of cruises, story ideas and, like always, politics. That conversation will have to wait.
As you know, it's hard for me to pray about these things, but I'll defer to my mom to pray for your uncle.
Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Puedo confiar en el Señor, no me va a fallar,
Si el sol dejara de alumbrar, y no brillara nunca mas,
Yo igual confio en el Señor, no me va a fallar.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Monograms
- Love is the power to see similarity in the dissimilar. (122)
- Not least among the tasks now confronting thought is that of placing all the reactionary arguments against Western culture in the service of progressive enlightenment. (122)
- Love you will find only where you may show yourself weak with out provoking strength. (122)
- Imagination is inflamed by women who lack, precisely, imagination. They have the brightest aureoles who, turned unwaveringly outward, are wholly matter-of-fact. Their attraction stems from their lack of awareness of themselves, indeed of self at all: Oscar Wilde coined the name unenigmatic Sphinxes for them. (108)
- Women of exceptional beauty are doomed to unhappiness. Even those favoured by every circumstance, who have birth, wealth, talent on their side, seem as if hounded or obsessed by the urge to destroy themselves and all the human relationships they contact. An oracle gives them the choice between calamities. Either they shrewdly exchange beauty for success. Then they pay with happiness for its condition; being no longer able to love, they poison the love felt for them and are left empty-handed. Or the privilege of beauty gives them the courage and confidence to repudiate the exchange agreement. They take seriously the happiness that the person promises, and are unstinting with themselves, assured by the admiration of all that they do not need first to prove their worth. In their youth they are free to choose. (109)
All taken from Theodor Adorno's Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life
Revolucion
I will risk disappointing more than one, but I will now have to state that this revolution, our generation's revolution, is not going to be fun. In fact, it's gonna have to be boring and seem uninterested.
Back to sleep.
Back to sleep.
Accident
The whole experience left him out of sync, walking around the house, marking a trail in the carpet across the living room all the way up to the kitchen. When his muscles started aching, he would get up again and open the fridge, staring at the assortment of multicolored Tupperware but not looking inside any of it. He would hold his empty stare into the fridge for a few seconds, before deciding he wasn't hungry enough. He would do this a couple of times each day, eventually succumbing to some reheated chinese food or cold pizza.
The insurance agent called again that morning. Dem Franchise Boyz busted through the silence for almost a minute before the call went to voicemail. He stared at the phone as it rang. I gotta change that stupid ringtone, he thought. Better yet, I gotta get rid of that phone. The call didn't wake up Steven, though he nudged inside the sleeping bag where he was carving a place in the corner of the dining room. There was a message.
Hello, Francisco, it's Sharon from Progressive again, and I left a couple of messages last week and we really need to talk about the accident and I hope you are feeling well and I wish this bitch would stop talking to me like she knows me. He had a pervasive dislike people who were paid to be friendly to him. He took out that angst against as many telemarketers, sales representatives, and customer service agent as he could.
Inside, however, he wished he had friends. He longed for the times when he wouldn't systematically push people away. He wanted a better shrink, a new girlfriend, and some food from that fridge but was too lazy to sort through the Tupperware. He closed the fridge and grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the counter.
His neck didn't hurt much anymore, but the scar on his leg still looked vicious, according to Steven. Now 11-years-old, Steven was trying to be a cool kid and used words like vicious. Francisco had been a role model to him. Old enough to be an uncle, but never grownup enough to make anyone forget he was Steven's cousin. Now, the roles were beginning to change and Steven found himself babysitting what was left of his big cousin.
Pick up your fucking phone, he yelled as Dem Franchise Boyz interrupted the silent morning again. And change that fucking ringtone, for gods sakes.
Francisco got up and grabbed the phone. It was not Progressive, AT&T, or any refinance opportunity. It was Laurie. He put the phone back in the table, letting Dem Franchise Boyz finish the chorus. A thousand memories ran through his head. The sights, sounds, smells, laughs, fights, and, above all, the sex. The museums and concerts, and that time when she surprised him at school with balloons on his birthday.
Maybe I should go back to school, he thought, as if he had ever given it a real chance to begin with. I wonder what the hell she wants and if she misses me. Come on, baby, let's give it another try. There was another message.
Hey Francisco, it's me Laurie and I heard about your accident and I hope things are going well and I am moving out and do you want these clothes back that you left here long time ago and this must really be over if she called me by my first name.
I'm going out for a drive, he told Steven. Nothing big, he just wanted a Slurpee. This time he would stay in the road and avoid any mysterious head-on solo crashes against the freeway wall. He still didn't know what to do with his life. No more accidents, though.
The insurance agent called again that morning. Dem Franchise Boyz busted through the silence for almost a minute before the call went to voicemail. He stared at the phone as it rang. I gotta change that stupid ringtone, he thought. Better yet, I gotta get rid of that phone. The call didn't wake up Steven, though he nudged inside the sleeping bag where he was carving a place in the corner of the dining room. There was a message.
Hello, Francisco, it's Sharon from Progressive again, and I left a couple of messages last week and we really need to talk about the accident and I hope you are feeling well and I wish this bitch would stop talking to me like she knows me. He had a pervasive dislike people who were paid to be friendly to him. He took out that angst against as many telemarketers, sales representatives, and customer service agent as he could.
Inside, however, he wished he had friends. He longed for the times when he wouldn't systematically push people away. He wanted a better shrink, a new girlfriend, and some food from that fridge but was too lazy to sort through the Tupperware. He closed the fridge and grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the counter.
His neck didn't hurt much anymore, but the scar on his leg still looked vicious, according to Steven. Now 11-years-old, Steven was trying to be a cool kid and used words like vicious. Francisco had been a role model to him. Old enough to be an uncle, but never grownup enough to make anyone forget he was Steven's cousin. Now, the roles were beginning to change and Steven found himself babysitting what was left of his big cousin.
Pick up your fucking phone, he yelled as Dem Franchise Boyz interrupted the silent morning again. And change that fucking ringtone, for gods sakes.
Francisco got up and grabbed the phone. It was not Progressive, AT&T, or any refinance opportunity. It was Laurie. He put the phone back in the table, letting Dem Franchise Boyz finish the chorus. A thousand memories ran through his head. The sights, sounds, smells, laughs, fights, and, above all, the sex. The museums and concerts, and that time when she surprised him at school with balloons on his birthday.
Maybe I should go back to school, he thought, as if he had ever given it a real chance to begin with. I wonder what the hell she wants and if she misses me. Come on, baby, let's give it another try. There was another message.
Hey Francisco, it's me Laurie and I heard about your accident and I hope things are going well and I am moving out and do you want these clothes back that you left here long time ago and this must really be over if she called me by my first name.
I'm going out for a drive, he told Steven. Nothing big, he just wanted a Slurpee. This time he would stay in the road and avoid any mysterious head-on solo crashes against the freeway wall. He still didn't know what to do with his life. No more accidents, though.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Aparición
Their dreams had never matched, but a young, instinctual attraction had always accompanied their moments together. Neither had their opinions or priorities, even less their backgrounds.
In fact, each of them privately thought, their chances of ever meeting had been slim in the first place. More so, they often fought, disagreed, made each other nervous.
I met them later on my college years, they were in their teens. They broke up last week.
In fact, each of them privately thought, their chances of ever meeting had been slim in the first place. More so, they often fought, disagreed, made each other nervous.
I met them later on my college years, they were in their teens. They broke up last week.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Questions
I slept atop a pile of pillows in Patty's apartment, in the exact spot where Ibeth's bed would have been a few weeks ago. This was the last night of my road trip, which had seen me sleep in a UCSD van, the Doubletree hotel in Berkeley, the Goldman School of Public Policy, the UC Berkeley Foothill student housing, Ben's apartment in the Castro, Jesse's apartment in Westwood, and now, finally, these pillows.
I walked to class armored with a heavy backpack, a gym bag full of clothes, and Ron Currie Jr's God is Dead, a funny dystopian novel I picked up at the UCLA store.
As I was crossing the street that separates the dorms from the rest of campus, I came across the AFSCME 3299 service workers, which were holding up their picket signs and trying to hide from the scorching morning sun. Like all my other recent decisions, I didn't think about it much, letting out a scream:
"Que vivan los trabajadores!!!"
A few of them cheered and smiled. At this point, I noticed that Currie's prose had taken me away from my fellow pedestrians, a group of young gymnasts. One of them sought to break that disconnect.
"What does that mean?", she asked.
I missed her at first glance. She was miniscule, must not have reached 10-years-old yet. I smiled at her with a sense of journalistic pride.
"They are the ones that clean up the school, and they don't pay them enough." Again, I had let the words come out without thinking much, or scoping the surroundings for parents who don't appreciate strangers politicizing with their children. In this case, it was a protective gymnastics camp counselor.
"Don't bother the nice man, (inaudible name)." I threw her a dirty look as she hugged the inquiring young girl away. Currie got my attention back rather quickly as I I kept walking down the hill that leads to the middle of campus.
I hope that young girl always asks questions.
I walked to class armored with a heavy backpack, a gym bag full of clothes, and Ron Currie Jr's God is Dead, a funny dystopian novel I picked up at the UCLA store.
As I was crossing the street that separates the dorms from the rest of campus, I came across the AFSCME 3299 service workers, which were holding up their picket signs and trying to hide from the scorching morning sun. Like all my other recent decisions, I didn't think about it much, letting out a scream:
"Que vivan los trabajadores!!!"
A few of them cheered and smiled. At this point, I noticed that Currie's prose had taken me away from my fellow pedestrians, a group of young gymnasts. One of them sought to break that disconnect.
"What does that mean?", she asked.
I missed her at first glance. She was miniscule, must not have reached 10-years-old yet. I smiled at her with a sense of journalistic pride.
"They are the ones that clean up the school, and they don't pay them enough." Again, I had let the words come out without thinking much, or scoping the surroundings for parents who don't appreciate strangers politicizing with their children. In this case, it was a protective gymnastics camp counselor.
"Don't bother the nice man, (inaudible name)." I threw her a dirty look as she hugged the inquiring young girl away. Currie got my attention back rather quickly as I I kept walking down the hill that leads to the middle of campus.
I hope that young girl always asks questions.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Why I am not going to graduate from college
Because when I have an easy 6-page take-home midterm to write, I spend two hours reading about personality disorders and trying to match people to them. Now, I am going to get to work, maybe.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
With Ben
Quiet night in San Francisco. Just me and Los Piojos. I gave up the fuzzy sweater for a bright orange Holland jacket earlier today. I shared the future life plans, he shared the story of Aimee's trip to Nashville. We walked about 3 miles to grab Argentinean empanadas. I wanted a piece of home and some peace away from the drunken calamities of the previous night.
We also talked about me sneaking back in through Canada. The future cannot come soon enough.
We also talked about me sneaking back in through Canada. The future cannot come soon enough.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Morning walk
"Where else am I supposed to walk? There's no sidewalk!"
I suspect that, at that moment, his aviator glasses hid a dumbfounded gaze, as if he had been caught being the human representation of an irrational situation. I could not be blamed for using that 3-feet long median as my walkway if there was no other option.
"Well, just be careful then."
As the Berkeley policeman drove off, I kept on walking in the median, much to the amazed look of many drivers who stared at me as if I had been a previously unknown specimen, a rare walking creature interrupting the monopoly of engines and asphalt, a pedestrian in the bridge connecting the city and the marina.
I assume not a lot of people walk from the Berkeley Marina to the UC campus. I missed the three half-full 51's during my 50-minute morning walk.
I am here until Sunday.
I suspect that, at that moment, his aviator glasses hid a dumbfounded gaze, as if he had been caught being the human representation of an irrational situation. I could not be blamed for using that 3-feet long median as my walkway if there was no other option.
"Well, just be careful then."
As the Berkeley policeman drove off, I kept on walking in the median, much to the amazed look of many drivers who stared at me as if I had been a previously unknown specimen, a rare walking creature interrupting the monopoly of engines and asphalt, a pedestrian in the bridge connecting the city and the marina.
I assume not a lot of people walk from the Berkeley Marina to the UC campus. I missed the three half-full 51's during my 50-minute morning walk.
I am here until Sunday.
The only advice I can give you
Today I am debuting a new section called "The only advice I can give you". This will be a recurring list of life-changing wisdom
The only advice I can give you is...
Do not assume that when you buy a 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner it actually get the job done. Shampooing and conditioning are two very different skills, each needing a specialist for its assigned duty.
Now go on and be fruitful.
The only advice I can give you is...
Do not assume that when you buy a 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner it actually get the job done. Shampooing and conditioning are two very different skills, each needing a specialist for its assigned duty.
Now go on and be fruitful.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
The Times
Miguel texted me at 6AM saying I looked cute on the newspaper. The online edition did not put the picture up, but the article reads well and presents a different story.
I will have a stronger IDEAS post up soon. Here's the link: A degree of anxiety.
Cheers to the underground undergrads!
I will have a stronger IDEAS post up soon. Here's the link: A degree of anxiety.
Cheers to the underground undergrads!
The Joker
It was our tribute to Heath Ledger. And a great accessory for the Gentlemen Pad in the Valley. That bus stop won't miss it, and the movie is going to have a great opening weekend anyway.
Fun times.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Jehova and Gandhi
This was the inscription in my graduation frame:
Mati*s Nicol*s Ram*s Goralcz*k
Graduación, Universidad de California Los Angeles, Junio 2008
Porque Jehová da la sabiduría, y de su boca viene el conocimiento y la inteligencia.
-Proverbios 2:6
Sé el cambio que quieras ver en el mundo.
-Mahatma Gandhi
I chose the proverb because that's my favorite book in the Christian Bible. What I mean by the Lord giving me, as a student, my wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence (if I have any), is that he put my parents in place. I have no way of knowing so, but if they consider me and my siblings a gift to them, I still have no way to prove they were not a gift to me. The Gandhi quote serves to add a social justice front to the inscription, and to break the Western monotony.
The frames themselves included a wallet size picture, a Royce Hall postcard, and the inscription. La Abuela Lucía is delivering them. Her flight back to Buenos Aires leaves tomorrow.
Mati*s Nicol*s Ram*s Goralcz*k
Graduación, Universidad de California Los Angeles, Junio 2008
Porque Jehová da la sabiduría, y de su boca viene el conocimiento y la inteligencia.
-Proverbios 2:6
Sé el cambio que quieras ver en el mundo.
-Mahatma Gandhi
I chose the proverb because that's my favorite book in the Christian Bible. What I mean by the Lord giving me, as a student, my wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence (if I have any), is that he put my parents in place. I have no way of knowing so, but if they consider me and my siblings a gift to them, I still have no way to prove they were not a gift to me. The Gandhi quote serves to add a social justice front to the inscription, and to break the Western monotony.
The frames themselves included a wallet size picture, a Royce Hall postcard, and the inscription. La Abuela Lucía is delivering them. Her flight back to Buenos Aires leaves tomorrow.
Anaheim
I should have been friends with those guys.
The whole moment symbolized our high school years. I got there late, and they had been playing for a while. As they played cards, I sat right outside of their game, watching it unfold and having the insider's perspective through Ben's cards. The conversation was, for the most part, cordialities about experiences and future plans.
Ben, a freelance writer with law school plans, remains an odd friend of mine and someone who always offered a good vibe. His oddity is a joy to get to know, from the appreciation for obscure sports and rock bands to his keen, almost gimicky idealism represented in shoes, pants, and political savvy.
Mark, Jimmy, and Byron are those guys I always knew but never got to know. The type of Asian males that I had, at one point in my life, seen as not much more than the brainy-type. But as they taught me their card game, I thought that the four years in between high school graduation and tonight taught us to put aside model minority myths and other assumptions.
Mark is going from Cal State Fullerton to two years of non-profit work in Vietnam. Jimmy is coming back from Berkeley to a consulting job in Downtown LA. Byron is leaving the Michigan cold and embracing the warmth of UCLA Law School. Ben is still going to be writing around San Francisco.
I don't think they understood the magnitude of my decision to go back to Argentina. What else could be more normal than a return trip to the place of one's birth? So, to those that always expected me back, and those who witnessed me wallowing around in Loara High School, this trip is not earth-shattering.
Those who I love most have had the harder time so far. But people understand. I'm off to reinvent myself and when I come back things won't be the same. But maybe they will be like tonight. I think they might be better.
The whole moment symbolized our high school years. I got there late, and they had been playing for a while. As they played cards, I sat right outside of their game, watching it unfold and having the insider's perspective through Ben's cards. The conversation was, for the most part, cordialities about experiences and future plans.
Ben, a freelance writer with law school plans, remains an odd friend of mine and someone who always offered a good vibe. His oddity is a joy to get to know, from the appreciation for obscure sports and rock bands to his keen, almost gimicky idealism represented in shoes, pants, and political savvy.
Mark, Jimmy, and Byron are those guys I always knew but never got to know. The type of Asian males that I had, at one point in my life, seen as not much more than the brainy-type. But as they taught me their card game, I thought that the four years in between high school graduation and tonight taught us to put aside model minority myths and other assumptions.
Mark is going from Cal State Fullerton to two years of non-profit work in Vietnam. Jimmy is coming back from Berkeley to a consulting job in Downtown LA. Byron is leaving the Michigan cold and embracing the warmth of UCLA Law School. Ben is still going to be writing around San Francisco.
I don't think they understood the magnitude of my decision to go back to Argentina. What else could be more normal than a return trip to the place of one's birth? So, to those that always expected me back, and those who witnessed me wallowing around in Loara High School, this trip is not earth-shattering.
Those who I love most have had the harder time so far. But people understand. I'm off to reinvent myself and when I come back things won't be the same. But maybe they will be like tonight. I think they might be better.
Friday, July 04, 2008
If North Were South
Some thoughts:
- This song is still incredible relevant 12 years after its release. In fact, I think this song will outlast me.
- It would be interesting if someone with an affinity for songwriting had an inspiration for "If West Were East". I assume it would have to be written in Arabic or Farsi.
-My favorite line: "Y si la deuda externa nos robó la primavera, Al diablo la geografía se acabaron las fronteras..."
Las Barras y Las Estrellas
Hoy es cuatro de julio, día de la independencia de los Estados Unidos.
Sentado en el balcón de casa, me puse a pensar que tipo de significado, si es que existe, tiene la fecha para la gente de este barrio. Encrustados en el medio de una de las ciudades mas anglosajonas del condado de Orange, aproximadamente 300 familias viven en el barrio de Cinnamon Tree. La mayoría tiene sus condominios apretujados, y los menos pudientes ocupan departamentos apretujados.
Me senté un rato en el balcón porque adentro me sentí, también, apretujado, aunque la casa estaba semi-vacía. Facundo había desaparecido con amigos a Los Angeles, y mis padres compartían una rutinaria actividad eclesiástica en Anaheim. La abuela dormía una siesta bonaerense importada, y Sophia se unía a los millones de jóvenes y niños (yo incluído) que dejaban pasar la vida mirando un monitor.
Lo único que se escuchaba eran los pajaros y el ventilador. Había apagado el celular para que no interrupiera el silencio de la tarde y seguía pensando en eso del cuatro de julio.
En Placentia no se notaba mucho la diferencia porque las barras y las estrellas flameaban en las avenidas todo el año. En este tipo de suburbio el patriotismo vacío y privilegiado se derrochaba facilmente. Pero la gente de Cinnamon Tree era la excepción. No había mucha identidad para esta comunidad Latina aislada, y el dia de la independencia también iba a pasar desapercibido.
Los ricos lo ignoraban por exageración y los pobres se esmeraban en ignorarlo. Ningún hecho político de hace 232 años atrás podía importar hoy, porque hacía mucho calor, el gas estaba muy caro, y mañana hay que trabajar porque sino quién paga las cuentas.
Aí se fue desapercibido el cuatro de julio.
Sentado en el balcón de casa, me puse a pensar que tipo de significado, si es que existe, tiene la fecha para la gente de este barrio. Encrustados en el medio de una de las ciudades mas anglosajonas del condado de Orange, aproximadamente 300 familias viven en el barrio de Cinnamon Tree. La mayoría tiene sus condominios apretujados, y los menos pudientes ocupan departamentos apretujados.
Me senté un rato en el balcón porque adentro me sentí, también, apretujado, aunque la casa estaba semi-vacía. Facundo había desaparecido con amigos a Los Angeles, y mis padres compartían una rutinaria actividad eclesiástica en Anaheim. La abuela dormía una siesta bonaerense importada, y Sophia se unía a los millones de jóvenes y niños (yo incluído) que dejaban pasar la vida mirando un monitor.
Lo único que se escuchaba eran los pajaros y el ventilador. Había apagado el celular para que no interrupiera el silencio de la tarde y seguía pensando en eso del cuatro de julio.
En Placentia no se notaba mucho la diferencia porque las barras y las estrellas flameaban en las avenidas todo el año. En este tipo de suburbio el patriotismo vacío y privilegiado se derrochaba facilmente. Pero la gente de Cinnamon Tree era la excepción. No había mucha identidad para esta comunidad Latina aislada, y el dia de la independencia también iba a pasar desapercibido.
Los ricos lo ignoraban por exageración y los pobres se esmeraban en ignorarlo. Ningún hecho político de hace 232 años atrás podía importar hoy, porque hacía mucho calor, el gas estaba muy caro, y mañana hay que trabajar porque sino quién paga las cuentas.
Aí se fue desapercibido el cuatro de julio.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Rapid Eye Movement
I am becoming quite adept at the art of lucid dreaming.
More specifically, I use the WBTB method, going back to sleep between 30 to 45 minutes after waking up. I usually try to sleep on a well-lit room, allowing the morning sunlight to interrupt my sleep, and then wake up to read the morning news, check email, etc. After that, I am ready to ignore breakfast hunger and start transitioning directly between wake and sleep, by prolonging an imagined situation in my mind as I get tired again.
In the past, I have imagined a walk through the Pyramids of Egypt, flights through the UCLA campus, and an afternoon of soccer in La Bombonera. Yesterday, I thought of myself sitting in a Buenos Aires coffee shop on an autumn day. Everything in the coffee shop was different shades of brown, as were all the people and things visible through the window. The coffee shop looked just like the set of Cafe Libre, the Christian TV show at which my sister used to volunteer. Nobody was there, however, at least not in the tables and chairs in front of me. A man cleaned the bar, and listened to AM radio.
That's where my phone rang in my dream, and I picked up, talking to a friend in Norcal. I don't remember what we said, but I don't think it was much more than our usual contentious witticisms. Later on, I took a taxi to my grandma's house and walked around the house. The dream ended there.
Funny thing is, hours later I checked on my phone and I had an actual received call at 8:15AM that morning, from that friend. I had been on the phone, in my half-asleep state, for four minutes, and I thought it was all part of my lucid dream.
I don't know if this is a case of reality filtering into the subconscious, or the opposite, or simple absent-mindedness. I just think it was a phenomenal experience.
More specifically, I use the WBTB method, going back to sleep between 30 to 45 minutes after waking up. I usually try to sleep on a well-lit room, allowing the morning sunlight to interrupt my sleep, and then wake up to read the morning news, check email, etc. After that, I am ready to ignore breakfast hunger and start transitioning directly between wake and sleep, by prolonging an imagined situation in my mind as I get tired again.
In the past, I have imagined a walk through the Pyramids of Egypt, flights through the UCLA campus, and an afternoon of soccer in La Bombonera. Yesterday, I thought of myself sitting in a Buenos Aires coffee shop on an autumn day. Everything in the coffee shop was different shades of brown, as were all the people and things visible through the window. The coffee shop looked just like the set of Cafe Libre, the Christian TV show at which my sister used to volunteer. Nobody was there, however, at least not in the tables and chairs in front of me. A man cleaned the bar, and listened to AM radio.
That's where my phone rang in my dream, and I picked up, talking to a friend in Norcal. I don't remember what we said, but I don't think it was much more than our usual contentious witticisms. Later on, I took a taxi to my grandma's house and walked around the house. The dream ended there.
Funny thing is, hours later I checked on my phone and I had an actual received call at 8:15AM that morning, from that friend. I had been on the phone, in my half-asleep state, for four minutes, and I thought it was all part of my lucid dream.
I don't know if this is a case of reality filtering into the subconscious, or the opposite, or simple absent-mindedness. I just think it was a phenomenal experience.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Moving
Unforgettable night and busy morning during my last hours in 555 Kelton 101. I played all my sad songs, and none received a positive review.
Today, I spent the morning loading my stuff up to Ivan's car, then drove to CPO for a free meal. It seems I might have taken the vanpool program for granted, and they may not have room for me.
The infamous bed went unsold. It sat by the 4-arm tree as I drove away, festering the sidewalk. /stupid joke.
Today, Fabulosos Cadillacs returned to stage. I am going to go to a concert on that tour. I'll let you know where (Mexico City, L.A., Buenos Aires?)
To fit all the occassions, I spent the afternoon listening to their happy songs.
Today, I spent the morning loading my stuff up to Ivan's car, then drove to CPO for a free meal. It seems I might have taken the vanpool program for granted, and they may not have room for me.
The infamous bed went unsold. It sat by the 4-arm tree as I drove away, festering the sidewalk. /stupid joke.
Today, Fabulosos Cadillacs returned to stage. I am going to go to a concert on that tour. I'll let you know where (Mexico City, L.A., Buenos Aires?)
To fit all the occassions, I spent the afternoon listening to their happy songs.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Babysitting and Grandmasitting
I wonder if watching "The Lost World: Jurassic Park" means that Sophia (my 5-year-old sister) will have nightmares tonight. Or maybe Lucia (my 79-year-old abuela) will have them instead.
The movie sucked, but it allowed me to redesign this page in the meantime.
The movie sucked, but it allowed me to redesign this page in the meantime.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Latino veteran Bruin.
I was supposed to have lunch with Jess at In-N-Out on Friday. The restaurant remains, years after I stopped working there, a preferred place for me because of the great food and the oddly relaxing sounds of spoiled Westside teenagers munching on animal-style fries.
Jess was supposed to drive to my apartment and honk, because she did not have her phone on her. 45 minutes after she was supposed to be there, hunger won over my will to wait, and I left a note in my door saying I was walking by myself and to meet me there instead.
On my way, I bought a copy of the LA Times, and picked up The Onion before going into In-N-Out. It was just past the lunch rush, and the place was starting to empty out. I had one of those odd cravings for a special order. I asked for a triple cheeseburger with grilled onions, well done and wrapped in lettuce.
Once I got my order, I took a seat in one of the small tables near the back entrance. Being by myself, I figured I would avoid the booths that the teenagers prefer, or any of the window tables near the line where people order.
A few minutes later, an short 82-year-old tapped my shoulder. He was wearing a "US Submarine Veterans" hat, a blue jacket, and velcro shoes.
"I like your shirt," he said with a broken smile. I was wearing my "Legalize LA" t-shirt from American Apparel, and he had just read the JFK quote gracing my back. As he smiled, his eyes became really small and cheerful, as I would come to learn over our two and a half hour conversation that followed.
His name is Rudy Galaviz and he is part of the UCLA Class of 1952, having studied International Relations. Before coming to Westwood, he attended local schools in San Clemente and enrolled in the armed forces right out of high school, to serve in WWII.
The happy old man was a riot, calling McCain, "a young racist", and asking me about my love life. He was excited about my trip to Argentina, blaming his early marriage in his inability to fulfill his world-traveling dreams. He told the stories of his service as a radar operator in the Pacific, and his current fight against racism and ageism in his last days. "I could write a book about how people treat me differently when I am wearing this hat and when I am not", he said, taking off his blue baseball cap. "Some think I wear it to express pride, but I'm only doing it to protect myself from the Americans," he said, only half-jokingly.
He spoke highly of his 'gringa' wife, and invited me over to meet her someday. As we left, he gave me a big hug and told Jess, who had caught up with us, that I had made his day.
I know it's cheesy, but he had made my week.
Jess was supposed to drive to my apartment and honk, because she did not have her phone on her. 45 minutes after she was supposed to be there, hunger won over my will to wait, and I left a note in my door saying I was walking by myself and to meet me there instead.
On my way, I bought a copy of the LA Times, and picked up The Onion before going into In-N-Out. It was just past the lunch rush, and the place was starting to empty out. I had one of those odd cravings for a special order. I asked for a triple cheeseburger with grilled onions, well done and wrapped in lettuce.
Once I got my order, I took a seat in one of the small tables near the back entrance. Being by myself, I figured I would avoid the booths that the teenagers prefer, or any of the window tables near the line where people order.
A few minutes later, an short 82-year-old tapped my shoulder. He was wearing a "US Submarine Veterans" hat, a blue jacket, and velcro shoes.
"I like your shirt," he said with a broken smile. I was wearing my "Legalize LA" t-shirt from American Apparel, and he had just read the JFK quote gracing my back. As he smiled, his eyes became really small and cheerful, as I would come to learn over our two and a half hour conversation that followed.
His name is Rudy Galaviz and he is part of the UCLA Class of 1952, having studied International Relations. Before coming to Westwood, he attended local schools in San Clemente and enrolled in the armed forces right out of high school, to serve in WWII.
The happy old man was a riot, calling McCain, "a young racist", and asking me about my love life. He was excited about my trip to Argentina, blaming his early marriage in his inability to fulfill his world-traveling dreams. He told the stories of his service as a radar operator in the Pacific, and his current fight against racism and ageism in his last days. "I could write a book about how people treat me differently when I am wearing this hat and when I am not", he said, taking off his blue baseball cap. "Some think I wear it to express pride, but I'm only doing it to protect myself from the Americans," he said, only half-jokingly.
He spoke highly of his 'gringa' wife, and invited me over to meet her someday. As we left, he gave me a big hug and told Jess, who had caught up with us, that I had made his day.
I know it's cheesy, but he had made my week.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Filosofia Corderiana
Gustavo Cordera, cantante de Bersuit Vergarabat, habla de lo que Argentina (y latinoamerica) tienen. Y que a los EE.UU. les falta.
"Preguntarse verdaderamente que estás haciendo en el mundo, que sos, enamorarte, juntarte con amigos en los bares, cambiar el mundo, soñar, discutir, ir a la cancha, los domingos encontrarse a comer un asado con amigos, con tu familia, seguir a una mujer por la calle y decirle piropos, cositas lindas. Pasan muchas cosas en argentina, pasan muchas cosas en latinoamerica."
"Preguntarse verdaderamente que estás haciendo en el mundo, que sos, enamorarte, juntarte con amigos en los bares, cambiar el mundo, soñar, discutir, ir a la cancha, los domingos encontrarse a comer un asado con amigos, con tu familia, seguir a una mujer por la calle y decirle piropos, cositas lindas. Pasan muchas cosas en argentina, pasan muchas cosas en latinoamerica."
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Drexler
It's gonna be hard to write this thing, because my brain is wired in a bilingual code, mixing parts of all my worlds in every sentence.
But while procrastinating right now I heard, for the first time, the actual lyrics to Jorge Drexler's "El Otro Engranaje". The last stanza:
Clara, evidente, manda la libido,
la fidelidad, brumosa palabra,
con su antigua lista de gestos prohibidos,
muerde siempre menos de lo que ladra.
TRADUCCION:
Clear, and evident, the libido rules,
fidelity, foggy word,
with its aged list of forbidden gestures,
always bites less than what it barks.
Add Freud to the list of people that would have listened to Drexler.
But while procrastinating right now I heard, for the first time, the actual lyrics to Jorge Drexler's "El Otro Engranaje". The last stanza:
Clara, evidente, manda la libido,
la fidelidad, brumosa palabra,
con su antigua lista de gestos prohibidos,
muerde siempre menos de lo que ladra.
TRADUCCION:
Clear, and evident, the libido rules,
fidelity, foggy word,
with its aged list of forbidden gestures,
always bites less than what it barks.
Add Freud to the list of people that would have listened to Drexler.
Long time no see
Damn this year changed me a lot. I think we can mark the date of the last entry as a turning point.
Evo spoke of the immigrants in a recent letter. Check it: Evo's letter to the EU. I don't like Evo, and I don't like his opposition. But I really want to go to Bolivia. I need real events, history, people, debates, smiles, and coca leaves.
Personally? Nowadays I can't even lift my mood with the depressing songs that usually do it for me.
Evo spoke of the immigrants in a recent letter. Check it: Evo's letter to the EU. I don't like Evo, and I don't like his opposition. But I really want to go to Bolivia. I need real events, history, people, debates, smiles, and coca leaves.
Personally? Nowadays I can't even lift my mood with the depressing songs that usually do it for me.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Genio de la Música
Una canción esencial, de Fito Paez:
Al Lado Del Camino
Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta abrir los ojos y estar vivo
tener que vérmelas con la resaca
entonces navegar se hace preciso
en barcos que se estrellen en la nada
vivir atormentado de sentido
creo que esta, sí, es la parte más pesada
En tiempos donde nadie escucha a nadie
en tiempos donde todos contra todos
en tiempos egoístas y mezquinos
en tiempos donde siempre estamos solos
habrá que declararse incompetente
en todas las materias de mercado
habrá que declararse un inocente
o habrá que ser abyecto y desalmado
Yo ya no pertenezco a ningún istmo
me considero vivo y enterrado
yo puse las canciones en tu walkman
el tiempo a mi me puso en otro lado
tendré que hacer lo que es no debido
tendré que hacer el bien y hacer el daño
no olvides que el perdón es lo divino
y errar a veces suele ser humano.
No es bueno nunca hacerse de enemigos
que no estén a la altura del conflicto
que piensan que hacen una guerra
y se hacen pis encima como chicos
que rondan por siniestros ministerios
haciendo la parodia del artista
que todo lo que brilla en este mundo
tan solo les da caspa y les da envidia.
Yo era un pibe triste y encantado
de Beatles, caña legui y maravillas
los libros, las canciones y los pianos
el cine, las traiciones, los enigmas
mi padre, la cerveza, las pastillas, los misterios, el whisky malo
los óleos, el amor, los escenarios
el hambre, el frio, el crimen, el dinero y mis 10 tías
me hicieron este hombre enreverado.
Si alguna vez me cruzas por la calle
regálame tu beso y no te aflijas
si ves que estoy pensando en otra cosa
no es nada malo, es que pasó una brisa
la brisa de la muerte enamorada
que ronda como un ángel asesino
mas no te asustes, siempre se me pasa
es solo la intuición de mi destino.
Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta regresarme en el olvido
para acordarme en sueños de mi casa
del chico que jugaba a la pelota
del 49585
nadie nos prometió un jardin de rosas
hablamos del peligro de estar vivo.
No vine a divertir a tu familia
mientras el mundo se cae a pedazos
me gusta estar al lado del camino
me gusta sentirte a mi lado
me gusta estar al lado del camino
dormirte cada noche entre mis brazos
al lado del camino (x 3)
es más entretenido y más barato
al lado del camino (x 2).
Al Lado Del Camino
Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta abrir los ojos y estar vivo
tener que vérmelas con la resaca
entonces navegar se hace preciso
en barcos que se estrellen en la nada
vivir atormentado de sentido
creo que esta, sí, es la parte más pesada
En tiempos donde nadie escucha a nadie
en tiempos donde todos contra todos
en tiempos egoístas y mezquinos
en tiempos donde siempre estamos solos
habrá que declararse incompetente
en todas las materias de mercado
habrá que declararse un inocente
o habrá que ser abyecto y desalmado
Yo ya no pertenezco a ningún istmo
me considero vivo y enterrado
yo puse las canciones en tu walkman
el tiempo a mi me puso en otro lado
tendré que hacer lo que es no debido
tendré que hacer el bien y hacer el daño
no olvides que el perdón es lo divino
y errar a veces suele ser humano.
No es bueno nunca hacerse de enemigos
que no estén a la altura del conflicto
que piensan que hacen una guerra
y se hacen pis encima como chicos
que rondan por siniestros ministerios
haciendo la parodia del artista
que todo lo que brilla en este mundo
tan solo les da caspa y les da envidia.
Yo era un pibe triste y encantado
de Beatles, caña legui y maravillas
los libros, las canciones y los pianos
el cine, las traiciones, los enigmas
mi padre, la cerveza, las pastillas, los misterios, el whisky malo
los óleos, el amor, los escenarios
el hambre, el frio, el crimen, el dinero y mis 10 tías
me hicieron este hombre enreverado.
Si alguna vez me cruzas por la calle
regálame tu beso y no te aflijas
si ves que estoy pensando en otra cosa
no es nada malo, es que pasó una brisa
la brisa de la muerte enamorada
que ronda como un ángel asesino
mas no te asustes, siempre se me pasa
es solo la intuición de mi destino.
Me gusta estar al lado del camino
fumando el humo mientras todo pasa
me gusta regresarme en el olvido
para acordarme en sueños de mi casa
del chico que jugaba a la pelota
del 49585
nadie nos prometió un jardin de rosas
hablamos del peligro de estar vivo.
No vine a divertir a tu familia
mientras el mundo se cae a pedazos
me gusta estar al lado del camino
me gusta sentirte a mi lado
me gusta estar al lado del camino
dormirte cada noche entre mis brazos
al lado del camino (x 3)
es más entretenido y más barato
al lado del camino (x 2).
Monday, June 09, 2008
Civitas Peregrina
Augustine’s civitas peregrina advocated as the only state of freedom, against the state of oppression, that of pilgrimage: tearing oneself away from places to accomplish universal mutual assistance, but also tearing oneself away from any identity (including one’s own) in order to accomplish subjective fulfillment in the boundlessness of caritas.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Women leading this transnational movement
"But there are historical stakes involved in attempting to mesh our institutions with the demands of the polynational societies that are coming into being today, around us and with us. The maturity of the second sex will be judged in the coming years according to its ability to modify the nation in the face of foreigners, to orient foreigners confronting the nation toward a still unforeseeable conception of a polyvalent community. Before reaching that moment, which will remain for a long time a distant ideal, we have a generative utopian thought - a world without foreigners."
-Julia Kristeva, "Nations Without Nationalism"
This is the mission of our lifetimes. Cheers.
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