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.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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."
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