Life and Times of a KillerFry

Munchie machines and poverty

2009-02-19T23:02:00.001-07:00

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

One day I decided I needed some munchies to fuel my thinking furnace. Promptly, I made my way to the munchie machine located outside the office building and, for an agreeable amount of money, paid for a bag of chips on the top row of items. As my now paid munchies were making their way down, they got stuck. Bummer.

Forgotten traumas of old arcade-pinball in days of yore must have made me afraid of tilting the machine and losing my quarters; thus I shook the munchie machine gently. Alas, no go. My munchies were still stuck in there. So I shook the machine a little bit harder; they didn't bulge. It seemed as if by some unknown force the munchie machine was taking a zealous hold on my food in a kind of perverted man vs. machine tug o' war.

Like most of us civilized humans do when we become frustrated, I began shaking the munchie machine like a raving, maniac wild monkey on a mission. I would not be surprised if foam actually came out of my mouth. Finally, after the epic struggle, the munchies fell as I stood triumphant before that inert monolith. Following act I went to my office and ate them; I'm not sure why, but they were sweeter. The taste of victory.

But then I thought if I had ever wanted to behave like a wild monkey in the first place, I would not be living on a Northern Hemisphere country/state and would be living in a Southern country/state were people are blessed enough to have actual, real fruit trees on their backyards to which they can go and shake wildly at their leisure and food just falls at their feet. But no, I live in a civilized society up here north where what we do have are munchie machines to which you conveniently put hard-earned money in exchange for food.

Now, I sat to think about this ridiculous thought and figured that oddly, there is some truth to it. I have never quite put my finger on it but it somehow seems countries in the Northern Hemisphere are more "civilized" and "advanced" - if there is such a thing - than out Southern Hemisphere counterparts. I cannot speak for the whole world, but at least in my country it so happens that people from northern states are known for being more greedy than people from the south. Going on a hunch, I think it has to do with the fact that the north is more barren and arid; thus the first settlers had to bust their butts and fight with nail, tooth, blood and sweat for food and whatever wealth they could manage while people on the south had it easy just shaking trees when they felt like it.

Call me crazy, but actually the Southern Hemisphere is known for having more mild climates, forests and tropical paradises; and I do not claim to know much on economy, but they also seem to be poverty stricken countries; there's actually this concept called the North-South Divide to the point were these "uncivilized", southern countries become exotic and touristic attractions that must be exploited.

Now, I am not saying all people from the south are lazy bums expecting food to fall from above and that all people from the north are greedy sons-of-a-gun; surely there are greedy Southerners and lazy northerners. Actually I think there should be a way to end this "divide" and, thank The Powers that Be, there are some like The South Project. I hope the come to fruition so that eventually either we all can have fruit trees on our backyard or you can find munchie machines all over the world.

As for me, well, I am off to get some more munchies to feed my belly.

Fools + crimes + technology = digital natural selection?

2009-02-17T10:00:00.001-07:00

Mellow greetings Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I hope you are having a day full of joy-joy.

A few days ago I saw Demolition Man on some DirecTV channel. I must say that now, 16 years after it was originally released, the movie looks very anachronic and far-fetched to the point of laughter - though oddly prophetic in some instances. Taco Bell is not the supreme franchise, Dahmer is dead, Schwarzenegger has not become President of the US, no phaser guns, profanity is now more accepted, we still have sex the old fashioned way, some "bad-for-you" stuff is still considered legal and we still use toilet paper - thank God for small favors!

One of the things that stood out to me as particularly funny was the concept of a pacifist police force. When Simon Phoenix -Wesley Snipe's character - goes on his first "non-sanctioned life termination" spree, one of the cops - I believe it was a young Rob Schneider in an uncredited role, way before he turned gigolo - says: "We're police officers! We're not trained to handle this kind of violence!" I laughed. Just before that, Phoenix repeatedly says "bad words", to which a Morale Statute Machine replies: "Your repeated violation of the Verbal Morality Statute has caused me to notify the San Angeles Police Department. Please remain where you are for a reprimand."

Well, how very BDS&M of you! Of course I'll stay right here to be reprimanded... not! San Angeles had been turned into a boring, Japanese fashioned Utopia thanks to some self-help book ideas taken to the extreme by Dr. Raymond Cocteau as well as a spice of Big Brother thrown in just in case. I must say I laughed, hard; the idea that somehow people would be either responsible enough to stay in place and be accountable for their actions or that this whole big RFID system to locate people whatever they are and reprimand them was too much for me not to laugh at.

Then, today, I find a particular piece of news about some kids putting pictures of themselves vandalizing a public pool. What the hell?! And it is not the only case, there have been many others of people posting the crimes they have or are about to commit in Facebook or MySpace profiles; and damn it, I would not be surprised if some idiot even Twittered it just as he does the crime! Someone there in the back corner actually wrote a very detailed blog about his Grand Theft Auto project. Bummer. We might not need police in the future, people will just turn in.

So maybe, just maybe, we don't need no stinking Dr. Cocteau to come and mind wipe us, we are doing it ourselves. I am really surprised to the point that I do not know if I should laugh or cry about it; will face-palm about it for sure! I understand we all want to share the cool stuff we do on our life through this magnificent technology called The Internet, be if we do something illegal I guess it is best if we leave it for ourselves. Maybe I should blame in on the Joker. People want to emulate this "better kind of criminal" the world needs and publish their evil schemes in order to inject some chaos into this world. Yeah. Right.

Here's some food for thought on how not to use Facebook status.

On the other hand, I believe in the notions of a self-regulating society, pretty much in the same vein as Wikipedia or some mature - if rare - forums out there regulate their own users towards the common good and betterment of the community. This comes to prove that some people out there are willing to let authorities know when they find an illegal activity going on; and though the idea that all these camera-phones are out there eying on us might seems scary, at least the regulation is actually done by us, the people, not some tyrant government's idea of right or wrong. With that said, I do hope the Twitters can find Mr. Armstrong's bike.

As for me, well, I am off to commit serious crimes against the post-apocalyptic Washington D.C.'s Wasteland's population armed with my Pip-Boy and a teddy bear loaded Rock-It Launcher.

One thing I enjoy, one thing that sucks

2009-02-16T00:16:00.003-07:00

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Today I bring you something I really enjoy in life. It happens whenever I'm eating something like Spicy Nacho Doritos, Flaming Hot Cheetos, Honey BBQ Frito's or some other kind of munchies that leaves my fingers smeared with all the delicious munchy flavor so I can then suck it off my fingers. Heck, sometimes I will even scrape the bottom of the bag to collect more of the stuff.

Sometimes life conspires against us and finds ways and stuff to get in the way of whatever it is that we enjoy. At the beginning its things labeled by our parents as "good" or "bad" as we are growing up. Surely this has happened to most of us - unless you didn't have parents or they simply did not care for you. Later on life finds trickier, oh so subtle ways

Just like slurping the last drops of Coke with a straw, sex, eating sweet candy, sex, jumping on the bed, sex, reading at the toilet for hours, sex, videogames, sex, horror movies and mostly sex, enjoying those remnants of flavor on my fingers was labeled as "bad".

One grows up and leaves their parents rule behind, free to - responsibly - decide.

So now that I could enjoy sucking the Archers Farm Buffalo Wing chips off my fingers freely, life finds something to put in the way of my enjoyment: my car's manual transmission. Because every time I have to change gears some off that delicious flavor gets wiped off my fingers. And that sucks.

Lesson to learn: there will be many annoyances in life. We can go on getting mad and making a fuss each and everytime; that way we will only become a walking avalanche belching cuss-words at every crack in the paviment.

We should stop and suck the flavor of life off our fingers.

A Martian Wish

2009-02-10T15:23:00.005-07:00

Here I am, sitting in front of an old school CRT monitor bombarding my eyes with electron beams that cross an organic material known as phosphor at around 85-MHz; at the same time millions and millions of electric pulses are going out of my computer while hundreds, probably tens of thousands of radio waves on such high frequencies that my measly human body cannot comprehend are going right through me, carrying countless telephone conversations, TV newscasts, podcasts, cooking food and furry animals concoct plots against us in high pitched languages we cannot comprehend.

I also happen to be sitting on a building on top of a rocky structure we call Earth, that is to happens right now its being pummeled with winds gusting at 45 mile per hour and water in falling from the heavens. In the center of this Earth there's a core of molten iron with a radius of about 3,400 Km. formed sometime around 4.5 billion years ago in some form of a phenomenon called the iron catastrophe and it is rotating at 0.04 degrees relative to the Earth's surface rotation, which is a mean of 7.2921150 ×10⁻⁵ radians per second on the equator. The convection of the outer core and the Coriolis effect cause create something called the Earth's magnetic field extending several tens of thousands of kilometer to outer space.

Between that core and the rocky surface in which the building I'm sitting on is resting, there is lava flowing on its own underground ocean at 1,200C more or less; there's also tectonic plates constantly moving and shifting and twisting and grumbling. All this is moving at the speed of 100,000 Km. an hour around an unbelievable hot mass of burning gas at temperatures of 15.5 million degrees Celsius shooting light at 300,000 Km. per second. All this is happening on an ever expanding soup of gas, matter and anti-matter that seems to be expanding and chasing after its own tail since the fateful day of a Big Bang.

Sometimes we also board moving machines that transport us at around 100 Km. an hour amongst tens of thousands of theses machines hectically running around. At a time we may rest, sleep and dream of strawberry fields and places never seen; other times we run or board flying machines that move us 9 Km. above the surface of the Earth.

And I'm not alone. There another 6'800,000'000,000 human beings just like me made of a bunch of atoms and energy that is never created nor destroyed, only transformed; fully cognizant that we will eventually die and become nothing more but compost in this never ending circle of life.

... wow... all that schitt is going on and yet we worry about emails, sometimes unsent emails, phone calls in the middle of the night, text-messages in the drafts folder, pictures never taken, Facebook statuses, MySpace and forum comments by anonymous whoever he or she might be, about the shoes we wear to work, the fragrance on a shirt's neck, oil and blood stains that detergent can't get out, the frequencies range our headphones can't reproduce, the cost of living and the cost of dying, expiring coupons, TV channels not on our package, the clothing of digital avatars, stats of a bunch of adventurous online pixels, the color of our hair, the length of our beards, the smell of our pants, the food we can't have, the extra pounds we shouldn't have, unrequited love and reciprocal hate, fantasies that exist only in our minds on dark and still nights, the drinkability of our beers, untold words, spoken words, kisses given, kisses stolen, kisses not given, tears not shed, the water cooler conversations, meetings stuck in, missing football games, matching accessories and paper cuts...

We forget at times, that just by standing here, we are already beating cosmic odds of existing. We should enjoy it, as it is, as it comes.

Why waste it, my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers?

* Inspired by a Martian Child, who we all happen to be at some point. Also by sugar puffs.

Oreo stealing Shaolin!

2008-08-08T23:21:00.006-06:00

Hello Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

Someone suggested that I should post more "serious and diverse stuff" in the blog. So I will begin with these interesting links:

Now, let me begin by telling you I began my computing endeavors when I was around 5 years old, and they involved a Mac Classic II, Math Blaster and a very early version of Wheel of Fortune that back then I dreamed the money I won in-game could be printed. My next computer was a Power Mac 7200 in which I had the joy of popping my "Hello World" cherry, learned about object oriented programming with Java, flirted with Doom and got acquainted with Usenet. There's also a Power Mac 7500, 9600 and a 3G MT in the repertoire of computers I had before I touched my first Windows computer. Back then I was an Apple Evangelist.

It's time people realize Apple is not a goody-two-shoes company. Yeah, they produce excellent and revolutionary products, I will not deny that one bit. I also believe their OS has always been ahead of the curve and tailored toward a certain market such as artists, snobs, designers... and all around people looking for a powerful yet simple computing experience. But I have to also confess somewhere along the line I became more interested in the open architecture of the "PC" - which Macs are too... PC stands for Personal Computer, and it is my understanding Macs are also computers intended for personal use... but who am I to argue against most people, huh? I've also more interested in gaming, which Apple has been promising since they old days of yore... I remember a MacAddict magazine which promised how "serious" Apple was about gaming... and we know the truth behind that now.

Get over it people. Apple can also fail. At least Microsoft shows their face, apologize and assure they'll look into the matter even if they take months to do it. *eyes you, Windows Home Server*

Now for the not so "serious" part. I'm really concerned about the Chinese. Their Olympics opening ceremony was more than more than amazing. I personally didn't see it, yet they say it the view of more than 2000 synchronized Chinese fellows was awe-inspiring. Yet all I'm thinking about was... it's all a friggin' show! Of course they're trying really hard to make everything beautiful to hide all their horrifying government politics. Since I'm a computer technology minded fellow, I'm more worried about the Great Firewall of China than anything.

Okay, that's a lie. I'm more concerned about the Oreos.

Let me tell you, I really think people have the government and society that their actions or omissions deserve. So if they're the way they are, it's because they like it that way. Now, there's around 1,321,851,888 Chinese over there. That means that roughly, 1% of the population means 132 million people. If suddenly just 1% of the Chinese population suddenly had a car with a 50 lts. gas thank, that means 6,600,000,000 gas lts. If out of the blue 1% of the Chinese population began taking an average shower of 5 minutes using 3 gallons of water a minute that's 1,980,000,000 gallons of water. The day that 1% of the Chinese population start eating 3 times a day there's not gonna be enough rice for the rest of the world.

So, I'm afraid Kraft suddenly realizes that they should focus their Oreo production toward the Chinese market... I bet 1% of the Chinese population means millions and millions and millions of USD for them. That could also mean that the Chinese are going to start needing milk to dunk their Oreos in. And between all the cows they're going to suck dry out of milk and all the sacred cows in India, there's going to be a shortage of both milk and Oreos in the world.

Screw them. I think it should be in the best interests of the whole world that China's quality of life keeps improving. Because, if they keep economically growing the way they are right now, one day when they can start acquiring all these products there's going to be a shortage in the rest of the world. Hell, over here in Mexico there's been a rise on certain basic products like rice, tomatoes and what-not just because more Chinese are eating once day. And since I'm a computer technology minded fellow, the more websites they don't have access to means more bandwidth available for the rest of us. So screw them and let's hope they stay the way they are right now.

As for me... excuse me while I go dunk my Oreos on my milk while I still can.

Most people

2008-08-07T11:58:00.010-06:00

Welcome back my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

I'm planning on posting a "short" - nothing is actually "short" in this blog - story involving a mysterious balloon that suddenly appeared in my office desk. But It's still cooking up so I'll delay that for a later day.

So for now, let me tell you that recently it has been called to my attention that I do odd things most people would not do. And I'm believe that is actually a good thing because it defines me as a thinking, individual human being. As you can see in a previous post titled Good thing they were Catholic, and according to what little I, a simple Computer Systems Engineer, knows about Crowd Psychology through empiric experience and the works of Stephen Reicher, some Freud, Bruce Bassi, Charles Mackay, Mass Hysteria, Herd Behaviour, Collective Effervescence, Moral Panic and most notably and importantly The Joker in The Dark Knight, when people work in very large, mass-like groups, their behavior becomes tribal, primitive, uncoordinated, without any civilized thought.

In simple terms: friggin' stupid.

I do understand there is some collective intelligence, in the crowd. Yet I think the crowd has to be smart to begin with. Sad fact is in a country such as Mexico where only 18.5% of the population gets to actually finish one grade - note, a single grade - of high school, I guess it's safe to say our collective asses are friggin' stupid.

Then you see people all gathering to a certain lane because, according to some urban legend, they believe is the fastest lane. Everyone stays away from a particular dance club because, according to some anonymous spamish email, they drug people's drinks. A whole city stays in their respective houses because, if a anonymous poorly written message on public streets, says this will be the most violent weekend ever on the city. People won't go to a restaurant because, so the rumors say, burritos are made with dog mean. Some folks still double click web links and there are some who use still click "Apply" before clicking "OK" when "OK" inherently "Applies" who happen to be the same people responsible for Windows Vista's draconian UAC. I bet these herd of people must be very, very smart.

Yeah... right... and Little Mickey died mixing Pop Rocks and Coca Cola.

Hence, it is my belief that whatever most people do will quite probably be something friggin' stupid. Mass media is directed towards most people and tells them what clothes to wear, what music to listen to, what person should they admire, what clubs and restaurants should they go to and what not. Here we find a generation of people who are fighting to find "themselves" and leave their own mark but still do the same stuff as most people.

Because most people are still people. And people are people. You know. Just bipedal animals wearing funny hats.

I don't know. I like to think that by not doing what most people do I am actually taking my own decisions and dictating my own behavior. But of course I make mistakes! Yet I'm educated and mature enough to recognize them, make amends if there is the need to, and then learn from them. Thereby I increase my own personal knowledge that further down the road will help me make my own personal choices hence keep on dictating my own behavior which I tell myself is more civilized, educated than most people.

In other words, yeah, you know I'm also trying to be myself... like most people.

The Dollar Experience

2008-08-04T09:49:00.007-06:00

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

I wonder if you're even out there. Maybe you grew old, awaiting for another post and died under silky cobwebs and running dust bunnies. Yet here I am and I hope your mummified eyes are still able to read my often hollow, sometimes amusing ramblings.

In any sense I guess logic would dictate that first of all I should explain my absence from these particular series of bits floating around in the Interweb. Yet, I'm not gonna do it. Deal with it. I guess if I keep on publishing eventually you can put the pieces together. Either that, or you can make up your own story. I'll bet it would be a lo more epic and cooler than whatever actually did happen in my life.

For now I'm going to talk to you about a real funny experience I had yesterday. As you might recall, I'm a horror fan. I love horror movies. When I dream, if I have a nightmare, it's actually a pleasant dream for me full of excitement and fun. Schitt, I've been killed in some dreams and that has not stopped me from enjoying the experience.

So there's this movie called The Midnight Meat Train, which is based in a short story by Clive Barker on the Books of Blood. Both the short story and the movie are amazing. You can read a good review of the film here. Suffice to say it's beautiful. Like a blood soaked haiku poem.

The point is for some reason Lionsgate did not want to release the film on big name movie theaters, and sent it straight to Dollar Movie Theaters. Apparently the move involves an odd feud between Lionsgate and Clive Barker. Don't know much of the details, but I know this and that, as horror fans, we should support our beloved genre.

It so happens there was a show in my city. So obviously I went to see the movie and was treated not only a really good horror movie, but also a very, very interesting life experience I had long lost. See, I was going to a Dollar Movie Theater. Can you understand the power of that? A motherfriggin' Dollar Movie Theater!

What instantly came to my mind was the image of kids. Kids who get their weekend allowance after finishing their chores like picking up their room, cleaning the dishes and mowing the lawn under the summer sun. They come back inside with a proud smile on their faces and extend their hands whereby their parents nod and say: "You earned it Champ" as they move their hand to their backs, to that sacred place where the magical leather device holds many, many plastic cards, business cards of unknown strangers who might one day maybe be useful contacts, old family pictures proudly flashed at said unknown strangers, folded napkins with lipstick kisses and telephone numbers, a forgotten condom too old to be used yet too meaningful to throw away.

All that does not matter to our young hero. All the kid cares about is when that glorified piece of paper comes out with angelic tunes being played in the child's mind.

Five $1USD bills.

When you're a kid, five dollars is a whole bunch of money. You still don't have a full grasp on the concept of what stuff is really worth and the fact that that bill means about 1.288 gallons of gas. All our Little Weekend Warrior knows is that he goes to his bike, holding to his five bucks for life and goes to the Dollar Theater.

And let me tell you, those five dollars take him a long way! He comes to the theater and parks his bike. And there they are; movie posters with magical beings, fedora wearing heroes, menacing serial killers, women in large cleavages being held by alien beings and 50-feet high monsters holding civilization hostage. It's the factory of dreams! And he stands there, looking at the future promises of action, adventure, horror and romance trying to make up his mind what dream is to come true this weekend for just $1.

Thus, our Little Weekend Warrior goes to the box office and drops his $1 bill and a movie ticket come back to him. He goes inside where there is an impregnated smell of popcorn on the old, rotting carpet; where flashing lights invite him to pop quarters on the arcade machines and pictures of old black and white celluloid heroes hang from the walls. He pops in 3 quarters trying to beat Galaga's high score and maybe one last quarter to the claw machine hoping to win some kind of surprise held in a plastic bubble.

Finally he goes to the candy store, where he buys a box of Milk Duds and large Cherry Coke before he nonchalantly walks towards the old man who is sleeping yet as soon as someone comes close to him with ticket in hand, like clockwork, he wakes up, smiles with his crooked and yellowing teeth before he cuts the movie ticket in half; he points out your theater number and that you should keep your half in case you have to go out to the restroom.

He moves towards his theater, and then looks back to see if the old man is looking. Lo and behold, the old man is sleeping again. Silently, the way Sam Fisher likes it, he goes past the theater number his ticket says he should go in and moves towards that prohibited movie. And he sits. And he enjoys and marvels at the magic that happens right there, in front of him. All the make up, prosthetic faces, the blood, the gore, the gratitous nudity and maybe, just maybe, he will learn something about human sexuality which he will share with his street buddies.

He smiles.

In the back of the almost empty theater sits a couple who are too young to afford a motel but old enough to discover their bodies. Somewhere over there is a horror movie buff half enjoying the movie half criticizing it. There's an old lady who went there not knowing what the movie was about and who leaves the theater half-way through the film. A group of friends sit having joking, throwing popcorn and making fun of the movie. But to our Little Weekend Warrior... it's all magic.

Magic happening before his eyes. His eyes swallowing all those images inciting him to dream. To smile.

You see, amidst the blockbusters and CGI effects and all the hype and the media we have forgotten what it was like to be taken away by movies. We forgot the mysticism behind the actors, the stories and the images that are laid out in front of us. We have forgotten what it was like when we went to the Mom and Pop's Dollar Theater with second run, grindhouse, unrated, artistic movies; being a friend of the janitor who would sneak you from theater to theater and sometimes to the projection boot where he would let you cut a frame of magic from the print. We have forgotten how much of our first sexual knowledge came from looking at grown-up movies and the art of popcorn wars and where the Montauk Monster is real.

And so I enjoyed The Midnight Meat Train in more, mystical ways than one. At one point I was going to complain that there was a small shadow covering a very, small part of the film on the bottom right corner. Yet I thought: "You cheap bastard! You paid $1 to see this movie. ONE BUCK!!! Shut up, sit down, munch popcorn and enjoy it!"

And so I did.

There's also another kind of dollar experience that has to do with lap dances and g-strings, but our little weekend warrior would probably not be allowed to go in. Much less so with just five $1 bills.

Explaining a Pleasure of Life

2007-06-14T10:21:00.001-06:00

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Today I came to my office for another day of "work," and as I am sitting in front of the computer, typing away, looking at this Sick Sad World News, reading emails and trying to figure out what will be my good deed of the day... I have a realization. It dawns on me and illuminates my face in the same way a 2nd grader opens his mouth in extasis after finally knowing the answer to the brain bashing 16x16 multplication: the reason for what I think is one of the greatest Pleasures of Life: diarrhea.

Yes, yes, I know how awful it sounds. But please, humor me and do two things: first, read this post from two years ago: A Pleasure of Life. It will help you understand what I'm talking about. And two: keep reading 'til the end; whether I convince you or not of my proposed theory on one of the Greatest Pleasures in Life please make a line and leave a comment on this post.

... *making time while you read the previous post. Looks around his office, talks to co-workers, plays a Worms game, solves life to a clueless user calling Tech Support*...

Welcome back! So I begin.

I was thinking on why... why is it that diarrhea gives us so much pleasure? Heck, no... I went one step further: why is it that taking a nice, large, solid defecation is so pleasurable to men? See here, the stereotypical image of a man taking a dump in a movie or TV program shows the man sitting on the toilet as he's about to go, some resonating flatulence noises and a splash sound... and then a close up to the man's face of pleasure. Or when you are clogged up and can't go to the bathroom because you ate something and it's just there, not letting the stuff come out. Then finally, after almost a day without going to the bathroom you finally do. And by golly it seems that you are eating giving birth or a big, brown rock is coming slowly out of your system. When it is all over after exorcising the monters inside you in a holy battle that took 15 minutes, you sigh a long sigh of relief, rest agains the potty and feel a little pleasure go through your body that - sometimes - even makes you tremble a little and your body's hair behind your neck stand out.

Phew... yeah... we all know it...

And now I've come to know the reason! Drum rolls please! It is because of...

*drum rolls*

... the Prostate!

No, I am not kidding you. I bet if you're one of these kinda modern, open minded people or simply had a lot of time in your secundary grade to dig around the Internet reading and educating yourself with sex-related articles due to a lack of any real, physical exploration and discovery of your and the opposing sex's body - I know I did, heh-; then you must know that the equivalent of the female's Gräfenberg Spot - more commonly known as the G-Spot by the Vox Populli - in a male is the prostate. Don't believe me? Well don't take my word for it since it hasn't actually happened to me, but you can surely dig it up - no pun intended - on the Internet.

"But!" you ask with a defiant tone. "What does this... prostate... thing... have anything to do with taking a dump?" Well, it just so happens that the prostate is located right there along the rectum. If you remember your biology/human/natural science class, le crap-o goes out through the rectum. Ergo, my reasoning is this: large amounts of fecal matter going through your rectum must generate some pressure to the prostate thus estimulating your sexual nerves thereby giving you some kind of pleasure.

As I mentioned earlier, maybe only men can understand this in the sense that women have no prostate. But we men... ooooh... we men know the delicacies of taking a dump. Maybe it has something to do with Freud's pshycosexual Anal Stage.

... or I could be totally wrong...

Random Anger Management

2007-04-25T12:42:00.001-06:00

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Today's post is to do some anger management because, quite frankly, this is simply not my week... it's sucking a lot for some reason.

So, the first thing to nag me was that as I tried to make this post through Blogger everything was in spanish. I know, I know... I know I live in Mexico... I know my natural language is El Español... but I hate spanish when reading my Internet doses, when reading books, when playing videogames, when listening to music and I especially really hate spanish to the point of total and complete disgust that makes me want to regurgitate is spanish in my letter soup!

Point is, I'm reminded of that anger each and every time I go to Google and now - thanks to Google aquiring Blogger - each and every time I visit Blogger. I know I can change the settings... some people have pointed that out for me thinking I'm some kind of computer illiterate... but that works for the normal, common, uneducated man. Because every time I clean my computer of cookies, spyware, malware and all that *evil*ware in the world... I lose my settings.

I understand Google is trying to be friendly, and since they can know I'm from Mexico of course they can be helpful and put every setting in spanish. What they don't know is that I don't care for friendly service. No sire. It seems they missed a marketing class were they talked about personalization. I want things to be my way. Like Whattaburger or a hooker. They do it the way I want it. Why? Because people now-a-days want to have choice. So... stop taking decisions for me because if the fries are not the way I want them to be I'm simply not eating here.

Something else that it's getting on my nerves is people who call your work extension to ask for someone else in another office. Why don't they call the extension of the person they are looking for? Would someone explain that to me? Often they will answer such question with: "Well, I did call his extension, but he didn't answer." Oh really? Why would you think that is? Because he's not there! Ergo, if you call my extension he won't magically appear! Is that so hard to understand? Did people miss Common Sense 101 at elementary school?

Another related thing that gets on my nerves is people who call the same extension forever... I mean... if my co-worker did not answer the first time... why do you call 5 times consecutively which translates as the phone ringing for about one and a half minute? I guess if someone does not answer the first time, he won't the second nor third or fourth time around... which may take some time... anywhere from 1 to 120 minutes. So please... stop...

And sometimes people will come to my office to ask for someone else... why? Would someone care to explain why? Is it not more simple to look at the office of the person you're looking for? I guess if he's not there, then he's no there, nothing you or me can do about it.

What we need is an Invocation Department with employees imported from Cuba, certified in voodoo magic. Then when people are looking for someone who is not at his office, they could phone the Invocation Department who will work their voodoo magic and summon them out of the blue.

There's also the classical doffus who needs 10 computers with a CD burner right now because they need to burn 400 copies of a CD by the evening. WHUT!? Of course I understand! Let me look at my miracle computer tree in the backyard... hum... no... sorry. Still no computers, it needs more watering. C'mon! If you knew you needed that many CDs, you could have outsourced the process; there's special people with special hardware to do that in a jiffy. That's what I call bad planning...

One of the funny things about working in IT, especially giving support to employees... is how no one remembers you unless there's a problem. Otherwise no one knows you exist. It is until their network does not work, they can't print, they can't access a page or bedcause YouTube is blocked that they remember you exist and call you up. No birthday calls, no "how is your day?" calls, no thanks calls... only "come and fix my problem" calls. When things are working okay, ergo when you're doing your job right, people think you're being lazy.

I bet that's how God feels; people only pray and call Him when they want something.

... or maybe I'm just bitter... damn spring...

Cheers God, I share your pain!

He couldn't see anything, but knew it was there.

What will they think of next, huh?!?!

2007-04-15T01:42:00.001-06:00

Oh my Holy Banana Split!!!

I just realized this big Marketing Corps decided to exploit the whole Penguin Craze we have been living since March of the Penguins and Happy Feet, so they created Gummy Penguins! That's right! It's like gummy bears, but they're penguins.

That is all.

Sorry Women... but no

2007-03-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. And if you're reading this you must be really faithful.

I was recently nagged by some friends to continue writting on my blog, to infuse them with the great knowledge of my mind. So, today I do so because I've been nagged by something else besides my friends.

As some of you know, today is March 8. International Woman's Day (IWD). "Bah" I say! A whole bunch of women have come to me today telling me to do special favors, or to have special consideration with them or to simply congratulate them. For what? Being a woman? Hah! I'm sorry women, but no; I won't do it.

I know, I know. Many of you female readers probably wanted to skip to the "Comment" link and bash me, but hear/read me out for a second as there's a perfectly reasonable explanation to why I won't do it. And first let me tell you that I love women as much as the next heterosexual male - schitt, that's a lie! There's only one woman I love and woman only *muah*. The reason is, that you women do not need a "special" day to remember you're women and that you deserve respect. You do so always, 365 days a year. The fact that there's a "special" day for women is more like a reminder that you're vulnerable and need a special day; and tell me honestly: are you vulnerable? Are you less than males? Is your self-image as a genre so low that you need a "special" day to feel good?

No, neither do I think so.

There's also another reason that annoys me more. This day was never meant to be a happy, congratulative, skip-the-job holiday. That is just marketing. Yeah, I'm saying the truth - because I always know best. So suddently, after 23 years since this day was created I need to bring flowers, candy and cake to all the women I know? Wrong, I already have February 14th, Mother's Day and a whole bunch of other days. Hell! I still haven't recovered my wallet from Christmas! The last thing I need is another day to waste my money. But Hallmark, being the greedy corporative bastards they are taking advantage of weak people's emotions, have taken away the real meaning of what should be a meaningful day like this and turned into another marketing opportunity to take our hard-earned cash.

So, without further ado, I tell you the real meaning of IWD: Today is a day to remember all the achievments women have done in times past; today is a day to remember the crimes that have been commited against women; today is a day not to celebrate women with candy and balloons, but a day to spend in silence and mourn for those that have gone before. A day to remember women's political struggles and succeses. To rememind us to work for ending impunity for violence and crimes against women and girls.

Ergo, if you're a woman and want a gift and be treated special today just for being a woman, go look for another man 'cause I won't do it. To all the women that have gone before, victims of sexism, crime, rape and even murder; to all the women who have struggled in the past, wherever you are: I salute you with all my heart!

A loud, rapping noise made him turn around in the darkness.

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 2

2006-08-04T12:50:00.000-06:00

Hello? Is any body there? Wouldn't be surprised if my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers had moved on to better things in their lives; things like playing video games, reading books, getting jobs, studying or even making babies. So, not that I am back, how do you create a monster you ask? Not updating your blog for tree months certainly is a way to create some! I shall be honest, from then to now I lost my train of thought, but I have a good idea of what I had meant to say back then.

In the last entry I spoke how the terrorizing monster of yore turn into relatively good men as they grow up. My point, obviously, is that the good kids of yore are the ones who turn into monsters as they grow up. That good manered kid you know today will probably turn into a cold-hearted bastard as he grows up.

My take is this: most of the time these goody-good-two-shoes are a bunch of naive people who think the world is as well intentioned as they are. But the harsh reality is the world is not well intended, and it is waiting to bite right back at you every time it is able to do so. So guess who are the ones bitten most often according to my reasoning? Indeed, the good manered, goody-good-two-shoes because they "thought they cared about me."

So this naive people get their dreams broken, and they realize the hard way - through personal pain, be it of the physical or emotional type - that the world is not a pretty place. Over time, they build barriers around them to protect themselves from the sick, sad world. You can think of this emotional barriers in the same line of concrete walls and fences on our home's backyards: they alienate us from our neightbors because we are afraid of them, afraid of someone looking through our windows at our private lives, afraid of someone coming into our territory and harming us, afraid of commuting with others; that is the reason we erect walls that divide our homes: to protect us.

In this way our goody-good-two-shoes will, over time, build walls around himself which will lead him to turn into a cold-hearted, monster. In that way if he just does not care he will not be hurt. So in time people will come back to him to ask for his help or advice and he will not give a damn; people are gonna be dying when the heavens wash away them away with heavy rain and he will not give a damn; old loves will come back asking for tender care and he will not give a damn. Everything will be crumbling around him in all its glory but he will be alright because he does not give a damn about it.

These are scary monsters not because they are ugly or because they want to directly harm you. They are monsters because, though they do not want to purposely harm you, they also will not be willing to care if you are alive or not. They will as easily greet you with a smile on a monday morning as waving goodbye when you are fired; one day they will attend your son's birthday party and the next day attend your funeral all while worrying about the job that needs to be done.

That's how Monsters are created.

There are some caveats to all these ideas I'm venting in the wild. The first of them is that I am polirizing the situation; going from one extreme to the other: the bully-type monster goes to a hard-working man while the goody-good-two-shoes goes to a monster as time goes on. I must say that at no point is this a law; if we imagined all this as a line with a label "Monster" on one extreme and "Goody-Two-Shoes" at the other, then there will certainly be people who will end up at some point in between - heck, meybe even most people will end up somewhere in between. Also, I think this "in-between-a-goody-two-shoes-monster" is the best position to be in.

Second: serial killers, raping pedophiles and those type of monsters are not normal people; they're sick... way beyond just sick... therefore they are not accounted for here.

Now, if this seems like not my usual post, it's because it is not. I'm at work right now and writing while updating some computers and dealing with stupid user's questions - both the users and the questions are stupid, so I do not have my mind in full writing mode. For other news, my own personal website will soon be put live; which means I will be moving this blog to the my new page. I'll let you know when it happens.

Aaaaah, it's good to be back.

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 1

2006-04-12T20:11:00.000-06:00

Hello there! I would be very surprised if anyone - even my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers - still read all the mumblings of a poor sould like me. But today I just need to vent mysefl so here I am.

Welcome to Part 1 of "How to Create a Monster." Those of you out there who know me are aware that I love horror movies - and I stress the word... love... in that sentence - and might think this is about a sci-fi kind of monster. Well, it is not; it's about creating a real life, human monster. And first, let me begin by defining what a monster is, directly from my favorite online dictionary:
mon·ster // Pronunciation Key(mnstr)

a. An imaginary or legendary creature, such as a centaur or Harpy, that combines parts from various animal or human forms.

b. A creature having a strange or frightening appearance.

2. An animal, a plant, or other organism having structural defects or deformities.

3. Pathology. A fetus or an infant that is grotesquely abnormal and usually not viable.

4. A very large animal, plant, or object.

5. One who inspires horror or disgust: a monster of selfishness.

Since I already established I would focus on real life, human monsters, you can guess I am more interested in the last definition found here: "One who inspires horror or disgust." If there are any American readers, let me put a mental image of what this means: Osama Bin Laden. I am sure just by thinking of him you frowned. But since not all my readers might be American, let me try a more generic image of a human monster: Charles Manson. We all know the attrocities he did and I am sure he surely classifies as a human monster. Unless, of course, you have issues. But these two monsters I present could still be defined as... well... monster for the pain, suffering and death they have caused. In a way, and I will personally admit to this, I might have been a little extremist while choosing this two men.

Furthering my definition of Monster on this post, let me say that I want to focus on the more... shall we call them... subtle monsters; those that walk around in the realm of ordinary human beings. People whom just being around with makes you uncomfortable. Remember that teacher who did not care your mother just died in the weekend, could you please explain why you did not bring the homework? That is a monster. There is a man out there, somewhere in many parts in the world who goes by many names who only cares about himself, whose mantra is to be above all others through power, corruption, money and fear; a man who tricks and cheats and would even use his own son's as objects with the selfish purpose of getting him advanteges through fixed marriages, exploitation or selling them because, honestly honey, we cannot afford a baby in the family, especially not after I just adquired a new Jaguar to pay so why don't we make happy a sterile family and give him away? Then he smiles and kisses his wife on the forehead. Or the business man who sacrificed his best friend and competition on the company to ensure his career; the same businessman who is later taken from those he should be with as the days and the years are passing by but there are planes to catch and bills to pay and much to do to teach them how to throw and as he looks from the outside he realizes he is no longer a part of them until one day all his worldy poseesions are crumbling around him in all their glory and in his weakining days he was sure he'd have fun one day only now the sphincter in his chest and a failing heart won't let him get up to see the shinning sun outside his blinding window shades.

Those are monsters I want to talk about. Subtle. Hidden. Destructive.

Some say these monsters are born, not bred; but I digress that idea. Sure, I am not saying I am an expert on the field, but from my empiric knowledge in my very small and insecure life that began at an amanzingly unlikely birth amidst this universe that keeps on expanding and expanding in all directions like a meticulous handcrafted waltz at the speed of life, you know, twelve million miles a minute which is the fastest speed there is, is that there were many such monsters in my elementary school years also know as Bullies: a person who is habitually cruel or overbearing, especially to smaller or weaker people.

The kid that pulled little girls pony tail; who took your lunch money "for your safety"; who constantly took the fun away from your recess games; a ruffian who often made a trip to the principal's office. And even though if you failed your conduct grading three times in a row you were kicked out of school he was not because people deserve a second chance at bettering themselves. Let me make a statement here, which I think is important: I might sound sour at bullies during my childhood, but I am not. For some particular reason I cannot fully comprehend, and even though I think I classified as the nerdy kinda boy, bullies at my school barely messed with me. Furthermore, at certain point during my education, they played particularly important roles in my life as emotional, yet unexpected, support. It's as if for some odd reason they liked me and steered clear of me.

And in that lies and even more awkward situation in my life. Years after I went to middle school and into my professional education I met some of those bullies of yore and found them to be very likable men. Hell, the absolute worst kid at my secundary school, the one who rumors said he sold drugs, beat his mom and many, many other things turned out to be a very faithful christian. When he used to yell "get the hell out of my way, pussy" with a push on secundary school, now he greets you with a "God be with you brother." Another of the most notorious bullies in my elemental years turned out to be my pastor on my Confirmation. Most of them have made one-eighty turns like that.

So, I have discussed people who went from being a Monster yore to a respectable, hard-working man of today. In Part 2 I will try to explore how is it then, that the Monsters of today might be created.

But! That won't happen until I come back from vacations. Where am I going? Albuquerque. I don't know what's there, but I will find out.

I guess I shall find out why this weekend!

Cheeri-o!

From Love to Disdain

2006-03-18T04:30:00.001-07:00

Hey there. I know, I know; I do not care. Piss off.

Some of you might recognize the title of this post from the lyrics of a Dream Theater song titled "Misunderstood." Indeed, an interesting question: how does one turn from love to disdain?

I believe that there are two basic emotions that happen without needing any real reason: love and hate. Sometimes we love someone for no particular reason at all. There a people who call it "love at first sight;" I personally would call it "lust at first sigh," but that's just me and right now I am sour... maybe that has to do something with it. I also think there are two extremes to this watchamacallit-love thing: one is pure, hardcore, non-explainable love and the other is sexual tension. Basically, sexual tension is when you feel attracted to someone else for no special reason other than copulate... and no more. This "feeling" is irrelevant to my post. I wanna focus on the other one; the so-called pure, unreasonable love.

You see, it just happens. Literally, you fall in love; one day you begin loving the way the other person walks, yearning for the other person's aroma, a sympathy for the other's smile; the way the air brushes the significant's hair, his/her movements. Hell, you would even hug your honey-bunny's cute, chubby feces if you had the chance. But like the phrase indicates, you fall... slowly... through a vortex, little by little. It's a tingle at first and suddenly you start needing the other person to function.

The other emotion is hate. It also just happens. Maybe you hate someone for their particular hair style, their annoying voice, their smell. Or maybe just their prescence for no particular reason. But if you had the chance you would beat their living souls out of them and enjoy it with supreme joy beyond any comparison. Did they do anything to you to make you be angry at them? No, just the fact they breathe oxygen in the same world as you.

But then the relationship reaches the climax, the maximum point of extasis in which one of the involved parts' heart must be crushed. And how, indeed, do you turn from love to disdain?

You hate them. If you ever really, truly loved the other person then you know there is no middle ground; there's no "friends." All there can be is hate; from one extreme to the other, like a battery. I know it would be pretty lovely if we could just have a switch in the manner people say "just forget and carry on," but there is not - unless you are an insensible bastard to begin with. There's love and there's hate.

But in the same way you fell in love you must fall in hate, in disdain. Still you now face a more difficult task because falling in love is unconscious, it just happens; and now you must do it willingly. Learn to hate the way the other persona walks, repulse their aroma, dislike the other's smile... you get the idea... and so reach a point in which you no longer care. Complete, utter, total disdain.

Will it turn you into a cold, hearless son-of-a-gun? Yeah, but by then you no longer care.

Of being a god

2006-02-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes gods walk amongst us.

There are moments in life when us mere humans become something more than what our frail bodies allow. To give you a quick example of one of these cases: the Steelers became walking, human gods as they held the Lombardi Trophy over their heads. That was a moment which crowned those players and set them above par, above every other human being in the world as they bathed with all the glory and honor.

Just as a note, I am not trying to be disrespectful to The Powers That Be. And I am also not a Steelers fan. It is just that at times like winning the Super Bowl, no matter what team, they are transported to a land of make believe and those men become invincible, unstoppable and immortal. I suppose there are many moments like that in life and they come in very different flavours for many people. From your first kiss to holding your newborn baby all the way through walking on the moon to your first Hello-World program.

Oddly enough I believe that it is through competition that we achieve those moments of unparallel glory. There are two basic types of competitions according to the Gospel of the Great Fry: The first are individual competitions, in which you have no one else to beat but yourself. I personally do not remember many of these moments, maybe because I like to believe I have me under control; sure I back fire from time to time like a firecracker or an atom bomb, depending on the situation. Or maybe just because I have bad memory. Some of these moments involve overcoming your own fears, beating your own apathy and achieving your own goals. All in all, these are moments that make you stand tall and be proud of yourself. Personal victories that no one else can understand. I have never gone to a titty-bar, for no particular reason other than my own, moralistic and maybe retrograde conviction if you wish; but it is still a personal victory over no one but myself that no one can completely understand - and yes Victoria, I have never gone to a titty-bar.

The other competitions involve others. We are talking basically about sports, tournaments, whatever involves beating an opponent; a victor and a loser. I am not a sports-man per se, but I love this victories the most. Because when you are down field, you meet your rival in the eye; and it is in that small moment of eye contact that you realize that in order to achieve victory you have to win. And to win, you need not only beat yourself but your rival two; because you are at identical conditions, you both wear the shoulders and helmets like an armor, both have their bodies prepared, both have our minds atuned to the same goal, and both are fighting the individual battle to control your fear, your anger, your anxiety. At that moment the difference between you and your rival, winning and losing, between the glory or the void, are not the tools or the skills since both have that. It is who has the will and the might to win. So in order to win you have to beat your rival's will and impose your might. Be it chess or football, he with the most passion and desire wins.

But here are certain factors that elevates some type of competitions above others and that, ultimately, take you to real, human godliness. The first is playing in a team. In a 1-on-1 game it is your will against your rival's; yet in a team game, it has to be the total sum of the blue team's will against the red team's will. Back when I was an offensive lineman, many a one time I beat my defensive counterpart; sat them on their butt, take them to the ground, hold them at the line of scrimmage and opened highways for my running back to go through. Yet my victory over the poor soul in front of me meant nothing if a lineman from the other side did not do his job thus ending the play with a sacked quartebac; my victory meant nothing when a receiver dropped the ball; my victory meant nothing when the defense did not do their job. It was a team, and just like a machine need to be tuned up, we all needed to be atuned to the same desire, pasion and will to win. Thanks to The Powers That Be, we all had the same drive to win and so we won - most - games.

The second factor that must be met to take you to manly godliness is to have all the competitions at the same time; against yourself, against a rival and against a team. Like that machine at the county fair in which you put a quarter for a chance to use a mechanic claw and take home the loose teddy bear to your Honey Bunny, those battles take you from among the common mass of mere mortals, grab you by the soul and takes you to another level above others. Turns you into a god.

When I played football, all three battles took place. I had to beat myself during training; so many times I wished to leave the team - almost did once -, so many times I felt like my body could take no more, so many times I feared the monster in front of me, and many more times I had the taste of fear in my mouth, pain in my muscles, scars on my body and tiredom in my mind which made me want to go home crying for mommy and hide behind her dress. But still, everyday I was the second player to arrive at the training field - just after Capi -, still every time the defense took the ball I was the first offensive player running to the field and the first lineman at the huddle. Because everyday and every game I beat myself; I told me that I had proven naught to myself until I had won; to take the abuse on my body just one more day. And so I did.

At the field, I had a rival in front of me. A lineman or a linebacker. Some were more hardened than me. Others were faster. Most were more violent. But I can safely say that none of them had the will and mightiness in their souls because every game I beat them play after play. Sure, in order to rise you have to fall sometimes, but at the end of the day I had stood taller than my opponent. Some times just as I was running to the scrimmage line to take our positions for the incoming scramble I looked at the eyes of the guy in front of me, and I just loved the tint of despair and hopelesness in his eyes; because he knew he was beaten. And it is then that I smiled not in an over-confident way but with that yearns for more.

Lastly, we were a team. And it was as a team that we sometimes lost and sometimes won. It was as a team that one day at training we, the offensive linemen, sang "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it is off to work we go" together while carrying our beloved training tires to the field. It was as a team that we chanted under Chino's command while running around the training field. It was as a team that we laughed when my car burned in the parking lot. It was as a team that we ran under the hail storm. It was as a team that we stood tall when everyone though we would not even win a game.

Maybe it is no coincidence that I am having these thoughts, or rather, memories of old times at this point in my life. Especially those concerning the time when I played football back in the good days. Now, more than ever, I need to be reminded what I want; I need to be reminded how to do stuff; I need to be reminded that I am more than just another one of the bunch. Because I once were.

Back then I felt like a god.

Those Beautiful Places

2006-02-05T03:06:00.000-07:00

Hello there!

I know, I know, I have been a bad boy for not posting. But hey, I am a busy man! ... *eyes around* ... right... Though I must say that I did find a job. Or rather, an "occupation." Do not ask me hoy the heck it happened, but a company back in my home city got word that I developed a small PocketPC system for taking drive-thru orders at a local fast food joint. So one fine day they contact me and ask me to help them develop more or less the same thing but in a bigger, better and improved version. To which I said: "Hell yeah!"

Now, here's the funny part though. Back in my good ol' school days I had a class in which we had to develop a system for a real "client." I quote it because it was not a real, real client per se, but a teacher who we had to treat like a client. I remember that by the end of the semester I realized some teams implemented a lot less functionality in the system that what we where doing. So I asked those teams how come they did not develop some stuff and their answer was simply: "Because we negotiated with the client, and we arranged to have less requirements." My jaw dropped at that moment. Of course! You can negotiate to do less stuff, or at least to do the easier requirements. Silly us, breaking our heads to do certain complicated requirements we had to meet when we could have negotiated our way out of them.

But I learned my lesson well... ooooh yes. Because I was not hired as a full-time employee but some kind of freelancer, I negotiated with the company. And in my negotiations I over-estimated the time it would take me to develop the system. Most importantly - and sincerely, I do not know how they agreed to this - we settled that I could work at home. HOME! Of course, I have to prove my progress and comply to certain conditions they set, but I am at HOME! That has to be one of the best job benefits anyone can find.

So there I am, coding in my chair - with wheels... oooh yes -, with a Coke by my side - there's a new flavour in the US: "Black Cherry Vainilla Coke;" and being the marketing whore that I am, I bough a 24-packer -, working when I want, taking a dump when I want, listening to the music I want, reading the new Stephen King novel - Cell - when I want, watching pr0n when I want, playing a horror movie when I want, enjoying World of WarCraft when I want, wear the clothes I want or none if I please... wow... Yeah, the pay is not really gonna be THAT much, but these benefits are really hard to beat, eh?

My only problem is... even with my over-estimated proyect schedule, this might only last two month at the most... but hey, I will enjoy it.

In other news! I am in pain. No, not some kind of figurative spiritual kinda pain but real physical pain. Some of you know that I once played Football as a lineman. Some even know that that particular year is the best year in my whole life. Just remembering the physical pain from training camp, the yelling, the insults, the hits... wow... the pain... it brings a tear to my eye. Best thing to ever happen to me up until now - I'm still waiting for you, My Dove.

That was years ago. But it came back with a vengeance.

A friend of mine called one of these days to inform me that I had been registered in the school's flag football team and that the next day we were playing. To which I said: "Are you friggin' nuts dude?!" I ceratainly am in no condition to play flag football, much less the next day! Yet, what could I do.

And the day came. Oh boy, did I prepare myself in my mind. I looked everywhere for my old football equipment; nitros, tables, knee-pads and everything. Then the final touch. Like a priest who during the Consagration at Mass, I slowly walked to my closet and opened. I eyed all my clothing, and it all became irrelevant; right at that moment nothing existed around me but three particular shirts which I keep and care deeply for. There they stood, like an altar to the good time: a small sweater my grandmother knitted for me many years ago; a torn, long sleeved sweater that clearly has seen better days; and a faded shirt that so long ago used to be black.

There they stood with an aura coming out of them. Back in the days those three garments where with me in each and every game under my football equipment. Like the mail clothing the middle age warriors wore under their armor before going to battle; that is what the shoulders, helmet, and my three garments were: my armor. Just touching them flooded my head with memories. Memories of all those games. Of all the training. Of the victory. The loses. The glory. The screams. The tears. The blood. The scars. The sweat.

The game.

Slowly I put the small sweater on, then the long sleveed one on top. Finally the faded shirt. They are not much, but they make me feel protected. As if the cloth with which they are women were capable of stopping anything coming at me. There were no shoulders this time - it is flag football after all. I work my way into the bathroom and look for tape. Lightly I put tape around my middle and anular fingers in my left hand because for some odd reason I cannot go into the field without doing that first. Some players wear the same socks the day before the game, some wear lucky charms. I tape those two fingers together.

Off I went to the field. Most of the members of our flag team are old team members of old. Comrades who had stood with me in the gloryful days of the game. There we stood again, together. Old maybe, some of us somewhat crippled, another stood drunk and all of us out of shape. But there were twothings we hadthat the other, younger teams did not. Experience; we might be out of shape, but we know what it is like to be in the field and we know how to do our job. We do not need speed, nor strenght to do it because we have the know-how. The other thing we have in our advantage is the most important.

We had us.

We know how to work together, how we think. And we know we have our backs. Those ties that binds us together as one, organic team. We took the field and looked at each other in the eyes and anyone could see we had a certain sparkle in them. The sparkle you could see in the eyes of old knights who after retirement have to wear that armor one more time; they grab their swords once again and look up at the skies thanking the heavens for one more chance to do what they had always done: shed every ounce of their being in the battlefield. So we did.

We won, but not without a price. I am now in pain. My muscles hurt in many ways I did not remember. Old muscles I had forgotten I had scream in pain. I woke the day after the game barely moving, my legs hardly responding. My body hurts in all those beautiful places.

I love it.

Technical stuff / Good thing they were Catholic

2006-01-04T22:52:00.000-07:00

Hello there!

Well, first some technical stuff for my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers: I just set up my own personal mini-site in my room. There are two computers which will be the home to www.duckiesoft.com, www.killerfry.com and two other Internet sites I have to come up with. I just got Apache, MySQL and PHP running; it was all installed manually, like real men do. There are still lots of stuff I have to fix up to have the sites completely up and running; like registering the DNS - yes Victoria, that is the reason the links send you to nowhere.

Basically, DuckieSoft will be used as a professional, "serious" site to promote my work in a pseudo-professional way; whereas KillerFry will be my personal site. That means that pretty soon this Blog will be moving to a new home! I intend to keep other things there as well, such as my horror movies reviews and whatever stupid things I come up with.

I am also thingking about making a WebService and a client app to let people know what mood I am in. This is because, as you can see from yesterday's post, I was not a happy camper. I am still not a happy camper, but I am not as disgruntled as I was yesterday. The point is that with this nifty little app, people will be able to see from their desktops what mood I am in, thus avoinding odd situations in which people try to joke with me when I am not in the mood for joking, hence enraging me more.

Nifty utility ;)

Now, for the "serious" part of the post. For starters, let me say that most of the time I like to steer away from political discussions, since many susceptivities can be harmed. But this one I will simply not let pass by.

As I am eating my food in the kitchen in the usual family hour there is nothing on TV but the news. For some odd, historical reason we turn the television on. The first news of the evening in the channel involves a little town in Mexico State in which a thief tried to steal money from the church's charity bin. Because, you see, a great deal of the mexican population is relatively speaking poor, so I guess this man had no other resource but to steal. And because out Holy Catholic Church teach us to be charitable, maybe he thought people would understand him taking some of the money to feed his family and, inherentely with our Christian beliefs, the people would understand.

But no. Primal caveme- I mean, average mexicans are not rational beings. So while I was nicely having my food with my family we are shown a video in which the town's people beat the guy up; men, women and children all took part in the beating leaving the guy broken and bleeding in the ground. Not satisfied with that they tie him up, all the while we see him pleading and screaming to please let him go, and that he cannot feel his legs. Once tied up and after insulting him some more, they still give him and extra beating.

To be comletely sure he learned his leason, they decide to now tie him up a set of stairs and then hang him up in a very twisted, modern version of the crucifixion. Yep, that is right folks; I was having a nice family moment at lunch and we were treated to this images. Not satisfied the TV gave us some more: once hanged, some people start yelling that they should burn him. You an actually see on the video one person asking if he should bring the gasoline. And that is the point where my mind said: "this is simply not sane. What is this? The Inquisition?" Remind me again what the "Sapiens" means in Homo Sapiens.

Fortunately for the poor dude, the police arrived in time and saved. Yet, all the while they carried him to the police car people still insulted him and actually threw punches at him, some landing flat on his face. If you happen to want the "INRI Turist Packege" included in your vacations to Mexico State, be sure to stop in any small town, local Church and steal $200 pesos - around $18 bucks -; special offer for a limited time only!

This reminds me of a case, one or two years ago in which the people of another Mexican State town set 4 police men on fire. Yes, you read right. Set they were in a cover mission having to do with drug dealing in a primary school, and the town for some odd reason decided to burn them in the little town's little central park thing after a public beating. Aaaaaah, I love the smell of fresh burnt human skin on the morning.

It is nice to know that the average mexicans have a great devotion for the Virgin of Guadalupe and are avid Catholics.

You know, honestly, with neighbors like these, I would build a wall around my territory, electrify it and shoot down any who tried to trespass it... but that's just me.

The basis of happyness

2006-01-03T02:52:00.000-07:00

Hello again! Yes, double post day. :D

In any sense, how happy you are depends a lot on what you base your happyness. Now, all logic and human convention dictates that we should base how happy we are proportional to love. But see here my odd, human logic: basing our happyness in love may lead us to disillutionment which in turn leads to anger and hence: frustation/un-happynes.

But if I base my happyness on how angry I am, the all the disillusion in my life will actually turn to more anger which in turn leads to more happyness.

Hum... that formula seems logical.

And no, I am not that happy today.

The funniest feeling

2006-01-03T02:38:00.000-07:00

Happy Holidays y'all!

I had the funniest feeling some days ago that I cannot explain it in other words other than: I want someone to give to. More than material objects, to give myself to. In the end I guess that would be my reason to waking up and doing what I do day after day.

It is not that I need a 26-inch LCD TV for myself, but more so that I want to sit and share it with someone. It is not that I need to go out, but I want to share moments with someone. It is not that I need to look good, but I take care of myself for someone.

But right now I do not want to do anything, not I care for myself, or for stuff. Because I do not have that someone to give myself to.

Where are you?

Everything will be fine

2005-12-04T18:48:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome back my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers - and my Pretty Assistant -; I hope you are all still around here.

Wow, I have been asked several times why I have not written anything. My answer has been the same to all of them: "Nothing interesting has happened worth mentioning." Yet, I promised a special someone out there that I would find something to write before this week was over - and yes, the week ends to me on a Sunday, so I'm still on time Babe ;). Oddly enough, as soon as I made that promise lots and lots of interesting stuff worth writting about began to happen; so much that now I do not know what to write this about.

Just as a side note to my Anger Reports: There have been no more anger fits, but there has been a scar left behind in me. Now I find myself being very sour and punctual about things. All in all I do not belive it has been a bad thing, but quite the contrary. Some would argue that it was hard lesson I had to learn in my life: sometimes you have to toss your soft-hearted side away to get things done the right way. As hard as that may be. The key residences in finding a balance.

At least I tell myself that to sleep at night.

In other news: I'm graduating. Finally. Praise be to the Powers That Be! I am just a two weeks away from sitting down at the school's gym along with all my classmates, anxious and sweating in anticipation of hearing our names flowing out of those ominous speakers as if announcing the glorious return home of victorious warriors after a vicious and taxating war. And we will stand up as we hear the echo carry our names, we will walk through the hall of champions among the roar of celebration. We will receive a taste of immortality; of divinity.

Then we will sit back down in our seats in the school's gym and further engross the lines of unemployment.

This scares me. It makes me tremble with fear down to the marrow of my aging bones. No, I am not afraid of tripping down as I go for my diploma, or of peeing my pants of joy. I am afrain because I am uncertain; uncertain about my future. What will I do now? See here, for sixteen years in my life everything has been laid out for me. Everyday I knew I would wake up in the morning with wax in my eyes fumbling one way or another to turn the alarm off and pleading for just five more minutes. Back in the old days my Mother would come into my room to make sure I stood up, now I do it out of routine more than anything. Finally I would stand with and air of lazyness floating around me, whispering at my ear to lay down. Most of the time I had to gather all my strength to cast aside this voices; other times I would have a reason to carry on: a special dinner, a night at the movies, turn over school projects... but mostly dreams of seeing My Dove's smile.

And I would then clean my putrid, scarred human body. It ain't clean until it bleeds. Because I hate losing time deciding what clothes I wear then I make my life easy always wearing jeans - or my school uniform back in the heyday. A comb would pass through my hair in a motion that mimiqued the human act of fixing my hair, clean my teeth; somedays I would have a breakfast though lately I do not. And off I went to school. Afterwards I would come back, do my homework, watch TV, listen to music, watch pr0n. You know, the usual. Finally back to sleep, with the certainty that the next day would pretty much be the same.

For sixteen years.

And now? Now there's uncertainty in my life. What will happen tomorrow? Odd, because no human school on earth prepares us, educates us to live. That is a lesson we learn by living; by crying, laughing, scarring our bodies, screaming. We learn it from and along with friends, family, acquaintances and enemies. Every step is a new adventure.

But, as some know, advetures mean risks. And I must say that I like to take risks... but only after I analized all the variables and outcomes. So, in a very paradoxical way, I only take unrisky risks. Sadly, no great man ever became great by doing that. So I find myself at a great divergent, at a great risk: do I follow my heart? Do I follow my mind? Shall I listen to my emotions? Do I obey logic? Shall I go on a Hobo Adventure? Will I stay be true to my carreer? These are variables that cannot be assigned; that stray from fixed values, ever changing. Hence, my future is a risky risk I fear to take. And this takes my sleep away.

Not two days ago I was talking with my Dad over the phone; talking thing over about my future, about what I wanted to do, opportunities I have... and yes, even my sentimental future. Then we chenged the subject to business: where my papers ready? All grades sent in? Curriculums sent? After a while, we said good-bye. And then he said four words I will forever cherish in my life.

"Everything will be fine."

Bless him and his aging, silver hairs. I was like a stray baby sheep, lost in the woods where many strange noises blind my senses. Nothing through the dense, black night could be seen but unsightly red eyes; there was nowhere to go, no clear path to safe evergreen pastures. But then he, my Sheperd held me. Now I can sleep with my mind at ease amid the storm because now I know. Now I am reassured everything will be fine.

Anger Report, Ad infinitum

2005-11-11T22:40:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah. I know my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I skipped a few days in my Anger Report. So much, that even by now I have begun to understand much of my anger and regaining control. Did I write them? Yeah, I did write them; but if I must be honest, I never allowed myself to post them. "Always busy." No matter, I will summarize them in the following way:

Anger Report Pt. 2.- It dealt with people not interested in people; only in obtaining the end result no matter the human cost.
Anger Report Pt. 3.- "Do unto others..." Jesus, you really set a very high standard. Because no matter how much I do unto others like I would like them do unto me, they never do. Sometimes I think I just expect too much of people.
Anger Report Pt. 4.- Why do we take everything so seriously and forget to have fun? I know I like theater as a mean to have fun, to socialize with others. But how can I have fun when I am being yelled at by people who take it "seriously"?

Actually this is a very, very funny point. So much I will stop and be as acid and explicit as I can. To all of you people who take it "seriously": While you spent sleepless nights wondering why you cannot do a particular scene, while you cry in dispair, while you worry with the lines repeating them over and over, while you flunk you classes, while you kill your friendships to be a star, while you are being "serious" at achieving your dream; I have a Best Actor in a Main Role Award; one of the best directors in Mexico has fought against burocratic bigots to have me in the play and I make my parents proud. All of this while I am having fun.

You know, I will be a good sport and tell the "serious" people the answers to all their worries; the secret behind my small and meaningless succes so they can stop stressing themselves because they cannot do their job right:

Have fun! Instead of worrying, enjoy it. Do not think of the end result, thing of the now and enjoy failing, learn from it, laugh at yourself. Fun.
If you are still failing and crying, then by the love of God why don't you realize you suck at it and stop making a fool of yourself?

Arrogant? Maybe. But if I suck big time at it, at least I am having fun big time too. In the end, I win.

Anger Report Ad Infinitum.- I am realizing most of the time I am angry; almost 100% of the time. Only you do not notice because I smile and pretend all is well; and when I finally get tired of putting up the charade, it is then when you realize I am so uptset. Sadly, it usually means I'm so full of it I am beyond reasoning. Do the experiment once: scratch beyond my surface, have a conversation with me, sit by me, observe me. I want to cry out, but I do not want to do it alone.

So... yeah. This did not came as I originally planned. My original plan was to make a quick summary of the Anger Reports and procede with another interesting idea that came to my mind which - oddly - has to do with my acting award; and any other kind of award given to any person. But I shall leave that for some day in the future for you to read...

... as for me... right now... I just remembered I am angry.

Anger Report, Pt. 1

2005-10-19T21:53:00.000-06:00

Hey there, my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Usually I try to "cook up" my posts; I do this in one of two ways: either something amazing, odd or simply weird happens in my life to which I then proceed to find a deeper, philosophical meaning to my existance - like the case of "Sharing" - or I have a very amazing, odd or simply weird idea that has some philosophical meaning to my existance and then I proceed to invent or look for a previous experience to which exemplify my idea. Hence, more often than not, it takes time for me to cook up a post because either I have a hard time having a good philosophical idea or because my life becomes dull and nothing happens.

But it so happens lately that, as you have seen by yesterday's post, nothing good appears to occur. It is just one constant emotion fed by day to day activities that goes like this: I wake up as rested as I can. Then something crappy happens. I get angry. Then something crappy happens. I get more angry. Then something crappy happens. I get even more angry. Then I crap. I get a little relaxed. Then something crappy happens. I get angry again. Then someth- ... ad infinitum... you get the idea.

So in the current state than nothing of note actually happens, I shall begin an Anger Report. What is this? Heck if I know, I just had the idea to call it that and maybe express all the events that happen day to day that just feed up my Anger Sphere. Some would say this is actually therapeutic. I say I simply have to vent myself. And since you are not helping, maybe the senseless and stupid act of "talking" to a lifeless being such as the computer can do your job.

Now, for your total and voyeuristic pleasure my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, Anger Report Part 1!

Today began as what appeared to be a good day. You do not know it since I lost my draft, but I am currently doing social service as a museum guide for hordes of little monsters. Namely: kids ranging from Pre-School to 7th Grade. Over the time I have discovered that I enjoy guiding little children from Pre-School and as they are more grown up I have a hard time guiding them. Alas! Today I had a group of 6 Pre-Schoolers. The sun was smiling on me today.

Not.

I get back to My Four Walls, pick up Daisy, and go to the library to do teamwork. Teamwork on a class that utterly hate and find totally useless... not to my surprise the rest of my team has actually done nothing on the job at hand. Great. At that same time I receive and eMail from another team stating that I have an obligatory meeting at that very moment. Since the laws of physics still will not allow matter to be at the same time in two different places -at least, not modern physics-, I obviously do not go to the meeting. Moments later I receive another eMail from the team saying that they will go talk to the teacher so he flunks me.

I do not know if, at the beginning of the semester, I made my point clear or not to that specific team but I do remember saying this in fron of the class' teacher: "I do not have much time this semester. I would prefer not to have meetings and that you send me what I have to do via eMail; do not worry, I will pull it off." And you see, for two years this system of "Do what you have to do by the time you have to do it and don't care about how or when they do it" has worked perfectly for me and all my teammates in previous classes. Besides, the meeting usually consist of five minutes to give each member a certain job to do and then the meetings are adjourned.

Suffice it to say that I, very politely as I could, sent an eMail to my team and the teacher stating my case. I still have no answer, but I made sure to carry my point across. I finished my current meeting and off I go to my new play's rehearsal. Which is more like a concentration camp.

Do not get me wrong: I like theater. A lot. There is nothing I enjoy more than taking a dump when I have diarrhea, but just below that there's theater. The feeling of being on-stage is awesome, unmatched. I literally undo myself just to have the opportunity to shine. But this semester the play has become more like torture. Atmosphere running dense; everybody is stressed out; people have done many personal sacrifices to be there; undiscipline by most company members; and a completely de-humanized producer without minimal a sense of human tact.

Just for this once theater really has become a time and sould consuming activity; my mistake this time; and I wanted it. But I have already talked about this in the previous post titled "Timmy Likes It!" So I take Daisy to my rehearsals to surf the Internet, code a mathemathics library I'm programming to learn C# and do school related work. Normally I would support the notion that we are all a team and must support each other to make the final play a succes. Under the current circumstances I personally do not care about the rest of the company -they could suddenly implode, spontanously combust or be a bunch of novice actors-; I am going to do my part, I know I do it above decent and that is about all I could care about.

Now, see here, the fact that there's a bunch of novice actors does not mean they do badly... though most do... but there are some experienced actors in there doing a very, very good job -even better than mine- and other novice actors have shown to have what it takes given the right instruction. But that doesn't save the whole company from the ones that completely drag. Honestly, were I the audience, I would either sleep or walk away at the performance. Except, of course, for my acting.

Yeah. Those last statements are very rude. But I do not care because I am angry; and when I am angry I am uncaring about other people; when I am angry I am more incisive about my comments and I will gladly put my finger on the bleeding cut with premeditation. But mostly, I say it because it is actually true.

Even if it is a hard pill to swallow as the truth often is.

The Bubble

2005-10-18T22:20:00.000-06:00

Hello.

Much has happened in this time my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. I actually wrote around three blogs but later had to reformat my computer and I, being the absent minded person that I am, forgot to back them up as well as other stuff... meh... it is not like it has not happened before... many times.

Have my fans seen 40 Year Old Virgin already? Do not worry, you do not need to have seen it to understand this post. Suffice it to say that there, our 40 year old virgin, is mainly a geek; a well intentioned, well mannered guy. For the sake of simplicity I will steer away from all the "Women like bad boys" / "Nice guys finish last" type of post. The interesting thing here is that there are only two moments in the whole movie when they actually make our good old, modern time sexual hero, Andy, really angry. He hears up in this special mood and attitude that without saying a single word just oozes that extreme angerly vibe that inspires fear in the poor souls that gaze upon him. Just like that, Andy walks down an avenue not even glancing to see the cars passing by. As if by an act of the Powers That Be, no car runs him over, and the only car in a direct trajectory to run him over stops right there and then. From personal experience I know this actually happens.

I even have a name for it: "Emotion/Anger Sphere."

For those of you who know something about theater, you might have read about Stan's Affective Memory schitt and how one can proyect a certain emotion and attitude without saying a word; just by the way one walks, the way one stares at thing, the tone of the voice; the whole self. I believe all these things create a sphere around the person that people are able to perceive; and if the emotion is too strong, it can actually turn into a reality altering aura that not only affects the angry person but those around him. And sometimes the emotion, the anger, is so strong that other people stop in their tracks because they know they should not mess with the subject lest he explodes into rage.

Some unlucky, or lucky souls, have had the opportunity to have seen me in one such moment at different points in my life. Usually I call it a "Yearly Period" that I have around Easter - because all that love cannot be right. Normally it is just once a year. But this time... it seems it is here to stay. Lately I find myself inside my Emotion/Anger Sphere way to often; at times I go for several days straight inside that bubble waiting to burst. Not some minutes ago I crossed the street to get a hot dog from the convenience store across the street. In complete disregard for my well-being I crossed the street without looking; I kid you not, the cars seemed to go around me as if I had a protective shell.

Obviosly this "Emotion Sphere" is that, an emotion. Just as that emotion can be anger it can easily be happyness or whatever. But usually people, jealous, envious and egocentrical little pigs that we humans beings are, will burst other people's positive emotion spheres. And just like that stay away from bursting negative emotion spheres for the sake of their own well-being.

And well, honestly, I am waiting to burst. I really am just waiting for the wrong person to burst that bubble and unleash all those emotions bottled up on this poor soul without remorse and total abandon of any moral, ethical and political restrains until I, jealous, envious and egocentrical little pig of a human being that I am, feels so good and satisfied with my brethen's suffering. No. No, it should not be like that. One should always have people, friends, boy/girlfriends, family, whatever you want to call it, around to help you vent those things from time to time; to hold you; to cry upon; to talk with; to have fun with; to support you before that bubble becomes unmeasurable. Ah yes, would that not be nice?

As for me... well... you are not helping.

Sharing

2005-09-30T11:25:00.000-06:00

Welcome again!

Today, my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I would like to discuss with you a topic I believe to be of vital importance to humanity. Not only does this topic have special significance with our day to day activities for it also has to do with transcending our souls into the next plane of being. It is a topic that has recently been called to my attention by accident; an accident that at first was an annoyance but little by little it has become such an intricate activity in my life that now I long for it and desire it.

Laundry.

At first it used to be that I took my clothes to a laundry where they washed my clothes; I just packed my dirty rags and took them to the laundry shop, left them there for an old lady to clean and iron. The next day I would come back to find my clean clothes so elegantly folded in a tidy package. I paid the lady and came back home with a smile of realization on my face. See here, I will not deny all my childhood I have gotten used to just throwing my clothes in the bin and then either my Mom or the Cleaning Lady would wash them. So it made sense from that frame of mind that I would not, even by chance, do that chore by myself.

Until one day something bizarre happened: I forgot to take the clothes to the laundry shop. In a sudden surge of adrenaline, despair and horror as I stared into my empty underwear drawer I quickly took my dirt-smeared clothes to the self-service laundry and did the unthinkable: with both denial and uncertainty I pressed my clothes in the washing machine, dropped some soap on top of the clothes, put some tokens in the machine and pressed the red button to oblivion. Let me tell you, this was a complete odyssey for me from the moment I had to buy the soap. I mean... what's the difference between them all? Blech? Color-safe? Softener? Conditioner? What does all that mean! The words just did not make sense to me! Add the fact I had no clue how much soap to put in... should if go on top of the clothes or in the little receptacle in the washing machine? What's with the little towels people put in? Is there a God? And if so, why has he beget such pain upon this poor soul that I am?

Over time I have learned the difference between all those words, the amount of soap I should put in, the right amount of time in the dryer, what those little towels are and so on and so forth. Take it from me, there are so many variables that washing clothes should almost be considered a science.

But all that is just besides the point. The point is that over the months I have washed my own clothes there has been other people around when I am doing so. More so, some of us tend to go the same days at the same time each week, always meeting, never speaking much. But sometimes we do. We tell each other stories. At first we began having conversation of why the washing machines are always occupied; then we shared cloth-washing horror stories, we gave each other tips and how-to's. We've shared each other's soap, bleach and softener when we do not have enough. And think about urban self-laundry shops where women get together to chat, gossip and socialize; oh! All the stories that must have been told at laundries! But we have also shared something more important, more primal and more intimate.

Dirty undies.

No, I don't mean we put each other's dirty undies. What I mean is that as we load our dirty clothes into the washing machine we are sharing our dirtiness out in the open for all to see. Many a time have I seen women put their bra's in the machine, men put their hairy boxers; and just as many times they have seen me put my sweaty shirts in the machine. Are you able too see the significance of this? Usually we do not let people see our intimate clothing. Women worry their panties show when they sit, or if their cleavage is too big, and so on and so forth. But at that moment in the laundry they do not care. We do not care. We share our human condition with one another. We lose our shame and accept each other as we are.

Would it not be nice if we could change the context to something bigger? Instead of sharing dirty undies, sharing our souls? When instead of helping each other clean his pants, we could also help ourselves to clean our lives? Because we are all humans. Because we all smear mud on our clothes. Because we all sin. Because we all share this planet; share our lives. Because we are all brothers of the same conditions. And then, on that day we will not be ashamed of who we really are, of our undies, we will let the world see our clean undies for what they are, see our true clean souls. Our humanity.

Also, a salute to all the Mothers and Cleaning Ladies out there that keep our clothes clean. They are the complices of our shame and our dirt. We salute you!

As for me... well... I enjoy watching dirty, cute pink undies.

Super Powers!

2005-09-28T21:13:00.000-06:00

Hello there!

Just a quick note: I've had diarrhea since Monday... that's three days straight. But I'm beginning to think it actually is a blessing from The Powers That Be in the form of a super power! Think about it! I can actually defecate in less than 8 seconds! Just go in, take pants down, do my business, carry on with my normal day... as normal as a diarrheic day can be.

... but you did not want to know this... I just wanted to share because I love your face of disgust so much my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

They say I have issues!

2005-09-19T22:51:00.000-06:00

How's it hanging, my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers?

Just the other day I was at this... hum... I was about to call it a party, but it was more of a reunion. That is under the convention, of course, that parties have to involve booze, music, lots of people, munchies and a ratio of 1.5 women per each male in the party; and at least a couple making out. So based on that definition of the word "party" I was on a reunion with some of the guys from the play I am rehearsing for school. From the moment I got there I realized there was something missing from the reunion. Something so vital for any social meeting of people. Something without which no human relations can take place.

Munchies.

Promptly I decided to take hands in the matter and began repeating the word over and over. "Munchies." One hour passed in which words were spoken, jokes were told, dreams were shattered and fashion was criticized. Like the raven in Poe's poem I could only repeat one word: "Munchies."

"`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, 'MUNCHIES!'"

When I finally got them annoyed, we finally decided to go get some... can you guess? No? You give up? Bags of Doritos and Coke! Others went to get some booze and our Mom Away From Home went to get some hamburgers. Which, by the way, I would call Pizzaburgers; I kid you not, those hamburgers were the size of a family sized pizza from Domino's. Really, I'm not kidding. You could easily feed a whole family of Elbonians off one of those gigantic burgers which cost just $5 bucks. Yes. You read right: $5 for a 20" burger; that's 50.8cm. for the English Measure System Impaired. Six Dollar Burger, eat your heart out.

After that people sat in chairs and the couches to drink, eat munchies and a slice of the gigant-o-burger chatting from vanal topics as who is or not a virgin to pool conceptions passing by colon collapses and ghost stories for the next 6 hours. All the while, I could only repeat the same sentence over and over when asked for my point of view: "I once farted."

Maybe I really have issues. Maybe I like being gross. Or maybe I had no interest what-so-ever in the conversations. More likely I felt I had nothing really interesting to add to the conversation. Mind you, people still laughed everytime I said those three senseless words; which actually worries me. Who has more issues: me for saying "I once farted" or them for laughing each time I uttered such desecration for 6 hours straight?

It was a good night in the end, sans getting stuck in the terrace for about 10 minutes because, as if by a mysterious and unseen force, the sliding door closed and a ghostly hand put the latch on. But that's besides the point. This is my point with my story.

Yes... click the link... yeah... that is a link to my point... click it... done?... have you read the article? Thanks.

Bad ideas. Good ideas. Crazy ideas. Sick ideas. Planned ideas. It does not matter. They are ideas after all. And as far fetched as they might be they are as valid as any because we do not know when a half-baked idea can be developed into a full-fledged vision. Heck, if you actually think about it most of the great discoveries in our world were created when someone had a really bizarre idea; but instead of succumbing all those jealous voices trying to kill the idea they got to work on them. Savour them. Dream them. And living them.

How many people out there cannot have one, just one, truly original idea; where it good or bad? How many out there have you heard say: "I just don't have any good ideas!"? Ideas are nor good or bad. Neither crazy or sick. They just are. Keeping them flowing is what makes us creative; constantly throwing ideas around and playing with them is how we create things.

Maybe someone was in a reunion with some friends and suddenly said: "I once peed." Then another friend added to that idea while looking at the stars sprayed across the dark sky: "Hey... would it not be cool to create electricity from pee?" They played around with it... the idea, I mean, and wham! Peed powered batteries. Nuclear power. Penicillin. Creation.

Serendipity.

As for me, I once farted.

Timmy Likes It!

2005-09-12T21:29:00.000-06:00

Hello!

Some time ago I thought this, finally my last semester, I would have lots and titanic amounts of free time to do a whole bunch of stuff I had intention to accomplish. And then Father Fate reared his crooked nose and here I am praying for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. I skipped a lot of posts for various reasons ranging from the fact that on the week before a play presentation I usually do not exist for anything more than the play, to idiotic excuses such as not having clean clothes.

Fortunately for some, unfortunately to others and indifference of my neighbors, here I am again.

And today's post, oh my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, has to do precisely with me being rushing from activity to activity. Not long ago I was complaining that I barely had time to do what I wanted to do; were it playing on the computer, writing, drawing or simply munching my trusty bag of Doritos and my 2-liter bottle of Coke while listening to that sweet music sweeping my brain. I blamed school, I blamed humanity and I shook my fist in anger.

Now, I have time to do as I please. And what, pray I tell, I do with it you ask? I got myself busy with extra activities I have no real need to be doing. I blame them, I blame humanity and I shake my fist in anger. But you want to know the worst part of it? I like it. I like the adrenaline rush in my body when I have to be in two places at the exact same time; I like the excitement of skipping what little classes I have to do other things; I like the way people believe my made up excuses as the hard truth. In some twisted and perveted ways my sane mind cannot fully comprehend, I like it.

Yet this happens day to day in a more grand scale than just me as an individual but also Humanity, as a whole, likes it. It appears as if, for some odd reason, masochism were an intricate part of our human nature. Day to day we put ourselves in positions that we know will hurt us. We cut down trees, suck up the oil, torture our children, make up wars and shoot down or own compatriots in times of need. Everything around us has been erected to make us happy; and we destroy it with pleasure. The living cry out the names of the dead for comfort as we join them under a rain of bullets buzzing on our television's speakers while we feed our babies with half-truths of a middle class paradise long lost at the same time grandpa rots of ignorance alone under our sun's shadow waiting for a bus that will never arrive. Communication surrounds us all around with electric waves bouncing and dancing around our heads carrying coded bits of malformed words meaning crypted semantics from one individual to another half an-ever-shrinking world apart all the while we hide our communion with those closest to us because we forget the words that make up our emotions that are long to connect falling on deaf ears and a failed muted breath. We are constantly sinking in a river of tears and blood drowning our lungs with every breath and each time we raise from the depths is only to gain momentum to sink deeper.

And we like it.

As for me... well... I am a masochist. That's why I fall in love.

Tickles!

2005-08-17T22:03:00.000-06:00

BAH!

I skipped my own schedule because... *tries to find a suitable excuse* ... yeah.

There I was in a day with nothing to do, my ever trustful bag of Doritos and 2L. bottle of Coke laying empty by my side as the air was filled with the harmonic waves of Joe Satriani and John Petrucci lifting my soul to new heights of spiritual ecstasy. Just as my body was shutting itself off from any recognition of the events happening around me, detaching my soul from my self in a pseudo-orgamiscal experience, I have a mystical realization brought to me courtesy of my new Nokia 3220. The God of Lighting is in the same state of extreme boredom that some would even dare to call Zen, and he invites me over to his humble abode to blast some baddies, watch movies or just whatever. It does not really matter as long as we sit down on his new poffs and listen to the sweet scultural rhythms of his new Home Theater. You know, the kind of techonlogical wonders only men's mind are set to fully understand beyond the physical plane.

Of course, I agreed.

I say goodbye to my good friends playing caressing my ears through my speakers and turn the button off, take my keys and move in a hectic frenzy towards my car in the desire of a better, shinier day and to shunner away from oblivion. To make my trip more joyful I turn on my radio to those 80's tunes I love to hate so much but I have become used to. I make a stop to buy a new bag of Doritos and two 2L. bottles of Coke. Not one, not three, but two since I am a good fellow and I know I will share my bounty with The God of Lighting.

Not to soon neither too late I arrive there. The Queen of Snow is out for the time being, so we males can have the whole place to do whatever we desire in what, at least for some hours, will become our lair of perdition. The God of Lighting orders me to sit on a poff and listen to his new speakers. Non gallantly I let my body fall on a poff and let the little beans inside mold agains my body, almost comforting me. I am so relaxed, my eyes closed and my body against the soft fabric of the poff, that even my ears begin to hear the faint noise of rain falling down.

Suddenly, I realize I actually am hearing rain falling down. Rapidly my mind remembers it was a very sunny trip to The God of Lighting's lair; so sunny I even had to put my car's air conditioning to a power of 4 out of 5. Confused I stand up from the poff and walk towards the window. Sunny, no rain. What the hell, I ask myself. Then I hear familiar tunes. The Doors. Riders on the Storm. Perplexed I turn around to look at The God of Lighting, who's standing with two glasses of ice cold coke in his hand and the Doritos emptied on a plastic bowl and a grin on his face that goes from side to side.

Amazing audio indeed.

I almost feel the bullets breeze by my ears, the cars exploding almost feel like my own car in the parking lot and music really make my guts vibrate. But none of that really matters. None of that was as significant an experience as what happened with my Coke. From that moment onward, my life completely changed. My comprehension, admiration and point of view of things around me completely changed. I think not even the Pope himself could have such a significant impact on my human soul and nature.

It was the bubbles.

You see, The God of Lighting had a floor flan on his playing den; it so happend that the little table holding our hyper charged junk food stood in front of such fan. After taking my glass of Coke, we take to sit each of our hairy buttocks on our respective poffs as we prepare to take on some baddies. I lay my glass of Coke beside me, but I am warned by The God of Lighting of just how hazardous that action actually is, so I turn and put the glass on the table in front of us.

We push on and start blasting our way through horde after horde of evil thugs trying to kill us in this un-popular, co-operative game called Halo that most have not heard anything about. Just in the middle of a firefight I feel something fall against my face, tickling. I brush it off as nothing and continue pressing my shotgun's barrel down the throat of un-worthy of living Flood monsters with frantic eyes. Then there it is again, something fell against my face and tickled once more. Again and again. I realized what it was.

I dropped the controller by my side completely forgetting about the mayhem and destruction going on in that virtual world of video games as The God of Lighthing was torn to shred by a Hunter. After realizing two minutes later that he has turned into a one man army against the enemy he turns to me almost in anger, but is stopped short of shouting "What the Hell?" when he sees my face of total, complete and extreme joy; a peaceful smile of satisfaction runs through my eye-closed face and for some small moments that seemed like an eternity to me I am a small baby rediscovering the world once more. He asks me what's going on.

"It's the Coke's bubbles, man. The fan blows them to my face. They tickle."

Yes. It is stupid. Meaningless. Mundane. But it is those very small and insignificant moments that really mean something to our souls and fill our spirit once again with energies to go on. We taste immoratality and godliness. They are different for everyone. They range from sticking your head out of a car's window, against all sanity, just to feel the air running through your hair; to the feeling of realization as a climber stands a top a rocky mountain, arms stretched and head up to the heavens; to sticking your nude feet in a water pond by the forest in a starry night.

Or Coke bubbles tickling your face.

Where am I?

2005-08-10T23:36:00.000-06:00

Salutations my Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

As I had my Doritos and a 2L bottle of Coke while contemplating into my own soul I realized that promising to make dialy posts is a heavy toll on me based on two basic problems: I run out of ideas and... how should I put it... *shakes fist* BAH! I won't beat around the bush, because I get lazy. So I make a promise to start making my posts on Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays. Of course, if there ever is something of great cosmic significance worth writing about during any of the other days, I will promptly do so. For now I shall leave it at an MWF schedule.

In other news! A few days ago I was speaking over my cellphone with the Pretty Audio Assistant when the phone's connection dropped off. Obviously this upset me very much to the point of yelling random insults at fellow drivers - driving and speaking through the cellphone... not a recommended activity. Aside from the fact I was talking to Her - and no one can deny the delicacies of having a conversation with such a Pretty Girl -; the fact that I can barely make a call from my cell without it losing its signal is completely annoying. Yeah yeah, I know I have dropped it quite a few times against the cold, hard pavement; so... yeah, maybe it actually is my fault...

No wait, it is not. They should make more resistant phones for today's fast, active and extreme activities we humans must endure. I even think it is a merketing ploy if you ask me: make electronic devices more prone to damage when they fall hence increasing sales because stupid people like myself have to buy new devices quite often. But since you did not ask me, I won't say it.

Needless to say, after breaking the Pretty Audio Assistant's heart and being scolded for "hanging up on her," I decided against my all my will to buy a new cell that actually works. Why against my will you humbly ask? That is an easy one to answer: I hate being locatable. I like my privacy. From time to time I like to go to a quiet place with no one but my own intimacy, my thoughts and an ice cold Coke. People lived centuries without mobile phones, so I do not think me turning off my cell will be an universe altering event. I know your reply: "What if there is a problem at *insert random place here*? How can we contact you?" Simple. You do not.

Unless I want to be found.

Let me tell you a short story - thought nothing is short in this blog - about a boy... or girl, whatever pleases your perverted mind, who suddenly has a surge of diarrhea - no relation to me - and has to run to the bathroom. Chaos ensures. Toxic gases fill the air. Roaring explosions take place in that safe piece of heaven known as toilet. Suddenly there is a small vibration in this person's pants accompanied by a ring tone. At first there's confusion; maybe it was not actually the cell ringing but an aftershock of such liquid, belly-quaking activities. After the pocket vibrates a second time and the ringing raises its volume comes disbelief; when our jolly hero thinks that such situation is not actually taking place for it is the kind of thing that only happens in movies and not in real life. There is a brief pause followed by a deafening silence that lasts for what seems an eternity as our protagonist holds his posterior cheeks together in fear. Silence... nothing...

Third ring, the volume now at full throttle piercing through the eardrums of every person standing 20 feet from the toilet; the vibration now almost makes a hole through the pant's pocket. Our hero realizes it is actually happening. With a sudden and new found rush of adrenaline he/she had not felt since the race against time to reach the toilet before horrors took place in his/her posterior behind, the person reaches for the cell in the pocket. The fourth vibration almost tears the phone off the hero's hand, but he/she is able to finally grasp it and answers it. Here's the conversation that follows:

Hero.- (Reluctant) "Hello?"

Random person.- "Hey there! I'm having a problem with my homework, I was wondering if you could help me with..."

*fart and splashing sounds*

RP.- "... are you... uuuh... busy?"

H.- "..." (Dies of embarrassment)

'Nuff said. So forgive the World's Biggest Asshole if his cellphone is off. Maybe you did not want to know where I am.

Where did our brains go?

2005-07-29T11:10:00.000-06:00

Have my Ol' Three Faithful Readers gone to the movies lately?

As you might remember in the Fantastic Four movie a miscalculation from one of the world's greatest genius causes an accident to wash over them. Of course it all turns out for the good in the movie - that is why it is called fiction -; but here in real life miscalculations from "geniuses" cause this, this, this over here and finally this. Disasters.

These day we have been hearing a lot about the Discovery's piece of foam that broke from one of the tanks endagering the mission. Luckily, as I have read, the foam fell after the time critical first minutes of the launch thus reducing the risks of insta-boom action. The crew was even luckier when a large chunk of the foam fell and totally missed the Discovery... then another small piece fell and did hit the wing, acording to NASA, but it did no critical damage.

The sad part of everything is that just two and a half years ago a similar incident made the Columbia go in flames just minutes after take off back in February 1, 2003. NASA even cancelled all launches of future missions in order to fix the problem with the insulator and make later missions more safe. $1.4 billion dollars were spent, millions of computer simulations were run, many men burned their eye-lashes working extra hours and two and a half years went by.

For nothing.

We are in the year 2005, we have super computers, technology and what not and we still cannot make a space launching safe for the crew? We still have miscalculations, half-brewed solutions and disappointments. Now, if backing up all this missions are what I believe to be the greatest brains in the world and the best technology ever is not sufficient enough, if we are still losing space probes, shuttles and men with the best of the best behind them, then how am I supposed to believe that on July 20, 1969 we set foot on the moon? We cannot get it right now so how could we have gotten it right back then without all the technology, simulators and whatnot?

This makes me believe all those reports that the Apollo 11 never really did set foot on the Moon, and everything was recorded in a video set to make people believe. Besides, how could we know, it is not like any of us has actually seen the moon up close and personal. For all we knew hey could have shown us a picture of the Sahara desert and no one would have noticed.

Everything can mean only one thing: we human beings are getting stupidier. So dependant on computers to make simple calculations such as a multiplication for us that we forget how to use our brains. Think about it, if your PocketPC can now hold all your phone numbers, addresses, to-do lists, meetings and just about anything else, does it not mean now you would have more of your brain free to waste on useful stuff?

Here's the inside scoop: we normally use around 10% of our brains and lets just suppose that thanks to the help of all technology we save up 2% of our brain use; shouldn't we then be 2% more smarter using the extra brain power to cure the world from cancer? Just imagine what we could accomplish with that generous amount of extra brain! But too much Nintendo, too many movies and too much sex is in what we use our extra brain muscle in. Television takes our brains away; so now we waste it in learning character moves from 100 video games, the complete chapter lists from Friends and senseless horror movies.

Then again I will not complain much. Thanks to that extra 2% we have better Nintendos, better movies and better sex.

Of Healing...

2005-07-28T10:41:00.000-06:00

It has recently come to my attention, my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, that "time heals all wounds."

If this were actually a movie, what you would see is a man on the ground convulsing with pain and foamy saliva expelling from his nostrils as we fade to black. As a melodramatic effect birds and sounds of nature would come out of the THX-Certified Surround Sound Audio System as the screen slowly fades into a very pintoresque imagery of the country side being bathed with sunlight as a jolly butterfly moves from one flower to the other. Cut to the same man we saw in excrusiating pain waking up in a bed, all patched up; slowly he would pick up himself from the bed and walk towards the terrace to enjoy the fresh morning air.

If this were my movie, this is the part where a bear would come out of nowhere and tear him to bits. Fortunately it is not.

Actually this is about what I found to be the cure to healing all kinds of wounds: scratches, sores, broken bones, headaches, emotional scars, spiritual pain and yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, even broken hearts. It can cure almost any ailment thrown at a human being. Treatment may vary from person to person but the results are 100% guaranteed or we give you your disease back free of charge. This magical cure is: sleep. Because sleep takes time which in turn heals all wounds.

Sleep has many positive effects on human beings. One of them for example is homeostasis; do not look so bewildered, I will tell you what it is. Homeostasis is the process by which we try to maintain a constant level or flow of something in our bodies. Say, keeping our body regulated at a constant temperature of 98.6F. Sleep helps keep all homeostatical needs - I just invented that term - stable in our bodies.

Others say it is during this period of sleep when we permanently learn or discard all the information that we stored in our brains during the day - in a manner similar to RAM on a computer. Further studies show that our brain repairs itself while we sleep. And behavioral scientists have concluded that sleep is an activity designed to bring together sexual mates everynight, therefore increasing the time they spend together further allowing to be involved in sexual activities to reproduce the species. Wow, sleep is good.

Now, you may be asking yourself how you can obtain this magial cure. It is easy! Because sleeping is a homeostasical activity in itself we need a certain amount of time dedicated to sleep. It is free! But if for some reason you are having trouble sleeping then I will share with you another magical recipe: Tylenol PM.

You read right Ladies and Gentlemen; nothing can cure broken hearts, emotional scars or hurt prides better than two, not one, not three, but two pills of Tylenol PM as indicated in the container's label. Unless of course, you are a big person like me then I fully authorize you to actually take three of them to fall fast asleep. If you actually need to be taken down like a rapid animal you can try four, but that depends a lot in your metabolism. Case in point: if you have a body complexion similar to The God of Lighting's - which should be read as barely having a body complexion at all -, then I would never, ever suggest taking more than two unless you are willing to risk sleeping forever; something I really would not recommend.

So there you have it! Solve your problems with a good night's sleep. And if the Sandman refuses to visit you with his "magic sleeping powder" made from the living flesh and blood of happy-go-lucky fairies, you can always try Tylenol PM like I did yesterday. I was completely taken out like a rock with four of the damn little buggers. BAM! Did not know what hit me.

But wait! If you call right now we will give you a free month's sample of Pepto Bismol, to keep things tidy in your belly. This way you can prevent any explosive activities in your colon while paying a hard, cold visit to Neverland. Aaah. Tylenol PM and Pepto Bismol... a match made in heaven.

Thank you Tylenol PM!

Why the Biggest Ass in the World doesn't care for chickens

2005-07-26T23:49:00.000-06:00

Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

For reason unknown and beyond my bare, human, limited and mortal comprehension suddenly many people I know have turned into animal protectors of sorts; some even turning to PETA *shudders at thought* and with certain iniciations into the vegetarian lifestyle. I try to respect most people and their beliefs, yes, but vegetarians do not quite make click on my head. I do not know what it is exactly, but I ask myself: "How can I trust a person who does not eat good, tasty and greasy barbecue with his bare fingers like the vile animals we are supposed to be?"

It so happens that one day, for further reasons unknown, I find myself at a bar where they are serving free meat - yes, you read right, 100% free. Of course this stirs up some convesation between my companions and suddenly they are telling the Holy Athenian Knight about how KFC breeds and kills their chicken. If I must be honest, I was not paying much attention but I did gather it was kinda gory, messy and sometimes not quite... succesful resulting in the live-roasting of the chicken. Hum, yummy!

The Holy Athenian Knight was impressed and upset. Like he had pictured all the headless, tortured, squished and cut-up chicken in his head. After some general expressions of disgoust in the table I promptly and non-galantly add: "Want to know what I think?" I make a strategically well put silence to get their attention as they all stare at me with anticipation; tricks of the trade you learn with acting: timing. After a second that must have seen like an eternity to my audience I finally respond: "Does it matter?"

Questioning eyebrowns are raised. Wide open eyes stare back at me. Some recoil with aversion. The Holy Athenian Knight exclaims: "Dude... it's torture... c'mon." To this, I proceed to explain to them my reasoning: Does it matter how they kill the poor thing? It is still going to be killed and served in my plate for me to munch on. So, does it matter at all? Yes, I do understand it might not be in the prettiest of ways, maybe some ways of killing cattle are way too harsh but in the end their are still gonna be dead and I am still going to eat them.

Out from the faces of shock at my, I must admit, heartless words I notice a dead-cold stare looking straight at me as if wanting to pierce a cold sword thru my skull. The Annoying Voice tells me with sincere bewilderment and poison in her voice: "You know, sometimes I do not understand you. How can you be so heartless and emotionless and be an actor?" Wow, some would have been taken back to lick their wounds. But I had my answer: "Just imagine! I am so good at pretending I have emotions, that I even win Best Actor in a Starring Role awards!" Following act: I bite me free meat.

Yet, when I come down to think about it, there really are reasons for me to be so heartless and maybe on certain ocassions pretend to be so to hide my emotional - or shall we say, weak side - from the others. It is ocassions like these when I open up my true self and suddenly start letting the emotions flow through because of something or someone. I cherish them and I live them; like fantasies and images floating around the air of things I long, passions and care.

But what heppens then? People do not show up at appointed times; people dismiss my signs of appreciation; people take my dreams away; people call me mediocre; friends disappear and barely remember me; dogs piss on my boots. And when you sum it all up let me put it in a pretty good mental picture of the idea: It is like this three stage circus announcer standing with a piece of my heart in his hands speaking to the public:

"Ladies and gentlemen! In my hand I have right now a piece of The World's Biggest Asshole's heart. For your entertainement I will now squish, spit and step on it. Afterwards you will able to see an amazing, incredible and jurassic mega fat japanese sumo whom we have carefully selected to have the most hairy, sweatty and smelly behind will take a huge dump on the piece of heart. Then he shall take it and clean his hairy, sweatty behind with it but not without first taking on the world's longest pee on a heart world record. Afterwards we shall set it on fire and finally, and ladies and gentlemen this is not for the faint of heart - any pregnant women or people with medical conditions please leave the stage; we will flush it down the toilet!" *flush* *insert general gasp from the audience, ladies pass out, men squirm in their seats and children burst in laughter*

So forgive me If I do not care for the poor chickens.

Generations

2005-07-24T21:52:00.000-06:00

Welcome back my friend to the blog that never ends; we're so glad you came along, move along, move alone.

Something of note happened yesterday; there was this party that involved the reunion of people from my secondary school, which is something like 7-9th grade for you Americans. And as it so happens that I do not get along or have been keeping contact with most of those people I decided to happily go since, as they say, curiosity was killing me like a cat. Curiosity to know what had been of their lives.

Or rather, if they had life at all.

My first surprise was when some people did not recognize me at first sight and to some I actually had to say who I was to enlighten their minds. Instead of being upset by it I actually found it pretty comic. Have I changed so much? Hell, I looked at them and immediatly I knew who they were or at least knew I was supposed to know them but found no correlation of their mugs to a name in my brain's synapses. Maybe my overgrown hair and beard where not what they were expecting at all.

So, you know, these are people you have not seen for seven years; therefore you tried to catch up with some of them... gossip... you know... the usual... who's gotten pregnant, who died, memories of that king sized schitt at the toilet, breaking windows with the football and old, crazy teachers. I got to be honest, others I did not care if they were there or not, if they were studying or not and pretty much less interested if they were actually alive. Yet I have to say some cought me by surprise; suddenly people who had never done well in math are studying Aerospace and Mechanical Engineering like it's kindergarten to them.

Maybe in some ways that cought me off guard. I will not beat around the bush and say that yes, I was... am... somewhat of your classical geek, intelligent guy. Somewhat being the keyword. So I felt kinda odd when people asked me what I was studying and I answered non-galantly: "Well, I pretend to study computer system engineering in my free time. But I mostly spend my time in theater." My take is that the twisted, funny faced they did were because one of two reasons:

They did not expect me, who came out the 2nd highest grade average at the time, to be wasting his brain and time in such a stupid and worthless activity such as theater; or
Now that I think about it, my answer sounds a bit like computer system engineering is kindergarten to me... heh... and they thought I was insulting their intelligence.

... not that I think about it... the worst part is probably I am wasting my brain and time in theater, computer system engineering is like kindergarten to me to some of them I was insulting their intelligence.

I'm such a devil.

And then I spent around four hours of my life talking to people whom I had not crossed a word even back then when we were at school. It made me wonder: "Why? Why the hell did we not get along back in the old days? What was it that even made us antagonist at some points?" If I must be honest, I had a good time and the changes on some of us from back at that time to now are funny and grand. I wonder where we will all end up in....

Still, another matter arises that also circles around my head. Speaking to another friend he suddenly asks: "Who are these people? Do I know them?" He makes a clear point when you think about it. Though we spent three years of our lives together, and with some even up to nine/ten years, it has been over 7 years since the last time we saw or even spoke to one another. Who are these people indeed.

Yes, I walked in and some greeted by name, others I had to think a little about it before remembering and other I had to pretend I knew who they were and then ask another person who the heck that was. After picking a safe spot with the prescious few friend whom I kept contect with there was silence. Who are all those strangers whose faces I remember, names I know and laughter once shared? After seven years of not knowing anything about them it is like meeting someone new for the first time. A blank page.

Perfect strangers. In the end that's what they are.

Why the World's Biggest Ass doesn't lead a country

2005-07-21T11:21:00.000-06:00

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

I intended to put all my memories from my trip to the Old World in here. But see here, my memory works in misterious ways and I barely remember what I did yesterday.

... okay, that was a plain lie for all to see. I do remember what I did yesterday since it is the reason I have now self-proclaimed my self with the honorable title of "The World's Biggest Asshole." And no, you cannot be a contestant for it. Back in the day, if you remember my second post I called myself an ass; yesterday's story is somewhat related. You can see that here.

But that, as they say, is a story for another day maybe.

Right now, I'm going to write to you about why I don't lead a country. Today, or yesterday rather, London was attacked again; not as big as last time but yet it makes me red with anger. You see, if back in 9/11 I had lead the US, after the images of the people in Irak dancing and smiling because of the attacks I would have used my Executive Powers over the Navy to say: "Wipe the smile off the faces of those children. By any means necesary." Afterwards I would have made sure Baghdad were not in the map anymore; just as a clear point nobody threatens my country like that.

Had I been Blair on July 7 I would have come out and said: "Well, we are here at the G8 Summit trying to work something out to help other countries. Yet, I have about a thousand manifestants outside interfering our work. And after these attacks I think I understand the message you are trying to give us: you certainly don't want our help. So as far as I am concerned, we can all pack our bags and go home to our beds and wives. Good evening, hope you don't die of hunger."

And now, here they go again with the same blues.

Not only that. Want to know more irony? The Live 8 concert was to stop poverty and hunger in Africa. I will and cannot deny it is a noble objective. Still a day after the concert took place I was in Versalles where they were taking apart all the concert's structures and all schitt. But what amazed me was the amounts, and I mean huge amounts of this:

Big piles of wasted bread not consumed in the concert thrown on the streets to rot. My take? Nice way to stop hunger in Africa guys. Would it not be more coherent to send that unused bread over to the hungry? Nah, it is too expensive I guess; at least more expensive than just throwing it in the streets to grow fungus. Oh yeah, but we take the soda back to the warehouse.

For some reason I think we could officially label all this "terrorism" World War III, because that is clearly what it is: a war. And that too is the reason why The World's Biggest Asshole doesn't lead a country; because that is exactly how he would interpret it. Luckily I am just a Computer System Engineering student whom's career doesn't appear in the school's plans anymore and pretends to be an actor in his free time all the while managing to be The World's Biggest Asshole. Which, if I so kindly add, is not an easy job. No sire.

In any case, if you want to find out how good I would be at leading a country you can always check The Rogue Nation of Naked Dancing Chimps by clicking this link over here. It is still a young nation, but maybe one day it will flourish.

Ladies and Gentlement, the World's Biggest Asshole is leaving the stage. *bows* Thank you for your attention.

The Old World

2005-06-16T06:15:00.000-06:00

Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

I'm going to make some notes about my trip to Prague. Because, if you did not know, right now I find myself in a trip to Prague to "study" Programming for Artificial Intelligence and Computer Animation.... suuuuuure. First and foremost let me tell you something of greater importance: British Coke tastes different than US and Mexican Coke. It appears to be less sweet.

Those of you who know something about me know I live on a diet based on Coke and Doritos. As a programmer I should get my caffeine from coffee; but it so happens I do not like coffee -yet- so I get my fuel from good ol' Coke.

I think I do not like coffee because I like sweet things. Therefore, finding Coke not to be as sweet as I'm used to is... well... disturbing. And yeah, me liking sweet is also a hint for the ladies out there *wink wink nudge nudge*

The next thing that surprised me is that people look exactly like humans on my continent. You know, one head, a pair of legs, five fingers on each hand and so on and so forth. The only noticiable difference is that they intend to communicate with me based on gutural yet elegant noises that I am only left ot believe it is some form of language beyon my comprehension. What do I do, you ask? I cover my nose. Just like that. Smile and turn away.

For your information, I write this from the UK Airpot Hearthrow. I just finished my Coke and intend to walk into a bookstore and find out what this foreign aliens read. Still three hours to departure to Prague.

... *some time passes by as I got to a book store, eat and to the bathroom*...

Say hello to the first European toilet to meet my arse!

Let me tell you, instead of using paper towels to clean your hands adter you wash, they have this rolled up cloth that keeps rolling and rolling. I wonder if they clean it. I know the point is to save trees from extinction, but what if a very sick, depraved and perverted person did naughty things in the toilet? Yes, I am talking about masturbation. And then he rolled on that blue/white cloth to clean his hand off! In which I then clean my hands! I do not know about you, but I preffer a dead tree over my hands being covered in other people's sperm... gee... Europeans sure are open minded.

Just look at this.

Yeah, condom vending machines do exist where I come from. But look closer. Try harder. See the tagline? "Take this on board." It is an open invitation to join the Mile High Club!

I realized then I'm in a foreign country. Have you ever seen those CDs at FYE or BestBuy with an "Import" label on them? Well, they are imported from European countries. Where am I at? Europe. What should I do? Go look for horror movies that:

Have been releasead as censored/cut versions on the US.
Will be released as censored/cut versions this year or the next.
Lion Gate Films is still negotiating the right to release it as a censored/cut version sometime.

And so I did, and I've gotten my hands on some real gems baby. I shall look for more odd foreign movies to take back home. I also bought a book... I'm such a compulsive buyer.

*****************************************

This is all for the moment. I will write about Satan's Piss and the School in which I'm studying later. Now I shall pretend to put attention in my class.

Burn the client!

2005-06-08T09:24:00.000-06:00

Finally I meet a real world client. Yeah, you know the kind; the one that is your "boss" and will pay you for developing a little system. Sure... little... HAH!

Actually, at this very moment I find myself developing, while I dream of World of WarCraft and a Dove. But all is not lost; there is a big arse glass of ice cold Coke on my desk and some Doritos on my side.

There is still hope.

A Pleasure of Life

2005-06-02T23:38:00.000-06:00

Hello!

Yes my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I have not written because I have been absorbed by a non-existant universe called World of WarCraft. It is very funny, because in a way it is like another life, in the sense that you get to pick out professions your character can do which enables you to set up an item/services store for other characters; you can make relationships with other people; you could quest, etc. Basically you can do pretty much what you do in real life. You can even take the clothes off your character and set him to dance with the /dance command.

And yes, you can get paid virtual money for it.

But that is not the point, and even if it were I do not expect you, my Ol' Three Faithful Readers to be interested in the geekyness of that business. I'm here to talk to you about one of the greatest pleasures of life; it is so great it can even be ranked up there with hardcore, rude, kinky, sweaty, undiscriminated sex. I'm talking about diarrhea.

Yes, you read right. Diarrhea is one of the greatest pleasures of life. The more explosive the better. Think about it, it is even a twofold pleasure! You get to enjoy eating all that food; enormous, gigantic and jurassic amounts of tasty, sweet food that can barely fit in your stomach. The bacon, jam, nerds, salad, turkey, cheese, everything! And you enjoy it, you enjoy eating food like a pig, as if there was no tomorrow coming and this was the last time you will eat in your whole existance.

Gluttony may be a sin, but it is one of the most enjoyable (along with lust, hehehe).

And then, after all that: the gurgle in your stomach. You find yourself in the car, driving back home after eating all you could from the buffet by the school; you have to make the best out of those $6.99 you paid! Trying to calm yourself, you think it was not your stomach gurgling, but maybe a bumb in the street... yes, that is right, a bump. *insert nervous laugh* Absent minded you continue to drive a little and come to a stop light. Something moves in your belly, something liquid, something explosive. Urgently you beg the light to turn green, now!

Finally it does, and you step on it. Power to the metal. Friggin' old lady driving at 30 miles per hour; a student driver barely controlling the car; a trucker and the mom taking the car pool of kids to the football game. But alas! You reach home, and the explosive volcano inside of you is not only gurgling but treating with exploding right now, right there and then. You run as fast as you can with your buttocks pressed together as tight as you can to the restroom. Aaaaah, finally, it is there. Salvation.

No! Your sister is inside! It cannot be! Frantically you search for a cork, something to stop the eminent explosion from happening for a while longer. Hand beating down on the door; curses filling the air. It moves again, inside you, the diarrhea is coming to its explosive end at the hallway. Ah, your sister comes out with a thousand word stare in her eyes. You enter the restroom, and as you are taking your pants down you can feel the monster inside yell: "LET ME OUT NOW!" By the gods! The zipper got stuck! Hold it, hold it! Press tighter! There, it's fixed, pull the underwear down and just as your behind cheeks touch the dead, ceramic toilet, it explodes. BANG! SPLASH!

Relief. Pleasure.

Need I say more? We have all been there. I know it, you know it.

Why the Sith rule

2005-05-22T23:26:00.000-06:00

I just saw Episode III; and although I believe it is a good movie, and it does certainly make up for the past two Episodes as well as ties up all loose ends very nicely with a tidy bow, there are still certain... questions it leaves unanswered. Questions that won't let me sleep.

Where do the Jedi get all their capes?

Think about it, they are always wearing those brown colored capes all the time. Just before a battle starts they take the cape thing off for the fight; they begin swinging their lightsabers around, jumping, dancing and the usual Jedi stuff. After the fight ends, they just leave; not once did I see them go and pick up their robes. Not even Yoda, the great Jedi Master took the sweet decency of grabbing his cape back. And considering his size, I bet it is real hard for him to find robes that fit him.

Where do they get the money to buy them? Actually... I don't think they buy them at all. See that scene where Obi-Wan is so concerned because Anakin/Vader killed the younglings and Padawans? It is not because he brutally killed them that he was concerned, is because they are the ones in charge of manufacturing the Jedi robes! Without them there would be no more Jedi capes for him to wear! Yes, it makes perfect sense now; younglings' training deals with confectioning the capes for the Jedi Masters. Bah! No wonder the Sith rebelled, friggin' Jedi and their child labor.

Why do they call it Light side? Is it dietetic? Does it mean that by being on the Light Side of the Force I have to become vegetarian? Be fit?

But you know, the Sith philosophy actually makes some sense. I mean, it is very pragmatic to tell people just the light side of things; just how they should be done. Whereas knowing there is a dark side to things allows one to take better decisions; just knowing one side of the story takes away all individuality and power of decision making. "Hey, you see, this is the Light Side; it is what we thought you. But there is also a Dark Side, concerning this and that. You can look for it, but do not expect us to take you back with open arms when you come back all burned up inside." Oh no, instead they say: "Either you do it our way, or we'll kill your right there and then."

Let me make my decisions, but this also means being conscious about the responsibilities your decision carries. At any moment I can decide if I want to steal, murder, cheat or not; but at that very same moment I know I broke certain laws and I must deal with it too. Aaaaah, maturity. It is a wonderful thing. Better teach the youglings and Padawans to be mature and responsible.

Plus, I never did see a Sith lose his robe. They know how to take care for their schitt.

Okay, something a little serious

2005-05-17T01:07:00.000-06:00

I was just reading about this girl that was kidnapped; this whole search thing began as an effort try to find her. Rewards were offered, posters where glued, news where aired on TV and the newspapers printed ads asking for information. After something like a week later, the little girl - seven years old I believe - was found tortured, raped, murdered and in a trash can with lots and lots of concrete on top.

Nice.

This is just the background for what I really want to reflect upon. Some people are bashing TV stations and all around the news because they spend around 400 hours dealing with the murder of a famous TV star... okay... maybe she was not even really famous - I did not know who the heck she was - but the point is it had a lot more coverage than the little girl had. Total coverage dealing with news regarding the little girl: around 10 hours at most.

Some think this makes no sense because in a way, finding this little girl and the kidnapper is more important than a star dying. The other day I read this whole article of another star who got her car stolen; every gossip spreading program wes filled with video segments interviewing the poor, poor TV star who wins millions of bucks who can easily buy another car. Is the little girl more important? Or at least, just as important? Aren't news reports dealing with violence on the streets more important than talking about Pitt's break up with Anniston -read all about it here , by the way; girls, you have a chance. Maybe it is more socially important to debate about gay marriages than Martha Stewart's Emmy award?

No, it is not.

At least, not from my point of view. I already know the world is a shitty place. The last thing I need is TV programs spending 400 hours reminding me of how we rape, torture and kill little girls. The last thing I need is the newspapers reminding me about the shooting last night involving narcs, leaving 4 people dead and 2 more in critical condition on the hospital. Hell! Don't we turn on the TV to forget a little about the world? As a mean of entertainment? To release stress? Then indeed I believe talking about the poor, poor millionare TV star's stolen car is far more appropriate and entertaining to me than a murdered girl - unless, of course, you have serious issues.

I call that explotaition TV, making use of human emotions and other people's suffering to increase rating.

Just take note, I am not saying the Idiot Box entertaining us, making us forget the real world and turning us into mindless drones is okay either. See here, I do not even watch TV... okay... maybe I do from time to time, but not fanatically - unless it is NipTuck, I love that thing. I am just saying that whenever I turn the TV on, I do it to forget about the real world for a while. To live in a world of magic, to be transported into the life and times of all those fantastic characters living in a box. Way I see it, the TV's social function is to entertain us the same way alcohol, cigars and music do and therefore must be taken with measure, in small doses; the same way your mother used to tell you playing too much Nintendo would suck your brain? She was not saying Nintendo is bad, just that too much might be harmful; too much TV might be harmful; too much alcohol might be harmful. The trick is to find the right doses for just about right entertainment. And that, is something completely up to the user's responsability.

But when I want to know about real life, I will make sure to look out the window.

How?!

2005-05-17T00:21:00.000-06:00

This is a quick post my Ol' Three Faithful Readers; just to do a question to the world.

Why is it everybody phones me when I am in the bathroom? Not 15 minutes ago, while I was enjoying a nice little chat in the Private Office reading my favorite magazines - and yes, I do mean reading! - when my phone began to ring. I totally and utterly hate that.

Let us forget about the phone ringing in the other room; what is worse is when your cellphone rings. Picture this: you are in the bathroom... no no no... a public restroom; just chilling, sittin in the Throne, doing whatever business you have to do in it. And suddenly, your pants start vibrating; the cellphone falls of the pocket of your squished, wrinkled pants into the yellow/greenish colored floor. Reluctantly you pick it up, and answer. It is your girlfriend, and just imagine the oddity of other people listening to someone in the Private Office talking, on the phone, to his honey bunny while taking a dump. And suddenly, *FLUSH!* Right on the phone's speaker. Ooo yeah, pretty.

From now on, if you call me when I'm in the Private Office, I swear I will throw the damn phone into the Throne and flush it!

... what the?

2005-05-11T20:03:00.000-06:00

Just a senseless side note my Ol' Three Faithful Readers: my Coke tastes funny.

I know Mexican Coke tastes different from US Coke, and no doubt different than Canadian, Spanish, German or Cambodian Coke. But this Coke tasted like normal Coke a few hours ago. Maybe if I put it in the fridge it will have back it's Coke-ish flavor. Heck! Maybe temperature is part of the secret recipe for Coke to taste like Coke; or maybe the temperature hamper the effects chemicals in charge of making holes in my stomach, and when they get hot they begin to emit a funny taste as a warning, saying: "Do not drink this! It is bad for your health! It will devour you from inside!" Or maybe while I was not looking aliens took my Coke hostage and added some weird chemicals to do experiments with me!

...

... or maybe it just needs to be cold in order to be refreshing...

...

In any case I will put it in the fridge for and hour or two.

Something that Freaks Me Out

2005-05-11T19:44:00.000-06:00

People with Strabismus.

This illness is also known as eye turns, crossed eyes, wandering eyes or deviating eye. Note this is different to what is known as Lazy Eye, which is just one eye losing visibility. Strabismus on the other hand deals with one eye being deviated either inward (esotropia) or outward (exotropia). There's a lot other conditions that have to do with strabismus, you can check it out on here.

Why is this freaky to me? Because I never know what eye is actually seeing me! Furthermore, I tend to look at people in the eyes when I am talking to them; what eye am I supposed to see? Completely upsets my mind.

I wonder... can they look at two things at the same time? Pretty much like lizards do? Because in a certain way that is actually cool; you can be putting attention at whatever is happening in front of you -like, me talking for example, or a teacher giving a class- and use your other eye to look at that fine USDA Approved Meat Goddesses passing by in hope of the wind raising up her skirt.

Maybe that is what adds a certain freakyness to the movie May, the fact that the main character has a deviated eye... okay, she also has very serious issues. Oh yeah, check that movie out, May rules! You can read the review at Bloody Disgusting by clicking, right ---> here <---. From that movie onward I decided Angela Bettis rocks my socks.

Somehow those kind of illness that are plain visible make people have the creepies because... because... I do not know. Maybe we are remembered of our own "normality" and mediocrity. This is funny because people who have a certain disabilities are far more tenacious than us "normal" people. Just check this out: last year, on the 2004 Olympic Games, Mexico got only 3 silver medals and 1 bronze medals. On the same year's Paralympic Games we got 14 gold, 10 silver and 10 bronze.

I do not know about you, but to me this is a slap in the face. Here we are, us "normal," "complete" and "sane" people and we cannot show as much discipline and dedication as the "disabled." What is it? Do we need to lose a leg, have a birth problem or just lose some of our capabilities to fight for what we want? Those people have fought with all their hearts and look were it has gotten them; top of the world ma'! Maybe it is time we take a cue too, no?

This is KillerFry, over and out.

The Ultimate Test

2005-05-10T11:50:00.000-06:00

How do you know what you see around you is really real? How can you be sure you are not living in some sort of Matrix? Is there really a God up there? I do not have the answers to those questions, but I do know something most people do not.

I know when Chinese Food is real.

Whenever I go to eat Chinese Food in a restaurant with Real, 100% Illegal Chinese dudes cooking, I always get diarrhea. Yes! It is true my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Each and every time I eat Chinese Food it is like a bomb falling down on my stomach; just minutes -nay, sometimes seconds- after I devour the food I begin to hear gurgling, like a volcano getting ready to erupt. Ooooh yes, erupt is the right word indeed. But see, Chinese Food is so delicious that even though I know this will undoubtly happen, I still eat it with great joy and happyness. Explosive diarrhea is but a small price to be paid for the pleasures of Chinese Food.

My take on this? Maybe it is some spice chefs use on the food that upsets my belly.

Just the other day I ordered Chinese Food, and I was ready for the eruption afterwards. And you know what happened? It did not come. I wondered why the heck it had not come?! Where is my gurgling?! I miss it! It meant that whoever had cooked the food did not use that magical, special and lovable spice that my stomach fears. It means the cook was not really chinese; because Real, 100% Illegal Chinese dudes use that spice my body lusts for.

Hence I have developed the Ultimate Chinese Food Test: if I must go to the bathroom immediately after eating Chinese Food, then it is real; and the sooner I must go, the better the food was. If on the contrary I do not have the need to go to the Private Office, then it is fake Chinese Food.

Now, I'm ready for today's eruption. Pass me the phone! I must order Chinese Food!

Signs

2005-05-09T19:03:00.000-06:00

Greetings my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

As you can see, I'm turning into a regular posting kinda person, since I have more "free" time -somehow I manage to get involved with time consuming things, like "searching" for a job. And let me begin the controversy by telling you something that might make some cry, others curse and some will become nay-sayers; I know the Pretty Assistant will do all three of them plus punch me in the nose.

Paul is dead.

Yes, I am referring to Paul McCartney of The Beatles fame. No, do not turn away nor laugh at me! This actually happened; back in September 1969 the rumor began circulating stating that Paul McCartney was dead since 1966, killed in an automobile accident some day at 5:00am. Supposedly a secret contest was held to replace him with someone who looked a lot like him; William Campbell was that such person and he underwent minor surgeries to be more Pual-ish. Don't believe me? Well, you can Google "Paul is Dead" and you will find 14,100,000 pages with info. But since I know you are a bunch of lazy people, I will provide you one of the most comprehensive links I found; be sure to check it out because take it from me, it wll freak you out. After you crap your pants, change into clean undies then come back to this, your humble servant's blog, and continue reading. And now, without further ado, for your enjoyment, Ladies and Gentlemen, just click here .

*sits back, grabs his Coke and listens to music*

Welcome back!

Wasn't that fun, eh? If I must be honest, I really don't mind much about all that Paul is Dead thing; personally I think it was a marketing ploy. Nevertheless, if it turned out to be true then we have all been taken for the fools we are. It would become something like, the ultimate joke. Andy Kaufman, eat your heart out. Meanwhile this made me think of a subject entirely different.

See here, have you not ever become obsessed with something? Easiest example, with a number. Then suddenly you find yourself looking at that number everywhere! You see it on street adresses, on television programs, ads, people's underwear, your pet's barking sounds like that number and if you convert your name's letters to their number in the alphabet equivalent, add them up, multiply them by 3 and do a 2's Complement of the binary result, guess what you get? You're righ! That number you are obsessed with!

It not only happens with numbers, another great example would be something along the lines of becoming obsessed with a girl -not that it ever happened to me. Suddenly you start seeing her everywhere, you realize your names have the same number of letters and then you start wondering if that wink she gave you the other day probably meant something. And when she hugs you, could it be she is onto you and your juicy buttocks? Then one day she phones you because she's bored; could it mean she just wanted to hear your sweet voice?

Odd are, the answer to all of those questions is: You freak! I bet she really was just bored and decided she wanted you for a clown at that moment. She hugged you because no one else was around and she winked her eye because dust had fallen on her eye. But it is one's obsession that turns everything around him into this one big sign from the Powers That Be because deep down, we hope and pray they are for real.

EVP, or Electronic Voice Phenomenon, made popular thanks to the movie White Noise, is another example. If you scan white noise long enough you will eventually find a signal wheter it is there or not. Remember when subliminal messages when you play a song backwards became popular? Yes, if your mind is set to it you will start listening to all sort of hidden messages because you are willing to. In other words, you will trick your own mind to whatever you want and start seeing signs from The Powers That Be all around you.

And why is this? Well, the human brain works by making connections between patterns. If A then B, and B is to C. *BANG* A is to C. We make associations of everything we look around us and that is how memories and learning is conducted in the brain. Patterns. Don't believe me? Then let us conduct a little eprexmeint, you might rmeemebr an email stating that if wrod's letters are mislaigned, as long as the first and lsat letters are in the right place, the barin will not notice and still read the word fine...

*lets you thing about what just happened for a minute*

See? Patterns. The brain looks for patterns all around us. We try to understand everything by making correlations between things; unfortunately the system is not always perfect and from time to time we make false associations, which then turn into superstitions such as "if I wear my underwear for three days straight, I will do fine on my test" or "wear red underwear on New Year's Eve and you will have a sex-driven year" and blah blah blah. And that's the reason why when men could not find a logical explanation to thunder, they made up some holy power above and it is all fixed. Heck! From time to time we still question the Powers That Be when we cannot comprehend something. "Why God?! Why did I get diaherrea before my test?!" Blame it on the burritos. We should learn to be more analitical of what we see lest we begin creating false worlds and hopes in our minds. Or else, just like the dude who began this whole "Paul is Dead" hoax, we might just start seeing things all around is that aren't there.

But meanwhile, I will wear red underwear come next New Year's Eve.

Lest I forget!

2005-05-08T23:12:00.000-06:00

Oh! Before I forget; remember my philosophy: To be the best, you have work with the best.

Thanks to everyone who helped in Metamorphoses!

The Producer and Director: In many ways I hope none of you are reading this, because it would be freaky. Still, thanks for this great oportunity!
The Right Hand: You might not be reading this, but thanks for helping us through the play; the restless night worrying about us and making sure everything was alright. Your work really pulled us through!
Mom Away From Home: Thanks for your neverending support, and this time thanks for being the light that shone on stage; without you everything would have been pretty dark on and off stage.
Pretty Assistant: Once again in the audio chores, thanks for being our voice to the audience and specially for that smile and hugs that gives us joy and hope. And yes, thanks for your stress fits, they make you look prettier :P
Carrot Head: Hey man! It is always a pleasure to share the stage with you. And no matter what I know that when it comes to the craft, you are always a step above everyone else.
Wally the Intern: Nice job, but not as good as your mom's! It was nice working with you dude. Cheers!
Chewie: Never had I met such a lively assitant man, thanks for always being there ready to dress us up and all around support!
The Rest of the Cast/Staff: Thanks for the good times and it has been a pleasure working with you!
My Dove: Thanks for existing, because in that rushed and hard pressed week of final rehearsals, proyects and what-not, the thought of you set my mind and heart to peace.
The PM (Project Manager): Thanks for your patience, since without it I would not have been able to finish the compilers proyect while I was "playing" to be an artist. Really, really, thank you.

And thanks to everyone who came by to see us, I hope that you enjoyed the show! For those who did not come, please step by next semester. And for those who did, come join us again! It is always a pleasure to play the fool for you ;)

And like that...

2005-05-08T13:31:00.000-06:00

... it ends.

Yes, I still have two more final exams to do and a final presentation. Still they mean nothing, piece of cake. Bah! In other words I am free to do as I please now; at least for a few days. So I sit with a 2L bottle of Sprite and some Doritos by my computer and read, write, play games and watch movies; pretty much everything I did not do while I was in school.

For those of you who are lazy and did not read Infinity, the summary is this: Growing old is inevitable, growing up is optional.

Well... much has happened since my last post here, and if you want me to be honest, most of it I have blocked from my mind. The sleepless hours trying to make the compiler work, restless hours coding our e-Business Web page, and the such. Other things I do want to remember, like Metamorphoses. Yeah, let me tell you about the play.

It came out pretty good. More than just pretty good. All problems it had aside, it was a hit; just on the first night we had the amount of audience other plays have in a whole weekend. Very flashy stuff. I did not read the newspaper review, but it was along the lines that it was okay; to those keeping the score this meant a lot for the school since the reviewer was a very harsh and feared critic with the fame of tearing apart everything she critics. Hence the reviewer saying the play was more than just okay meant a lot to the producers. It also mentioned my performance sticking out from the others for "superb character versatility and control of the scenery."

...

I do not know what that means, but I guess it is good that I have it.

Honestly my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, it is always good to read stuff like that to boost the ego, and some argue that we theater people like attention and that is why we stand up on the spotlight. But what leaves me blinking in bewilderment is that in no point I feel this was my best performance. As in, not at all. Not even remotely one of the good ones. Yeah, maybe it was very showy with the play being in open air, in the middle of a pool and characters coming out of the water; how is that not going to deserve the audience's awe? But all this flashyness does not necessarily mean the performances were excellent. Hell, you could argue that such great and pompous productions exist only to make up for the actor's lack of talent.

There were other, more conventional plays that did not receive such attention, or any attention, in which I feel I did better performances. And if the play does not receive attention, much less will the actors. But I will not complain because deep down it is those meh-ish plays that really do mean something to me and define who I am without caring what other people out there think.

And wanna know something more comical? Most of those performances I like are the ones in which I did characters which I did not like! Some days ago I read in Scientific American that the male brain works in such a way that it learns better under stress. If we, in a very un-scientific way, extrapolate this to the way in which men perform, then we could say we men perform better under stress. Ergo, the stress of doing a character I did not like made me perform better. And there you go!

... *thinks about that last statement for a second*...

Of course... we could also then say men perform better under the stress of having sex with a mutant-lady they do not like... which is untrue. So better scratch off my un-scientific theories. Hey! Do not mind me! I'm just an dude studying Computer Science who pretends to be and Actor on his free time. Let us leave science to lab-coats.

But if people out there say that what I feel to be my loose performances are excellent, then I will not contradict them. It only comes to prove that sometimes critics do not know schitt about what they are writing, something we had already proved with movie critics anyway. They want to say I did a great performance? Let them.

I will sit down, lay back, drink my Sprite, eat my Doritos and not complain about it.

Me pregunto...

2005-04-30T03:51:00.001-06:00

Cuando te carga el payaso... si, ese payaso, el más deprimente del centro; el más feo, mal oliente y mal vestido de todos; con chistes malos, una risa que haría orgulloso a satanás y cabello quemado... cuando ese payaso te carga... ¿A dónde te lleva?

Pronto lo averiguaré.

Infinity

2005-04-26T11:14:00.000-06:00

I found a little free time, so I will write something completely different. Oh yeah, as you can see I'm back to writing in English. You see, I was reading a document... that had to deal... with... hum... I don't remember. Oh yeah! It was a chapter on a book dealing with transnational business and somewhere along the lines it mentioned that somehow English had become a "standard" when dealing with international stuff. Therefore, I decided to continue in English so I can reach a wider audience...

Okay... maybe I'm kidding myself; it's not like I have such a bigger audience than my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live forever? Wake up one day and feel an astonishing vibration through your body. Little by little your eyes adjust to the new day's light as you seat by the bed's edge, dazed confused if what had happened last night was just a dream. Good or bad you did not know, but something is turning around and around in your head as you try to make up the images.

You give your first step towards the shower, and find your body weak and doddering; almost as if you had a hangover pulsing against your temples so hard it was as if your eyes were abour to fall off their sockets into freespace. With an air of resignation your hands cover your face, rubbing your eyes. Finally in the mirror, you almost not recognize the face staring back at you... old... rancid... decayed.

And then you remember the dream. An angel had come in the cover of night upon you; breathing his air into you filling your lungs with such energy you could almost feel travel in the blood of your veins reaching your heart, making it beat stronger. A sweet voice resounded in your head: "A gift," the angel said talking straight to your mind. "Infinity you shall know. Your present will become dust like the path you strode on; and your future nothing but the void that is your present." You gazed into the angel's eyes, entranced at the radiant magnificence of this being engulfed in a light that burned our eyes and yet you could see. Finally the light faded out and the angel left with a smile in its face. Yet, this smile puzzled you now as much as it had then for it had not been the smile of a father but a condescending one.

You laid your head to rest expecting to awaken by dawn's ealy light. Intead of the morning, eternity came. It was so fast, like a bulldozer raging your mind as people and places now filled your head, images and voices of things that were said, pictures and pages of words you had read. There was a colleague, your brother, a coach from school, a girl on a sidewalk and a man on TV. They were all dead, and here you stood infront of the mirror with your old skin clinging to weak bones. How long had it been since that fateful night? Tears rolled down you eyes along caved pathways in your cheeks made by eternal years of quietly crying.

Many had come and gone. You never cried anymore at funerals for you now understood the joy of eternal rest; so you just stood in the back of the room smiling and wishing, wishing one day would be your turn to give up the towel and finally lie down to sleep. Each day you make your way among people unknown back to your room alone. You sit by the window and stare into the flowing river of life in the streets. Old newspapers in the table are your sole calendar, the only vestige of the life you used to lead. A woman comes by, the daughter of someone you once knew so long ago, and she tends to you. Still, you never take your sight from the young couple across the street, the stray dog by the trash container in the alley and the mother with her children. You once had kids of your own. But now they were only dust in the wind.

After so many years you came to understand your curse. Eternal life. Forever you would live as a watcher to this world, recording all that had been, is, and would be. But eternal youth you did not have, and for all eternity your body would slowly grow old and deteriorate until it would carry you no more from your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling as if praying to no avail that the Powers Above to come down at you and smite your body. But the moment just before dawn, the endless universe fills your mind for infinity.

It is not Eternal Life that we crave, it is Eternal Youth. That energy, joy and pleasure in our souls and hearts is what makes us live forever. I have seen grown men who have such vitality in their veins that all 60-something years in their bodies reflect nothing of who they are inside. Sometimes they contain more vitality inside that many of us still young. Their bodies being but vessels not big enough to contain all that energy in their existence. It is those men who carry on forever in the memories of others.

And now we realize Eternal Life is a curse. Eternal Youth is a blessing we must create.

Hum...

2005-04-26T09:44:00.000-06:00

I'm somewhat busy this week with all the school's proyects, plays and what-not. I plea my Ol' Three Faithful Readers to be patient with me.

Full red on anger!

2005-04-21T17:11:00.000-06:00

You must know The Queen is my dog. She is the best dog.

The neighbor's dog has been for some time upsetting my dogs. Now, after a fight through the door, the friggin' neigbor's dog bit off one of The Queens fingers... Let me tell you, if I was back home, I would kill that other fuckin' dog with my own hands!

People should have their dogs controlled, either on their backyard's or in their houses. But never should they let them go outside un-supervised! What if instead of my dog it had been a kid, huh? Is it okay for them to shit on everybody's house? Take out the trash out of their containers? No, it is not okay.

Jesus... really... if I get back home, and that fucking dog is alive, I swear by what I hold dear the most I will kill it and I will enjoy every damn last second as a smile runs across my face while I do it. And when finally the live fades from its eyes, I will scream out in joy and victory.

Algo que adoro y odio

2005-04-21T13:57:00.000-06:00

Como pueden ver, el día de hoy se ha converito en Double Post Day, y corre peligro de convertirse en un Triple Post Day debido a que mi ida con el dentista me ha hecho pensar muchas cosas raras, hahaha. Ya ven, Marketing se compone de la Parte 1 y Parte 2, la cual probablemente escriba más tardecito. Este pequeño post en particular es para poner en claro algo que me fastidia hasta lo más profundo de mis entrañas pero al mismo tiempo me trae muchas, muchas satisfacciones.

Carros pequeños.

¿No les ha sucedido que llegan a un estacionamiento que se encuentra abarrotado hasta el término degradante que utilizamos para referirnos a nuestros lindos posteriores que usamos para sentarnos? Y entonces llevan dando vueltas y vueltas como desquiciados cuando repente, iluminado por una luz y coro divino, alcanzan a vislumbrar un lugar libre; pisan el acelerador para que nadie les vaya a ganar el lugar. Sus ojos maníaticos se encuentran fijos sobre ese lugar y la sangre les parpadea en la frente. Comienzan a dar la vuelta para estacionar el carro cuando *¡BAM!* Hay un pequeño bocho estacionado que no tiene una cajuela lo suficientemente protuberante como para que la hubieras notado atrás de esa Expedition. Crap... derrotado te alejas del lugar no sabiendo si gritar, llorar desde lo más hondo de tu ser a los cielos o si del puro coraje embarrar tu auto contra el bocho. ¡No más de pensarlo me hierve la sangre!

Sin embargo, mi carro es un Pointer. :D Lo cual es cool porque gracias a su pequeño, compacto y jugetón diseño lo puedo estacionar en casi cualquier espacio que encuentre sin problemas. Eso, además de que en ocasiones muy especiales que necesito aventarme un efecto Matrix en medio del tráfico para cruzar de un lado al otro de la avenida, pues me es más sencillo abrirme paso entre los apretujados carros que parece se vienen oliendo el trasero como perros. ¡Es más! En alguna ocasión me tocó entrar a un estacionamiento donde por ser carro compacto te cobraban $3 pesos menos que a los otros carros. ¡No más de pensarlo me causa sonreir!

Es cómico ya que es un sentimiento de adoración y odio al mismo tiempo. Pretty much like love.

Marketing Pt. 1

2005-04-21T10:41:00.000-06:00

Vengo llegando de ir con el verdugo... ¡digo! El dentista. Pero eso no es lo importante; el punto es que me dí cuenta de cómo el mexicano común, silvestre y corriente tiene muchos conocimientos innatos del marketing; y no sólo eso, que probablemente los aplican mucho mejor que grandes corporativos.

Por alguna razón misteriosa me gusta ir con el dentista los jueves muy temprano en la mañana. Digo, a mal paso darle prisa, ¿no? Llegué al lugar en mi auto y como siempre hay que localizar un espacio para parkear. Allá a las quinientas encontré lugar; de entrada no había un cuate de los que cuidan/lavan los carros por lo que comencé a tener el gran debate eterno: "¿Cuánto tiempo tardaré con el dentista? ¿Le pongo al parquimetro -¿esa palabra existe, o es un gran americanismo? - suficiente para una hora? ¿O para dos?"

Como por arte de magia, apareció el Parking Man acompañado de una misteriosa brisa. "Qué tal güero, ¿se lo cuido?" Sé a ciencia cierta que más que cuidarme el carro per se, están más o menos al pendiente de los agentes de tránsito que revisan los parquimetros y es entonces cuando les echan moneditas de 50 centavos para que parezca que tiene dinero. Ah claro, como tienen que tener una buena imagen con el cliente, la primera monedita que le echan es de un peso, de tal manera que el cliente - lease como, yo y el civil común - se va con la idea en mente de que le están proporcionando un buen servicio. En realidad yo no me fuí pensando eso, me iba preguntando: "¿Por qué demonios desde hace un año que vengo a este lugar todos los Parking Men me dicen 'güero'?"

Después de que el verd-... doctor... me tortur-... revisó, salí de su consultorio. Y a pesar del gran sufrimiento que me trae, ¡todavía le pago! En fin, salí y me dirigí a mi carro mientras buscaba en la gran profundidad del abismo que es la bolsa de mi pantalón unas monedas para darle al Parking Man; sólo encontré una de $10 pesos - se fijan como en teoría es redundante poner tanto el signo de pesos ($) como la palabra "pesos", ya que el signo en sí es suficiente para refenciar que son pesos - y pues ni pedigree, qué le voy a hacer. Además, probablemente él necesita más esos pesillos que yo.

Llego a mi carro, y no veo por ningún lado al Parking Man. Me detengo un momento estupefacto, pues yo creería que estarían muy al pendiente de los clientes que regresan a pagar, pero no se veía en las cercanías. Eché otro vistazo, miré a mi alrededor. Nada. Se había esfumado. Me encongí de hombros y volví a mandar la moneda de $10 al abismo de mi pantalón; abrí la puerta y me proponía a entrar cuando de repente apareció el Parking Man al lado de un carro tres espacios al lado del mío. No lo había visto porque se encontraba lavando el carro - que por cierto, era un mustang - y había estado agachado. De ipso facto busqué de nuevo la moneda al mismo tiempo que levanté la mano para indicarle que le iba a pagar. ¿Saben qué hizo el cuate? Sonrió y dijo: "¡Nos vemos güero!"

What in the friggin' poop?!

¿Por qué dejó ir el dinero? ¿Por qué no vino rápidamente por su pago? ¿Y por qué me siguen llamado güero? Pues así por las buenas me ahorré mis $10 y me subí a mi carro, arranqué y me fuí sin pensarlo una segunda vez. Pero me fuí masticando porqué no vino, y por fin llegué a una respuesta. Yo le iba a dar unos tristes $10 pesos, cuando por lavar el carro va a ganar $80 pesucos - ¡Hey! "Hasta armoról le ponemos a la llantas jefecito, quedarán como nuevas". Pero claro que le conviene olvidarse del pez pequeño e ir por el pez gordo - aunque probablemente yo estuviera más gordo que el dueño de ese mustang - pues yo representaba una pequeña ganancia para él; mejor se preocupa por ofrecerle un servicio satisfactorio al dueño del Mustang para entonces cobrar $80, que de entrada son $70 más que lo que le iba a dar, y si agarra de buenas al tipo que encuentra su carro rechinando de limpio hasta le deja el billete de $100 completito.

Como pueden ver, y Supermarioneta Divina no me dejará mentir, el Parking Man tenía suficientes conocimientos innatos para conocer conceptos como Servicio al Cliente - "Buenos días güero, ¿cómo le va?" -; evitar la Disonancia Cognoscitiva - al echar la moneda de peso para que me vaya feliz -; control total de la Plaza - está parado justo al lado de los parquimetros -; Core Product Features - lavar el carro y ponerle 'armoról' -; Estrategias de Producto - te cuida y el carro y "de pasada se lo lavo jefecito"- y el concepto de Clientes Empresariales - preocuparse por el cuate del Mustang antes que el del triste Pointer.

¿Y saben qué es lo mejor? El Parking Man es un tipo salido de la calle que aprendió todo esto por experiencia, y tras largos años de práctica se ha convertido en todo un maestro en el manejo de la estrategia del negocio. Todo esto sin tener que estudiar, matarse haciendo proyectos, escuchar a profes aburridos, partirse la madre con equipos pedorros ni pagar $50,000 al semestre durante 5 años.

Pero aún no logro resolver el enigma... ¿por qué me llaman güero?

Muahaha!

2005-04-20T19:26:00.000-06:00

Hola!

Como pueden ver mis queridos Tres Lectores, el día de hoy el blog está escrito en español. *insert evil laughter here* Esto es porque comencé a sentirme un poco discriminado ya que todos los demás blogs que se encuetran en la sección de links, dicese a la derecha de este escrito, están escritos en español.

[Ahí están los culpables] ------------------------------------>

Entonces como les decía, casi me sentí un poco remotamente mal. Decidí entonces hacer unos cuantos... ven, por eso no me gusta escribir de repente en español... ¿cuál es la traducción de entries? Okay, el punto es que hare unos cuantos posts en español a ver qué carajones [Carajos + Cojones] sale.

El día de hoy ha sido muy especial. Por una razón: desde la mañana digamos que no amanecí de la mejor disposición para hacer las cosas. Sin embargo tenía sesión de fotografías para el programa de mano de Metamorfosis -la obra en la que participaré próximamente- así que me levanté con todo el dolor y pesar de mi corazón... más bien el pesar de mi huejera [Hueva + Flojera, I think only my sister knew that one beforehand] y me dirigí a la regadera en donde... bueno, a fin de cuentas que les importa lo que haya hecho en la regadera. Fuí a la sesión y me dí cuenta que cometí un error grande: ir recién bañado. ¿Por qué, se preguntan? Pues porque mi cabello está mojado y relamido por lo mismo, y me hubiera gustado salir con el cabello esponjado y que se note que está largo. Además que no me dejaron tomarme la foto con camisa de fuerza. Yes, I am being serious.

De cualquier manera, después de eso recordé todas las chácharas que tengo que hacer entre proyectos, lavar el carro, ensayos, lavar ropa, ir al baño y respirar. Cabeza de Zanahoria estaba igual que yo; fuimos a comer, filosofamos un poco de la vida, y partimos a ensayo de Drácula eventualmente.

Sí, vamos a "montar" Drácula.

Lo pongo entre comillas porque de entrada es una versión demasiado bizarra de Drácula, hehehe. Salgo de Renfield, razón por la que tengo una camisa de fuerza en mi cuarto en estos momentos. I told you I was being serious. Eso y que sólo tuvimos dos semanas para hacer todo el trabajo. El punto es que era un desmother el que traíamos y, sinceramente aunque sé que algunos de los miembros están leyendo esto, no creo que avanzamos mucho.

Con toda la pesadumbre del mundo, Cabeza de Zanahoria y yo fuímos a ver que show con detalles del vestuario de Metamorfosis. En el camino vimos una parejita de novios que iban muy tomados de la mano. Ella iba muy sonriente, caminando con brinquitos de caperucita roja por el campo y él con una sonrisota viéndole el trasero. No, no se lo ví, pero por la sonrisa del novio supondré que estaba de verse. Aún así eso no me alegró el día ya que, como había mencionado, era un día demasiado amargo. La chava voltéo a ver algo que la emocionó y dijo: "Mira!" y apuntó a algo para que el novio viera.

Los pasamos, y le dije a Cabeza de Zanahoria muy, muy sutilmente: "Creo que son novios recientes. Casi acaban de empezar a andar." A lo que muy elocuentemente él contestó: "Estaban muy felices como para llevar tiempo siendo novios. ¡Hey! ¡Se les perdió el camino dorado!" En silencio avanzamos un poco más antes que él dijera: "Eso, o estamos muy amargados el día de hoy."

Pegó en el punto justo, y exploté en risa.

Seguimos caminando cuando vemos que el tráfico de la calle está detenido por una grúa que se está llevando un carro que estaba ilegalmente estacionado en un lugar reservado para minusválidos... o discapacitados... o gente con capacidades diferentes... vaya crippled; no sé cuál sea el término políticamente correcto el día de hoy.

Normalmente hubiera aplaudido a la acción de los agentes de tránsito, como aquella vez que se llevaron 10 carros -sí, diez, los conté- de enfrente de mis residencias porque estaban estacionados en un lugar con línea roja. Pero en esta ocasión !Estaba la grúa atravesada a mitad de la calle! ¡Obstruyendo todo el tráfico!

*imaginar programa informativo infantil* "Hola. Soy un agente de tránsito. Mi trabajo es hacer que se cumpla el orden en las calles y el tráfico fluya por las calles. ¡Me cago en mi trabajo!"

Por eso el país está así de jodido, ya ni la tingan. Me dió algo de coraje, pero después ese evento me alegró mucho el día cuando me dí cuenta que yo no sería el pobre wey que llegaría a su carro muy campante, después de un sabroso faje en las salas de estudio del cuarto piso de la biblioteca, y toparme con que mi carro no estaba.

Sólo faltó una cosa para realmente haberme puesto de buen humor. Ir a un orfanatorio y gritarles a todos los niños:

"WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!"

Something I hate

2005-04-19T11:21:00.000-06:00

Hello Ol' Three Faithful Readers. My last entry had to do with something I like -girls-, now this one will have to do with something I hate. As a side note, the posts were too close in between, so be sure to read I Like Girls. Anyway! On to what I hate.

I hate dry toothpaste!

Yes, you read right. Dry toothpaste. I was recently... -recentrly being just two minutes ago-... brushing my teeth. So it happened that I left my toothpaste open overnight, hence the usual over squished paste on the tube's exit turned to a dry crust. You know, the way ketchup starts building up on the top of the bottle until it dries off like glue.

Not perceiving this little fact and because I have a class in 15 minutes, hastily I took the paste and smeared in the brush. In it goes to my mouth and *squinsh* ... dry toothpaste... in my mouth... like a mix between a rock and a chewy mass of sticky goo.

Gah! *regurgitates* I hate dry toothpaste.

I like girls

2005-04-18T22:45:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to let you all know that I like girls.

Yes, I am a man. Therefore I cannot help it when a pretty piece of meat passes by. Yes I know this bugs the ladies. No... it does not bug them. It really upsets them; if girls were bombs then male eyes fixing on their bodies would surely set them off. *Ka-Boom!* I have a sister, and many girl [SPACE] friends - note the [SPACE], thank you - who have told me this and how they can almost feel dirty, lustful eyes undressing them sometimes. As for me... well, I would not complain if a chick was undressing me with her dirty, lustful eyes. :D

But hey, we all have eyes. We cannot help looking at pretty things.

There I am sitting casually in the library working at my computer creating data structures that will hold up parameter and variable directories for my language procedures at compile time. You know, the usual geek stuff that I am sure my Ol' Three Faithful Readers do not care reading about. Suddenly there is an aura in the room that becons me to turn, that magically hypnothizes me much like the fiddler's song. Foolishly, losing my mind to the curse of the siren's song, I turn my head.

And there she is. Those long, never-ending legs I would like to travel for all eternity; firm yet silky smooth. If her skirt were any shorter, it would be called a belt. Yet I will not complain about the sweet, harmonic movement of her round rear pelvic area posterior to the hips formed by tender gluteal muscles and underlying structures. Perfect and dangerous curves along her hips and a waist you could lay down your head upon to rest. A lean unmarked stomach with a small circular pool in which to drown your senses. Above that fertile plain of pleasure stood two gracious love pillows full with maternal care and love. Round, fragile shoulders leading to a graceful outline that is her neck, like a patway to the upper petals of an orchid flower that are her sweet lips. Like a queen of snow, her milky white skin and pearly eyes lighting her precious way and her hair fell like a fresh waterfall expelling a faint, perceptible breeze.

She was divinity's creature. A live porcelain doll.

I could deny it. I could deny anything if I wanted. But yes, I was mesmerized for such short seconds that seemed like an eternity. My eyes locked to her body like heat-seeking missiles set to destroy. Maybe, I cannot tell, my mouth fell open in such a way that if a fly had been passing by, it could have very well established its home in me. As she passed by, my head rolled like Regan's did in the Exorcist; and maybe... no, surely I was possessed at that moment by her unnatural beauty. And I was not the only one. Remember those old cartoons that had a wolf that each time a girl passed he would whistle lustfully behind them and his eyes leave his sockets? Yeah, like a pack of rabid dogs all male eyes followed her. If I had to vouch for my innocence, I would declare that women look for that kind of attention. Yeah, even though they say they dislike it they would not go out dresses with big, wide open cleavages and short skirts if they did not want to be seen. Nevertheless I will not say that. Instead I will said what then happened in my mind.

After the moment had come and gone I turned my head back to my computer still in shock; and just as soon I forgot about the USDA Approved meat that had went by moments ago. A completely different image had come to my mind that beat down all the lust and instinct inside of me.

Want to know the first thing that came to my mind? It was another woman in my life. It was Her. My Dove. The One Girl that I like and want... nay, maybe that I love. Just the image of Her cute face, Her touching smile, Her playful eyes and Her scornful look when I am unpolite - yes, I even and specially like Her when she reprimands me like a little kid. With dreamy eyes looking at nowhere and everywere, I smiled. I was happy. A feeling of tranquility swept over my soul.

Why is this relevant? Because no matter if Aphrodite herself came washing down on us humans, my heart and mind would belong to My Dove. It is Her I turn to when I'm feeling low; it is Her who I think of in times of despair. It is to My Dove who I would wish to come back home; to Her arms after all is said and done. Let goddesses come and let men fight over them; let wars break out and friendships be broken over them. I will take no part in them; instead I will sleep and dream of the One Girl that lives in my heart.

I guess what I mean is that there are many, many women in the world and some of them are USDA Approved Meat Goddesses set out to entertain the eye and lust, still none of them bring the warm and fuzzy feeling to the heart.

I like girls. But I can only love My Dove.

Horrifying Good!

2005-04-14T00:48:00.000-06:00

Greetings mortals!

Last Saturday I went along with Carrot Head, The Mom Away From Home, The Pretty Assistant and The Maid to see The Machinist at the movies. First off, let me say it is a great movie, especially Christian Bale's performance and the fact that he had to lose 67 pounds for the movie; which is amazing if you see the hard body he had on American Psycho and even more amazing when you consider he is pumped up in the new Batman movie. That speaks a lot about discipline.

Although the movie cannot be classified as horror since it leans towards suspense, let me say that I was surprised The Pretty Assistant came along with us because she dislikes horror movies so much; actually, if I must be totally honest, I think I might have lied to her a little bit when she asked what the movie was about. Hey! You cannot blame me for wanting her to jog along so I had to use any underhanded techniques at my disposal. Means to an end. In any case, I think she liked it...

... a little... maybe...

But that is besides the point. The point is that she got me thinking about her dislike for horror movies and found out that a lot of people find horror movies senseless and... well... vanal. A guy in a jockey mask following around naked teens with a chainsaw and cutting them to pieces in their dreams on Halloween night does not sound like much of a piece of art. And you know what? I agree.

Still, I like gore :D

Then I had a realization: that is not horror. Most slasher films (Freddy, Jason, Michael, Texas Chainsaw Massacre) are terror movies. I guess now there are two thoughts going through your head: "What in the blazes is this guy talking about? I should stop reading this senseless crap" or "What in the blazes is this guy talking about? Meh, I have nothing better to do so I will humor him and read the entire thing."

Please stay, I get lonely.

When we speak of terrorism inherently we fear for our physical well-being, of not being blown away to pieces or maybe shot down by a sniper. That is terror, some kind of physical fear, clean cut bleeding damage to our bodies. It is pain as much as a corporal repulsion. This is why terror is born out of scenes which I call Gross Out Scenes; when there is a shot of something really disgusting on screen: a gun to someone's head, the high impact noise of the bullet crushing the guy's skull, squishing the brains as they fly through the room and end up splattering against the wall; rotting zombies with their hanging eyeballs yelling "brains!" in a mall while they tear people's guts out and eat them with deviant and void pleasure. You get the picture. A very good example of this is Cabin Fever.

Horror is a psychological fear, mental and spiritual. It is more primitive and arcane. The fears we have to life itself, rooted well inside our souls. That is why sometimes a movie that speaks to us about the meaning of life, of not knowing what is going on in our heads, of being lost in a dark alley really get to us and scare the living bejeebus out of our bones. Blair Witch, Open Water, Jacob's Ladder and The Eye are good examples of this kind of fear. Horror is not just an image which scares you, but the fear of not knowing what in the hell is happening to your sense, the insecurity for your soul and human existence. And not necessarily your own, but of other people out there.

That is why the movies succeding in causing such a big fear capable of killing Dissi of a heart attack are those with a good mix of terror and horror, such as The Phone. Movies that can set the psycological mood plus throw some scary images to support that atmosphere and increase the feeling of hopelesness. Lucio Fulci is a director that comes to mind; someone who could show you scenes of tension, suspense and horror; then suddenly gross you out with a totally disgusting scene of a little girl's head exploding into pieces with flying brains all around to up the notch on terror before going back to the psychological horror.

Kinda like a roller coaster. Ups and downs.

Yet, horror and terror are not enough to make a good movie. A good movie should be entertaining while still being capable of leaving a message behind that the audience can later reflect upon. Therefore, to me the really good horror movies are those that instead of the writter/director coming up with ideas to scare you, they think of something they actually want to tell to the public. Maybe a social commentary, critisism or love. And then wrapping this message in a nice, tiddied up horror package. Then you get a real good movie which has you on the edge of your seat all one-hundred-and-twenty minutes and come out of the theater thinking: "Wow, I had never looked at life this way." Case in point, just one of the best movies to come out in ages: Saw.

That is why I take so long to come up with my screenplays -yes, I sometimes write beyond this senseless words on the Net-; because I have to think of something I want to tell the world, something I want people to think about and after that contextualize it to a horror story.

In summary, terror is to scare while horror is to fear.

Through the Eyes

2005-04-11T22:07:00.000-06:00

Hello again my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Today is a double post day, so do not forget to read "Huggable Teddy" as part of today's blog. Actually, I do not know what to make this second post about... I have two ideas, but I do not know which one to elaborate.

I could go on and write about Terror/Horror movies since recently I saw a horror movie and, being a horror fan, would like to share my thoughts on what makes good horror movies, as well as the fine line that sets terror and horror apart.

Maybe I could rant about something that has something to do with my previous post today... hum... yeah, I will do that.

Today I woke up like any other monday ready to go to my Compilers class. Hazy, I got into the bathroom to take a shower. As usual I took my sweet time since the class is early in the morning. I let the hot water run down my body and wash away the lazyness from my skin.

I got out and grabbed my first pair of clean Levi's, and the first shirt available, no questions asked. Suddenly the realization that I had no money on my wallet struck me like a rabid dog biting me, especially since my stomach grumbled for food. I open my drawer, which along with its usual papers, pens, random CDs and all around useless crap, contains all my spare change money. I collected what little I could and took off to the convenience store.

I grab my usual shake and Pop-Tarts breakfast and walk towards the cash register. That's when I see something unusual in my day: the attendant lady is... I do not know if fatter or pregnant. But by the looks of it I figure she is pregnant. Deep down in my head I guess I am happy for her. I do not talk to her, I do not know her name. But I always say "good morning," "thanks" and smile everytime I enter the store for something.

And then I walk towards my class. As I am walking through the morninng breeze, I realize that all the people I see pass by me are the same people I see everyday when I go to my class at this time of the day. Oddly, I realize that we have connected in a very weird way.

Each day I see them, and each day we smile to each other. From time to time we even mutter a greeting to each other. Some days I can even know if they are troubled, happy or angry just by looking at them and I bet they also can read me like an open book just by passing them by.

We have never crossed words, yet we know each other so well. But maybe that is the magic of my relationship with all of them; that we do not share words. We just stare into each other's eyes, smile and go on our way. Yet there is contact when our eyes meet, and sometimes our eyes can tell more than words. Some say they are the windows to our souls.

Yeah, I guess that is what we are maybe: Soul-mates sharing the morning breeze and the same road.

Huggable Teddy

2005-04-11T12:03:00.000-06:00

Another play came and went.

The group was taken to a National Theater Festival in another city. Personally I cannot find something "national" about the event since only four cities participated in it. Nevertheless, there we were; it all went smooth, I liked the experience though we were treated like little kids. At least dessert on the buffets was yummy.

We barely set foot back on our city when I and Carrot Head had a rehearsal for another play. If I must be honest, I was falling asleep; my mind, bones and flesh were tired from the journey. And let me tell you that sleeping four hours on a bus' seat is the equivalent of sleeping minus four hours on your bed. Not even a contorsionist could sleep comfortably on such conditions. But I, along with the whole group survived... though maybe a part of me wished some had not, hehehe :D

But today I am angry. Maybe disturbed is the word that best describes my feelings. You see, I'm what you would consider fat. Or at least I was. Not obese, but yeah, a little overweight. Yet, ever since last semester people have been telling me I look thinner; hell! I feel thinner. Which would be good, right?

Wrong!

Last month I bought a new belt because my pants were falling down and I feel unprotected, almost naked without my belt. And now even with the new belt my pants keep falling down! There is nothing I can do now to solve this problem except, maybe, grow fatter again! Obviously I'm against that particular idea so the other option is to get new jeans.

This worries me in several levels. First and foremost, changing my clothing is expensive. It is not like I can go about changing all my clothes each month. Just as there are certain documented standard procedures to follow in a company to achieve a certain degree of process maturity, we also have to create standard procedures in our everyday life to obtain discipline.

See here, I always wear Levi's. Ever since I have memory I have worn Levi's and I will always wear Levi's to my grave. Hell! Bury me with Levi's. And when it comes to dressing formally I always choose Dockers and nothing more; either khaki, dark blue or black Dockers; I will not accept nothing else. If you keep looking at my clothes, you will find that they all follow more or less the same patterns: blues, red and blacks. Most have a polo look to them, and if they are not like that then they are hawaiian style shirts. My shoes? Yep, they are all similar. I have even bought the same model for three years; the same exact model.

And this helps a lot in everyday life. Just recently I had to find a black pair of pants for a play. The Mom Away From Home and some other friends came along to help me find them. Well, it took me less than 5 minutes to find and buy the pants. Just as we came inside the mall I found a Dockers store; went in, found the color I was looking for, found my size, paid at the cashier, done. That is the reason I always wear the same brand, because I know exactly what model of Levi's I use and exactly what size fits like a glove. I know exactly what kind of colors look okay on me and what kind of shirts make me look nice. Instead of spending precious time deciding what I will wear like most people do, I just take my pair of Levi's and a random shirt.

Since I began to get thinner, the standards have changed; whenever I go to a store I have to go inside the fitting room to see what size fits me okay now. Besides being a complete waste of time, the idea that I might be trying the same clothes a hairy, sweaty, smelly man tried just minutes before me is... well... not appealing.

Then comes the stretch marks. Once upon a time I was a slim boy, then I grew fat, then I got thin again, then I got a little fat afterwards. Then fatter. Then came my football year and I grew (or un-grew) thin. Guess how I got after that? Yes, a little overweight. After that left my home to study in another school and, with no parents to take care of my well-being, I grew fat. And now I'm going thinner. You can only imagine the stretch marks on my belly... or maybe you do not want to... serve yourself.

More importantly, I was talking the other day with my Mom Away From Home about relationships and the such. She came up with a very interesting point that had something to do with women wanting a man to be their own personal teddy bear to hug. And what makes a teddy bear huggable? It's chubbyness! So I'm angry because if I lose my chubbyness I won't be huggable anymore.

And I want to be a Huggable Teddy!

Give it to me, pr0n-to!

2005-04-06T13:13:00.000-06:00

The reason why in my e-Business Development class I was asked to do a presentation on Explicit Sex on the Internet is beyond me. Yet, I will not complain since this was one of the few researches I have done that brought me many, many satisfactions.

Long story short: there's no legislation when it comes to cyber-porn. Although there are certain rules to over-the-counter pornography, most of these laws cannot apply to the Internet. Just consider how can you legislate content that is hosted... well... nowhere. Even so, attempts such as the Communications Decency Act in 1996 have failed; the Child Online Protection Act is failing right now.

And why?

Because according to Larry Flint: "Pornography is a vital freedom and that a a free and civilized society should be judged by its willingness to accept pornography." I might not be 100% OK with this, but the claim that banning porn is attempts against the 1st Amendment... well... I'm not American per se, so let's generalize saying completely banning it would oppose Free Speech is right. I believe as human beings we should have the capacity to select what we want to see from what we do not want to see.

Later on I was discussing this with the Pretty Assistant. You see, apart from being pretty she's also somewhat politically correct -do not get me wrong, I actually like that pretty much about her-, so she said something along the lines that precisely because countries like US do not legislate this kind of things is the reason their culture is so screwed up and they have to deal with sexual maniacs. Promptly, I set up a little side-investigation: Sexual crimes in the US, a so called "amoral" culture vs. Sexual crimes in Mexico, a very uptigh "moral" culture. Results? There are almost twice as much sexual crimes reported in Mexico than in the US. Note on the word reported. Less than 30% of crimes are reported to Mexican authorities, so the actual number of sexual crimes in Mexico might be higher.

Tell me now that Mexico is a more "morally mature" society and I will laugh in your face.

Yes, in Mexico we do have legal movements against pornography on the Internet, against child pornography. Hell, being a mostly Catholic society Mexico has laws against most things considered amoral. But what good are laws? What good is it that we have laws against selling alcohol to minors if store vendors will do it for an extra charge? Will a law prohibiting the sale of alcohol after 2a.m. guarantee teens won't alcoholize themselves and crash his car against old ladies and their two month old grandson sitting peacefully in the park? Will Doña Chole stop selling clandestine beer in the back of a van behind a dark alley just because there is a law stating she should not? What good is a law that prohibits me from having child porn if they cannot know what I have or what content I access on my computer? Tell me the point of a law against selling drugs if we also consider legal for people to carry a considerate amount of drugs considered to be for "personal use"?

Heck! What good is any law if it is not carried out?

The real way we can make laws be worth the ink they're written in is by having a mature society. When a society is sufficiently mature all actions are carried out for the common well being. The reason laws work is because people in the society obey them, not just because they are there. What's more, I believe that we can qualify a society of being mature and advanced when it does not need to have laws and punishments in order for people to do right.

Now, we owe a great technological achievments on Internet matters to porn too. First sites to offer privacy protecion? Porn sites. First sites to offer security schemes to protect credit card numbers? Porn sites. First site to implement dynamic content? Porn sites. First sites to invent the sponsored links concept? Porn sites. First sites to offer pay-per-click-ad models? Porn sites. Reason video compression codecs such as DivX where created? Porn sites. Internet industry to produce more money? Porn sites.

In conclusion my Ol' Three Faithful Readers: Crimes and perversion are not proportional to the "morallity" of a society; they're proportional to the society's level of maturity. You want to solve pornography, or all around amoral content? Then do not ask for it. Alfred Marshall won't let me lie when I say that we are supplied only what we demand.

That, and I'm changing my e-Business from a computer accesory store to a pr0n site.

Timmy Lives!

2005-04-04T14:33:00.000-06:00

Normally I would try to do only one post a day so as not to tire my Ol' Three Faithful Reader. But I missed yesterday's blog and something way cool just happened that makes me al smoochy inside. So, in case I confuse some people, be sure to read "O Mystical Sunday" to find out about yesterday's adventures.

Oh, and by the way: I did take my underwear of the washing machine.

I arrive at my e-Business Development class, in which I learn how to link up the business model of an e-commerce organization with tecnology and the Internet. All that is besides the point and I bet you do not care much for it. Hell, I do not care much about it. Point is the teacher arrives and tell me: "You did not come to class on Friday." To which I answer, with a puzzling face: "I was at the monologue contest. Did you not receive an e-mail?" The answer was obvious I think: he did not.

"You missed the quiz we had." He says, but in his eyes I see the teacher is thinking something more along the lines of: "You see, keep playing with kiddie stuff such as acting." Defiantly I answer: "Hey, I got Second Place. That's as good as a 100 on the quiz, is it not teach?" He smiles, looks at me and dares me: "Okay. Before the class is over you will present your monologue. If I like it, then you might get a 100."

There was no production whatsoever since I'm impromptu in the classroom with a very reduced space. But hey, I like my craft. I fix things as much as I can using a chair as the bed and an actual desk as the table, a backpack as the box I use to take out mask and there I go.

Let me tell you something: for some freaky reason I felt a lot more better in the classroom than I did in the contest; more in tune with the character and doing things more naturally. Oh well. I finish and it seems my classmates did like it. One chick even comes to me and starts asking me details about Timmy: Did he kill his parents? How did he kill his sister? What mask did he use? It seems she completely understood it. Others came to me and said: "Man, you did scare me for a second there." Now that I remember it, after the contest I was walking non-galantly to my car carrying all the utilities we had used. Suddenly a car stops besides me, honks, and a lady yells through the window: "Bye bye Timmy!" I look to my side and tell Timmy to say thanks, smile and wave goodbye. The woman laughs before she drives off only God knows if back home to her kids, to dine with her family or maybe to meet a secret lover that passionately awaits her. Moments like these are the ones that make me all soft inside and remember why I like acting.

Oh yeah! Timmy did get a 100 on his quiz.

O Mystical Sunday

2005-04-04T12:39:00.000-06:00

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. I missed my Sunday's post.

Yet I swear it was for a good reason: I spent the day in a very productive way. Rats! I did not produce something per se, but along with the Mom Away From Home we spent the day driving around the city throwing the ball; we visited a house fancy house that was up for exhibition. Let me tell you that while fancy and big I did not like it that much. The home theater was set at the wrong place, the rooms felt to squared... but do not get me wrong! I would not complain if I won that house on a contest! :D

Then we looked for this chinese restarurant that does not exist in a real place; it exist in a mystical realm of magic in which no normal human being can enter. You see, only through invitation of another member, participant of the knowledge can you be washed with the delicacies of such magnificent, hunger fulfilling food. I'm not exagerating! The restaurant has no signs indicating it is a restaurant, the door to the place is right between two houses... I mean, if you pass by you would never think there's such a magical place in the middle.

Lo and behold, I found the Chinese Food Shrine as we shall call it from now on thanking the good deities for creating such places of heaven on earth.

Yet we were not hungry, so after getting lost in the mysterious valleys and roads of a city burning at 90F, we stumbled across and oasis: Dairy Queen! Never had the mix of a Chili-Dog and a Blizzard been so rewarding and the secret, yet liberating art of turning upside down your frozen drink been so amazing. Truly, those men and women working at DQ turning Blizzards upside down are zen-like beings that defy the powers of gravity each passing day.

Finally we came to a rest at a friend's house, where we watched her with awe as she grabbed a dirty plate or other kitchen utility, puored it in water and procured the same utensil in a clean, immaculate state. Suddenly she had a magical mop with which she made the floors below us shine and reflect the sun to our faces as if to open, illuminate our eyes. After she had made do with all these chores, she humbly sat to rest with us.

Later I had a play rehearsal since I'm leaving on Friday to present it in another city. Oddly enough, this rehearsal was on the bottom of the "Cool Curve." The Cool Curve is something to be told another day. Suffice it to say I was bored. My spirit... nay! My body decayed a little during those three hours. But I survived.

And so it was my day. I came back to My Four Walls to rest. I do not know why, but I feel that I did a lot more on that day that what I have done in weeks. Aaaa yes... a productive day. Man, ain't this the most trite blog if I've ever seen one. It is just that most of Sunday came out to be catharsiastic... that is not a real word, but it defines pretty well my feelings; a purge of pressure beyond the fartatian sense.

Today I must come back to reality and retrieve my underwear from the wash machine.

Timmy, or The Horror

2005-04-02T00:19:00.000-07:00

So, yeah. The contest came and went. How did it go?

Well, it was horrible. Part of my staff did not show up, which complicated both getting all utilities to the theater as well as moving them into the stage; not to mention time that could have been used to rehearse or prepare.

At first I was worried because my staff was not complete, but then my turn came and we had to make do. We went up the stage and had 1 minute to set the stage. It was not a minute really, more like the time the presenter took to read the curriculum of one of the jury members. Unfortunately for me the curriculum of the juror that came in my place was... well... small and simple compared to others who took about 3/4 minutes to read hence giving the production more time to set things up.

But hey, all utilities are in their place, ready to be taken on stage, right? Wrong. Moving the bed to the stage was problematic, since the only staff I had were women (the male part of my staff was the missing part). But it finally got there. I went to take my place and lo and behold! The table we were going to use was not there! So the girl in charge of placing the stuff on stage comes to me and says: "There's no table!"

I think to myself: I only need the teddy bear (Timmy) to be in his position, to hell with the table. I can make do without table or bed or nothing, I only need the bear to be in his place. So I tell her that: "Is Timmy on his place?" And she answers: "No, there's no table." I stop to think... Timmy was not supposed to be on the table... so I reply: "Don't worry about the table. Is Timmy in the front of the stage where marked?" And she almost yells at me: "I told you there's no table!" I almost explode, but calm my senses: "Okay... see, just put Timmy in his place *right here she begins to say something, but I interrupt her* SHHH! Just put Timmy in the front of the stage where the taped X is!" And she does just that.

So, although it seemed an eternity, it really did not take a minute. I guess it was more like 40 seconds. But the presenter had already finished with the curriculum of the juror... so the silence was deafening. I hurry up stage to begin my monologue, and boom! The ilumination came on late. Hey, I can't blame the God of Lighting because I had already taken so much time, I bet I came out unexpectedly to the stage.

I begin my monologue, with my mind somewhere else. Everything that was supposed to be at the table is in the bed... I didn't have time to concentrate... the audience was somewhat reluctant... I just wasn't there. Cold. Dead. Just saying my lines. Not sure about what I was doing. Just horrible.

Of course, little by little I begin to warm up, and somewhere along the middle of the mologue I'm on full throttle. But maybe too little too late. The monologue ends, there's an explosion of applause but I don't listen; all my head is telling me is: "Everything went to hell and back... crap..."

Half-staff and me take all utility off the stage. Defeated I stood in shock for a minute and head back to my seat. I swear to The Powers That Be that I felt so low, I wanted to cry right there at that moment. Just hours ago... nay... minutes ago I was so sure I would win. And now I was so sure it had all gone to poop. And with each of the contending monologues obtaining more applause, more screams, more laughs and more cheers; a sour tear did roll out of my right eye. Long story short, I did not win... ... first place...

... instead I got second place.

Oh yeah man, I did scream out in joy when the results came. I was not expecting anything, I was expecting defeat and the great void of things that coulda-woulda-shoulda been but were not. My trembling and excited hands took the price, and a smile crossed my face from side to side. I took a prize home.

Moments later I was mad, because I knew that I coulda-woulda-shoulda gotten first place if all the mistakes had not happened, if I had enter the stage more prepared, more rehearsed, more in tune. Red with anger because I had so eloquently said before: "Second place is the first loser" only put the hangman's noose around my own neck. Nothing makes me feel more of a loser than knowing I was there, knowing I'm a close second, knowing people will remember me as "good but not good enough."

But then, I realized something. Everything had come out wrong. The utility, my acting, timing... everything had been wrong! And yet, I took second place. What can this mean? It means that when tides are moving against me, I still have it in me to go back and fight. I means others should thank me for making mistakes. It means that I'm the best of the losers.

But most importantly: it means I'm so good that even when I'm bad, I'm still good.

Just as an extra after-thought: You are only as good as those around you. Thanks to you all who helped me: The Whip Wearing Director for pushing me, The God of Lighting up above, The Go Lucky Girl putting Timmy in his place and The Creepy Nurse doing only God-knows-what that the audience loved. And thanks to all of you who supported me! :D

Small Delicacies

2005-03-31T22:34:00.000-07:00

I would like to inform my Ol' Three Faithful Readers that yesterday, March 30th 2005, was a glorious day. On a day like that at aproximately 16:30 I came into this world. A blessing to some, a curse to others. But mostly a blessing.

It was a very good day. A day of small, subtle, yet great details. Ironically, the first Happy Birthday e-mail or notice I got came from Overclock.net. I found it nice that, though it was most probably nothing more than a stored procedure in a MySQL database, they took the time to add it and congratulate forum members. Thanks guys!

I woke up, the smell of the bottled up oxygen in my lungs. It was at that moment I realized my roomie and I had to open the window for a while, or else we would die in our own carbon monoxide. Non-galantly I showered, dressed up and went to my first class, Compilers, only to find out my teacher (who happens to be my career director) also celebrates her birthday on 03/30. Funny, hehehe.

Then came another pleasant, great detail on my B-Day: The visit to the dentist. Hahahaha, only I make an appoiment with the dentist on that very day to have my braces set. Oooooh yeah. I love the pain. Somehow I enjoy my visits to the dentist, but that is a story for another day my good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, a story I will title: "The New Pleasure."

The God of Lighting phoned me up after that. I was driving while he sang "Happy Birthday to you," so there was a complete mix of feeling in me between: happyness and road-rage anger against the old lady pulling her screwed up oldsmobile against my lane. But I survived the look-ma-no-hands stunt. It was something to remember! Hehehe.

And then, the moment I am sure my Ol' Three Faithful Readers are waiting for: the monologue constest results... I got back to My Four Walls... drops of anxious sweat running down my forehead... I'd left Jessy on and in my Gmail account... I turn on the monitor. There it is, three new e-mails in my Inbox: One from a friend, another from my parents, and lastly one with the monologue elimination results. Coldly, I stood in my place, staring at the screen with a blank mind. I read the other two e-mails first as if trying to easy my mind: obviously congratulations from a friend and my parents. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath that filled my lungs with oxygen and clicked the Inbox button... and finally... the dreaded yet expect e-mail.

Okay, where are the results? I see no list. I almost explode in a fit of rage as I discover there's an attached Word document. Click, downloading. Those five seconds it took 408KB to download seemed an eternity to me. I swear I could see each and every bit going down the ethernet cable, mocking me as they walk as slow as they can, ooops! An ACK lost, must do a callback, friggin' sliding window. Here comes the new packet, all covered up with present paper and a bow. I bite my tongue and try to think of... of my stomach that's convulsing inside of me, almost coming out through my belly button.

Finally, the document downloads. And there it lays, sitting in my desktop. A smile of... of what? Joy? Horror? Nervousness? Love? Fear? Maybe all of them mixed up together, compressed, waiting to come out with a bang. *BANG* So I close my eyes and double click the document... hum... no hard drive noise... no movement... crap, I missed the icon when I closed my eyes. I carefully position the pointer right in the middle of it... and... close my eyes again... click... click... I open my eyes and there it is in my BenQ FP767v2 17" Monitor with its stunning fast 16ms response time, the judge's veredict: the finalists.

I'm in it.

And right about that moment I realize that I have not been breathing. My brain yells at me "Give me some oxygen or you'll pass out, bump your head, have a concussion and when you wake up amnesia will have puts its sweet arms around you." So what do I do? I yell out in happyness: "Hell poopie yeah!"

And then breathe.

Further up in the day, I slept in my theater class. Got more congratulations and the such. Until late at night we go to dinner at Bennigan's. Ooooo... a sweet carbohydrate, fat charged but tasty Monte Cristo awaits for me (and still waits, as 1/4 of it still resides in my fridge). Few things in the world make me remember there is a God and that sometimes he smiles and gives us mere mortals much joys in the world such as the Monte Cristo.

Next day I woke up with diarrhea... bet you did not want to know that. I do not blame it on the Monte Cristo though, but on the squishy sandwich I ate before that at the school cafeteria. And even if it had been the Monte Cristo, then those thirty or so minutes lost in the bathroom are more than a fair price for such pleasure the Monte Cristo gives my frail and mortal body.

Tomorrow, Friday April 1st, is the Monologue Contest Finals. Many people ask me if I'm going to participate in it. I so eloquently answer: "No, I'm not going to participate in it. I'm going to win it."

And by the jolly good bollocks of Mr. Monkey Pants in the back a van down by the river, I will!

This is big

2005-03-29T16:46:00.000-07:00

Okay... the Monologue Contest eliminations start in one hour 15 minutes. Even so, my turn is not up until 3 hours and 25 minutes.

Something big happens... something that had never happened before... I'm nervous.

Never, ever in my whole time as an actor, in all 11 plays I have been in have I ever felt nervousness like this. Only a small tingle in my stomach just as I walk to the stage... but never before. Not once had I felt my stomach crunch up and wiggle...

Well, I'm off. I'm going to relax my mind. Later I will tell you how it all went.

Long long vacations

2005-03-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

I must apologize to my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, but it seems I took some very long vacations. Actually, if I must be 100% honest, I got somewhat lazy. There's a point somewhere around 11pm in which my brain goes to complete shut-down mode.

Anyway, many things have happened. From one day The Powers That Be loving me too much and having classes canceled, to me yelling at some dude in a take-out restaurant because here in Mexico customer service is non-existant. Then what we know as Holy Week in Mexico, known in the US as Spring Break. The only difference is that Holy Week/Spring Break is always at the same time as Easter, whereas in the US Spring Brake varies over time.

So I went back home, considering home as the place where I grew up, my house, where my family waits for me and 6 Chihuahua dogs wait anxiously for me. We must remember they say "Home is where the heart is"... I don't know where my heart is right now.

The point is this I spent this whole week doing nothing. Though I took Daisy (my laptop. Yes, I put names to my things. Some say this might be a psychological problem regarding my feeling of posession over things... dunno); I took Daisy back home because I wanted to work on some school proyects. Ask me if I turned my computer on. C'mon, do it. Humor me, please... well, yeah, I did turn it on because I actually format it and had to listen to my music at some point, but I did nothing regarding school. I just relaxed. Took some time off, shut down body and mind. Rest.

Well, it did not work.

Some would argue that I should feel refreshed, with energy. Or at least happy of going back home and seeing familiar ground. Funny thing is, it is not familiar ground anymore. I remember when some friends left the city to study somewhere else back in the days; and later they spoke of how much they hated coming back home because they felt like visitors, intruders rather than... well... home. This had never happened to me; my family is kind enough to leave my room exactly as I leave it, not one speck of dust is moved.

But it is the other things. After two years out of my home town... or... home city, I come back and I don't recognize my friends. I sit there with them, and hear them talking about people I don't know, about event's that apparently are very funny to remember but I just stare blankly past them because, suprise, I was not there when it happened. Others still have all the comforts of living-at-home luxuries that I do not get anymore. In summary: their lives took twists and turns in which I was not part of. It leaves me feeling like a stranger. And before I get there, they tell me how much they miss me, how much they wish I had never left, how much they want to see me. Suddenly I arrive, and people do not call. People do not visit. If I do not explicitly call them up, they would barely know I was there. I think the only being that did truly miss me, that awaits my return each and every time I leave my house is The Queen. Who is the Queen? She's the elder of my Chihuahuas. As soon as the door opened she rushed inside and greeted me, barely parting from my arms all week long.

Of all the 9 days I spent back home only one did I truly, wholeheartly enjoy. Last Friday, Good Friday. Now, please do not ask me the logic behind spending Good Friday watching B-Horror Movies, but we did just that. Yet that is besides the point. The point is that on that dayI felt truly missed, really had contact with another human being. Someone made my whole day... no... she did my whole week... no... hell, maybe she did my whole semester in as few moments as it takes to do one single, gentle gesture . As we sat seeing movies, I began to toy with her hair, and she me back. We held.

Dissi, truly from the depts of my heart: Thank you.

After that I wanted to come back to my Four Wall and a Ceiling. Back to study, back to the monotony of school, back to my proyects, my obnoxious rommy. And here I am, proyects awaiting, tomorrow the semifinals of a monologue contest, a play two weeks from now and other two plays 5 feeks ahead. Parcial exams in about two weeks...

I need vacations.

Disposable Life

2005-03-08T10:54:00.000-07:00

Welcome back Ol' Three Faithful Readers. I have something amazing, extraordinaire and rare to tell you; a story which I will call "Thirteen Hours." This story will be posted in the last paragraph of this post because first I have other stuff to nag about.

On sunday, the God of Lighting and me discovered that my car had a flat tire. Actually, it was the pizza delivery guy who found out but was kind enough to let me know. Let me tell you, it was flat, all the way down. Promply, God of Lighting and me took the car to the nearest gas station and pumped some air into the tire. Man, it has the mother of all holes somewhere because at a full 50cm. away from it you can hear the *swoooooosh* of air hissing its way out of the tire. After that we still went to the dinner with the play's people and all. Yesterday I phoned my dad to let him know of the problem, and of the solution: Change all tires! Hahahaha. Aaaaa, the amazing wonders of the american way of life: "Everything's disposable." So I'm going today to get some new tires for the good ol' Buddymobile.

I must admit that although I was born in México, living in the border and with my californian father, my mindset has always been of an American. I cannot help it but see the world through the eyes of the american way of life. But fellow mexican friends do not dispair, I also believe that in rare, isolated moments the mexican spirit in me shows its head; which allows me to amalgam what I think are the best elements of both worlds creating a richer sense of self... uh... or maybe I'm mostly American and this is me trying to convince you not to hate me, hahaha!

As you can be guessing, I will from now on reffer to some recurring charactes in my posts by the nicknames I've assigned them. Little by little I will introduce them; for today, meet the God of Lighting, The Powers That Be and My Four Walls.

God of Lighting: A friend who lately has spent a lot of time in illumination chores at the theater. We have established that one of the most important roles in a play is the lighting technician, or else you would end up with a dark and gloomy play. He owns you. Respect him.
The Powers That Be: The Man. The Almighty. The One Above. God. It doesn't matter by what name you call Him, He's up there watching and listening.
My Four Walls: My room in the school's residences.

And now, to the enjoyment of my Ol' Three Faithful Readers I present to you the story aptly titled "Thirteen Hours." Yesterday I found out my 18:00 to 21:00 class was canceled which overjoyed everyone. I blessed the Powers That Be and went to My Four Walls. I decided it was time to sort out my MP3 collection, read a little and sleep. Well, I began by ripping all my new Ayreon, Les Luthiers and Frank Zappa CDs (Yeah, I do buy the CDs :D) as well as some others I had forgotten to rip. I grabbed a good bood so magnificently called "365 Short Horror Stories" (if you cannot figure out the purpose of this book, I will personally go and pull your legs while you sleep) and suddenly: blackness. Everything went out of focus, the book fell on my chest and Winamp roared in the background. At around 18:30 I fell asleep; dreaming of mystical worlds, crazy people, odd situations and Adelitas. Only to wake up at 9:00 the next day. I slept around 13 straight hours! Wohooo! I really needed that. Now I feel renewed, young and energetic.

And sexier too!

Of stages and camcorders

2005-03-07T12:27:00.000-07:00

I would first like to greet my Ol' Three Faithful Readers and to apologize for not writing yesterday. Point is I was at a the theater the whole day recording a play... okay, I lied, not the whole day but early in the morning I had to go to the library to do some teamwork.

Now, pray I ask what kind of people do schoolwork, whichever it is, at 11am on a Sunday? And in the reclusion of the library? I swear to the Powers That Be that sometimes I feel as if the walls of the library were closing down on me, chocking me with their silent, bare and cold stare. We have ducks and some deer walking around freely on campus; why we cannot do our work outside with the fresh air, watch people walk by, talk freely, watch deer walk by, listen to music, watch ducks walk by, eat some food, watch ducks copulate. Oooooo, spring is early in the air.

The play was good. If someone other than my Ol'Three Faithful Readers are having a knack at this, let me tell you that though it was a play filled with stress by all the weird circumstances around it, it came out pretty well. I would like to congratulate all the ladies that participated in it, as much as the ladies on the stage as those behind helping with utility and clothing, the whip wearing assistant director, the pretty audio assistant, and the god of lighting up above; since each one of them brought something special to the play. As a side note, bringing something special doesn't mean it was good or bad; quite contrary. Wheter good or bad it was their own distinct personalities that brought some spice to the play.

As for me... well... I just recorded the play.

...

2005-03-05T13:15:00.000-07:00

... I'm such an ass... more on that later. Must do Compilers homework.

So it begins...

2005-03-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

So... yeah. I have intended to begin a blog thingie for a while. I was actually planning on pseudo-developing one at my site. But no matter, me got lazy and here I am while I finish that.

It's funny, I do not know if I should introduce myself considering that starting off most people who will see my writings will be friends; or at least an acquaintance :D Hello friends and acquaintances! Besides, I do not want to give too much information about me, since people always like a little mistery. Specially chicks, they dig it ;)

Well, right now I'm in class, so I guess I will let this go for the moment right now. Besides, this is a test of the emergency broadcast system *insert high pitched, ear bursting, eye popping beeeeeeeeeeeep*