Munchie machines and poverty

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?

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

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

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!

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:

• Apple disappoints
• Steve Jobs cultists
• Glitchy iPhones
• More Apple snobs

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

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

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

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

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?!?!

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

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

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

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)

1.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.