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.

Anger Report, Ad infinitum

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:

1. 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.
2. 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

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

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

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!

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!

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!

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!

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?

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?

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...

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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?!

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?

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

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

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

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!

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...

... 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.