Explaining a Pleasure of Life

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

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

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

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

Welcome back! So I begin.

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

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

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

*drum rolls*

... the Prostate!

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

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

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

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

Random Anger Management

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers God, I share your pain!

---

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

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

Oh my Holy Banana Split!!!

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

That is all.

Sorry Women... but no

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

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

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

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

No, neither do I think so.

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

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

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

---

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

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's how Monsters are created.

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

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

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

Aaaaah, it's good to be back.

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 1

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

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

1.

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

b. A creature having a strange or frightening appearance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess I shall find out why this weekend!

Cheeri-o!

From Love to Disdain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of being a god

Sometimes gods walk amongst us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back then I felt like a god.

Those Beautiful Places

Hello there!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game.

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

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

We had us.

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

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

I love it.

Technical stuff / Good thing they were Catholic

Hello there!

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

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

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

Nifty utility ;)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The basis of happyness

Hello again! Yes, double post day. :D

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

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

Hum... that formula seems logical.

And no, I am not that happy today.

The funniest feeling

Happy Holidays y'all!

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

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

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

Where are you?

Everything will be fine

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

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

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

At least I tell myself that to sleep at night.

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

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

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

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

For sixteen years.

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

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

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

"Everything will be fine."

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

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.