Thursday, December 29, 2005
Now, here's a list of things to do when you want to get rid of a cough:
1. Take your cough syrup
2. Don't stay out late
3. Don't go out without a coat
4. Don't smoke
5. Don't talk too much
6. Cover yourself up when you go to sleep
Of course, I HAVEN'T DONE A SINGLE THING.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
You see, as a Christian, they tell you that if you are a good child, and respect your parents and eat all your greens and go to bed early, when you die, you'll be rewarded in the afterlife.
But what they don't tell you is that no matter how well you behave, death can come to you in a million excruciating ways. Sometimes you get lucky, and you die in your sleep. But usually, you get stabbed, or shot or crushed in a car accident. Or maybe a good doctor botches up and you die for his mistakes.
Like Ivy did.
I was so mad, because she was so good and she suffered so much. Meanwhile, total S.O.B.s live their whole lives without goint thru so much as a cold. Didn't seem fair. Wasn't God supposed to be good??
Then my granny talked about Jesus. Even though he was unquestionably good, even though he did no one harm, he had to suffer unspeakable pain and torture before he died.
I'm not a religious man... but all of a sudden, her words put everything back into perspective.
I guess I'm still mad: those things don't go away from one day to the next.
But for now, I have peace.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
It's 11pm and I feel like talking. But who can I talk to?
Thought about chatting, but it's just not the same.
It's too easy to get lost in the noise of dozens of people saying different things at the same time.
I think I'll go shake my granny.
At least I won't be the only one awake in the house.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Do you see that curly eyebrow sticking out?
My dad had curly eyebrows like that. They would drive my mother into a hair-plucking frenzy. Whenever I saw him squirming under her tweezers, I couldn't help being extremely thankful of not sharing that feature.
I'm safe no longer. My mother's tweezers will come for me soon.
My dad must be laughing his head off.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Rather... it caught me.
I got the full package: The clogged up nose, the body pain, the shivering, the stuffy head, the cough...
I thought I was well enough to go to the office, but I was totally wrong. I was able to manage on Monday, but yesterday I got little done, unless you count blowing your nose ten times a minute as work.
And just to prove how moronic I can actually be, yesterday I decided to go to a little get-together, after work.
The restaurant was quite chilly and that, of course, didn't help.
After a most miserable of nights, I decided to skip work today and stay at home.
So here I am, all cuddled up in bed, while others slave themselves at the office.
I definitely should have more sick days.
Ivy really wanted to get married. She really wanted to be a mother.
I admit I wasn't as thrilled about both things, but I knew that would make her inmensely happy.
And that's all I ever wanted, to make her happy.
Cause making her happy made me happy in return.
When I was with Ivy, I thought I was made!
Never again would I have to go on dates.
Never again would I feel lonely!!
Now, I feel lonely all the time. No matter what I do.
It feels as if a little flame inside my heart had gone out.
Somebody explain to me how Ivy seems to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time??
Sunday, December 18, 2005
I wanted to share with you stuff that happened since she is no longer with us. Some of them are so absurd that I have no idea what to make of them.
Late scoldings: While Ivy was being put on the ground, one of her sisters thought it was the perfect time to reprimand every single member of her family right there and then on what she perceived to be poor family relations. They had to stand there and listen to her ramble on and on right there in the cemetery.
Regrets: One of Ivy's brothers-in-law asked everyone attending the funeral services that if they loved someone, they should tell them right away and make sure they know while they're alive. Great advice, but... guess why he was so adamant about it.
Recycling: Some thought it a great idea to take some of Ivy's floral arrangements over to another relative's tomb. Spread the joy.
Indecent proposals: The fact that I have been single for barely 20 days or so hasn't stopped several young ladies from making efforts in securing the vacant position. The fact that I stayed with Ivy till the very end seems to be quite attractive for some. Although quite a boost to the ol' self-esteem, I think it's too soon, gals.
Personality changes: Me and my brother-in-law didn't quite see each other eye-to-eye, but he went up to my mother and declared that he was "honored to have met a man as remarkable as your son". Who was that guy??
Virtual adoption: My parents-in-law want me to come over every night and have dinner at their house They have asked me countless times to never stray away from them. Will they kidnap me in my sleep?
Everything must go: My mother-in-law wants me to have Ivy's bed. My father-in-law wants to give me her car. Anybody else thinks it's kinda creepy to use your loved one's things while they're 6 feet under?
Color me creeped out.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Friday, November 25, 2005
hi5.com is a social networking internet service. Users create an online profile by answering questions and uploading a user picture. Though not as popular in the United States as MySpace or Friendster, hi5 has grown largely popular in Latin American and Caribbean countries.
I could post pictures, meet new people, get in touch with old friends... Could it get any better than that? Networking sites are awesome.
I must say, however, that I've noticed a couple of things:
A. Everybody has more contacts than me
I saw a guy with 100 contacts. Then I saw a girl with 413.
I had exactly two contacts for about 18 months. Both of them were my sisters.
If they hadn’t linked up to me, my mother would’ve disowned them.
B. I have a lame life
As I looked at other people’s photos, it became quite clear that I am THE dullest person ever.
Parties, trips, concerts, get-togethers, night-outs... Everybody is having fun! And just where the FREAK was I???
Networking sites can be so depressing.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Something happened at Lexcorp yesterday. My department got re-engineered.
No, that doesn't sound nearly as menacing as it should. You see, I work down at Lexcorp's Document Centre. The Centre is split threeways: Publishing, Legal and Documentation. Documentation is composed of three more units: Customer Service, Library and Statistics.
The problem is this very last unit. Statistics was the largest unit in the whole Centre: about ten people. And now it is being absorbed by another department.
This was a surprise move, planned to perfection to the last detail. Nobody at the Centre knew about this, until it happened.
Needless to say, this is chilling. If this could happen to them, it can happen to any of the remainding units, incluiding mine. Thinking ahead, this could be disastrous for the Document Centre. Without half of our workforce, we will shrink down considerably. So will our budget.
Worst case scenario, the decision could be made to close down the Centre, which could happen in one of two ways:
a) the remainding workers could be reassigned to other units.
b) we could just be sent home for good.
Did I mention I was scared crapless?
If you’ve read my blog before, you know I’ve always declared myself a cold weather lover. That was because I was a bit chubbier and hot weather was unbearable to me. But it so happens that I’ve been losing some weight lately, and so my body doesn't hold heat the same way.
So as I write this, I'm using the thickest jacket I have, and thinking that you should be careful with what you wish for.
'Cause getting it is a bitch.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
First, I'm sad that he is leaving. Dan is one of my closest friends and not being able to see him or even call him for such a long while is a bit distressing. But I'm also glad for him, for he will be having a really good time and he will meet new people and places.
Finally, I'm envious as hell. Did I mention Dan will be bouncing around in Europe with his girlfriend... just the two of them?? My mother would never approve. Neither would my mother-in-law. Damn, I don't think Ivy would approve. Not until we're married, anyway. But what's the fun of doing it then??
Monday, November 21, 2005
Monday, November 14, 2005
Saturday, September 24, 2005
But now, another hilariously funny blog is gone. And that is a tragedy in its own right.
This whole incident also got me thinking what would I do if my family ever finds out about this thing. Will I run to its deletion?? I dunno. Hope not. Luckily, my mom and my granny are just as technophobes as ever. Ivy isn’t fond of surfing the net. My sisters have better things to do than finding out all the perverted things I do online. And most of my friends don’t know English.
Usually I complain about people never reading this blog. For this once, not being read is actually a good thing.
I read and re-read the post. I couldn’t believe it. Had somebody just posted SPAM on my blog??
Sure seemed that way:
“Hey fello blogger! I loved your blog. Now find out how you can help Katrina victims at www.ripoff.com”
Man, this just bites. I mean, I was barely getting comments as it was... and now I have to go on and turn on security measures for my blog, which means I might as well forget about getting a single comment ever again.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
For a while now, it seems that my usual diet of McBurgers, pizza, soda and ice cream has done little for me other than making my clothes hug me a bit tighter than what is comfortable. My arduous program of no exercise at all doesn't seem to help things, either.
After a lot of consideration, I visited the neighborhood weight clinic. There, I was weighed and, for starters, a regimen of reduction massages and body wraps was prescribed.
I was asked to come back the next day with swimming trunks, two towels (one big to lie down on, one small to wipe excess cream and oil). Also, I was required to purchase a bottle of rubbing oil, and two special creams.
I must say, I had NO IDEA what I was getting myself into.
When I read 'massages', I foolishly pictured tall, Swedish women softly caressing my naked body with oils. Instead, I got a diminutive lady in her late 40's, who asked me to dress the massage table with the big towel, then lie on top of it. Then proceeded to rough me up in the most brutal manner possible. For an incredibly long half-hour, she proceeded to pull, push, mash and squish my skin so hard I thought it was going to break apart in her hands. When she finished, my belly, sides and back felt sore as heck. Damn, I felt like she had punctured my spleen, my liver or at least some internal organ.
Later that very day, the soreness would escalate to the point where I would not be able to move any part of my body without feeling like an 80-year-old retiree with a bad hip.
Anyway, right after we were thru with the massage, it was time for the body wrap. This very same lady pulled out a bowl with damp bandages which she proceeded to envelop my torso with.
Although I'd been told that they were 'cold' wraps, I didn't quite figure out what that meant until I felt the wet, chilling bandages making contact with my warm torso. I felt a massive goosebump going thru my whole body.
After the lady was thru, she left me to myself, all alone in that big white room. I dunno which was worse: being uncomfortably wrapped like a big taco or having absolutely nothing to do but listening to Muzak for 30 minutes straight.
Once my time was over, the lady came back to give me my freedom once more. I was overwhelmed with joy.
My first session was over. Only 24 more to go...
The best was yet to come
But the suffering was far from over. A few days later, I got my first diet plan.
That's when crap really hit the fan.That’s when I finally had to face the fact that I wanted to lose weight and stuffing my face would just not do. It was heart-breaking.
The next 3 days were spent eating all the papaya I wanted. Actually, drinking is more accurate.
Since I knew I would despise eating papaya chunks, I asked people to put the papaya in the blender and make it into a drink. I drank, and drank and drank till my gut was filled with liquid. Then I would rush to the bathroom, with an imperative urge to pee like a madman. Drinking and peeing, that sums up those dreaded 72 hours. Oh, and trying not to think about eating every two seconds.
Luckily, the papaya gave way to more substatial food. My first breakfast with the new plan consisted of cottage cheese on whole wheat bread. Not much, but when you’ve been ‘eating’ fruit for three whole days straight, you take what you get.
The fight keeps on
I have lost ten pounds so far, which is good, but I still need to lose a couple of pounds more.
Therefore, the diet is still on, and so are the massacre massages and the polar-worthy wraps.
I just hope I get rid of the excess poundage before I go insane.
Even more so.
No news there.
But right now, it’s pouring outside!!
Why is water precipitation so exciting for me? Because when it gets wet enough around here, it cools down the temperature quite a bit. For someone who despises hot weather as I do, it’s really good news.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Oh, who cares??
Some things are better not overanalized.
Now, if you excuse me, I have a pencil here that urgently needs to be chopped down.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
The pain was unbearable. The desire to scream and curse like a sailor, irresistible. But no matter how justifiable, this impulse had to remain miserably unfulfilled, as I was in a public space and really didn’t want to bring attention upon myself. All I was left with was clutching my maimed limb and trying to somehow contain the primal scream that was hatching in my lungs. My face was red, my jaw was locked, my eyes swollen. To a casual observer, I must’ve looked like I was simply holding my breath (and my hand) forcefully. On the inside, however, I was seeing red all over.
As time passed, the pain reduced to practical extinction. It only hurts when I bump my thumb into something. The thumbnail feels kinda numb. The space above the cuticle is red, which means it will probably turn blue over time. And of course, my nail will grow crooked after this.
Why was this so funny when it happened to Elmer Fudd?
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I've been thinking that if I was closer to the computer all day, this blog
would be filled to the brim with at least five times the content it has
now!! Countless ideas and comments have been lost because they happen to
come into my mind at times when I have no way of recording them.
But considering the kind of half-baked crud that does manage to get in here,
maybe less of it is in everybody's best interest.
I keep that rhyme in mind because it never fails to shock me when an exquisite example of the female gender uses foul language that would put a truck driver to shame.
Just last night, I was having dinner at my parents-in-law’s, and one of the guests –a stunning model/actress/dancer- started talking irately about some women who were after her man. The word bitch was employed ad nauseam till my mother-in-law had to intervene. I can’t tell you how my image of this lady was deteriorated right then and there.
My take on cursing
I think that people forget the purpose of having curse words: they are special words, that when used scantily are able to shock and insult. But when used all the time, their impact is severly dilluted till they just happen to be mere words. Some think that casual cursing makes you cool, but the necessity to employ curse words in everyday conversation only reflects a lack of culture and vocabulary. Ask any job recruiter and they’ll tell you that having a potty-mouth isn’t a sought-after skill.
I admire those who manage to go the longest time without uttering a single curse word. My mom and my granny have maybe cursed five times in the 28 years that I’ve known them. My dad was a little more profane, mainly when driving. But everybody knows swearing behind the wheel doesn’t count.
Monday, August 15, 2005
But it wasn’t over yet
While at the hospital, the medicines -and being practically bedridden for three days- caused Ivy pain in her knees and lower back. This pain started to grow and grow as time passed. On Saturday, the pain had turned unbearable. When I went to see her at her home, she was really anguished. She just couldn’t find any position in which she could really relax. Sitting, standing, lying down: nothing worked. The painkillers weren’t working either. That was devastating, to see her so distressed and to not be able to do anything. I managed to convince her to take a little ride in my car, and I drove around and around till she was able to doze off at least a full half hour.
The pain starts to give out
Luckily, the pain killers started to work by Sunday, and she was able to sleep that night. Little by little the pain seems to be going away. But the fight is yet from over. There is still pain, no matter what she does. But it is more tolerable than what she had on Saturday. She is feeling a bit better now and it shows. She has longer episodes of recovery. She can stand to sit or lie down for longer times. Today we watched a movie at her house: Serving Sara, with Matthew Perry and Elizabeth Hurley. Lemme tell you, it was lots of fun.
Fate has a funny sense of humour
Just when it seemed that Ivy was winning her fight... her skin has started to turn yellowish. Her eyes are yellow as well. The symptoms indicate liver malfunction. It could be a temporary thing, caused by all the medicine she has had to take in the last 5 days. Or, it could be Hepatitis.Or it could be catastrophic liver failure. We won’t know for sure till she goes to the doctor, tomorrow morning. Boy, It just never gets boring in here.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
After a couple of nights like this, I did the logical thing: I asked my mom. She decided it was time to give me my first radio. It wasn’t new, but it was better than new. It was a Toshiba, late 70’s model, back when listening to the radio was still cool, before people had cassette tapes and 8-tracks. It was solid black, and it had dials and knobs up the wazoo. Beside the usual volume, tuning and bass/trebble controls, it could pick up AM, FM, and about seven different frequencies I had never heard of. I loved how the dial lit up in green hues. And here was an interesting feature: it had a timer. You could turn on the radio and set up the timer to shut it down anywhere from 5 to 60 minutes. Conversely, if you set up the timer with the radio off, it would turn it on when the time ran out.
Right now, I can’t fathom the logic that was behind my mom’s solution, but she was right. I don’t remember ever having trouble sleeping anymore. But I remember a couple of sleepless nights toying with the knobs on that cool radio of mine.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
The year was 2000. I was young and single. I was meeting new people all the time, so I decided to start a file on the girls I was seeing.
Fast-forward to the present. I can’t place most of the girls on the list. And the one I can remember, I’d rather forget. But what is rather amusing about the file is the shallow little comments beside every entry: “Eats a lot”, “Loves the X-Men”, “Talks with a Mexican accent”. My favorite: “Her last boyfriend cheated on her and she is still willing to go back with him. Definitely not very bright”.
Wonder what they had to say about me.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
MaximIf you’ve never seen Maxim, basically it’s a male-oriented, babe-infested, macho-fest of a magazine. Booze, women, cars: that’s the core of the Maxim creed. Think of it as testosterone turned into a glossy periodical. But also, there’s the humor: wacky, void of any respect whatsoever. They make fun of Bush, the Pope, anybody. Even the captions on the photos are funny. Whenever I feel my IQ is soaring excessively high, I run to the newsstand for a copy of Maxim and balance my system with the dose of macho it sorely needs. It’s dumb, brainless fun: I totally love it!
However, my love of Maxim doesn’t extend to the Latin American version of the magazine, which is published in Mexico, like most of the mags we get in Kzanderallia. Their attempts to try to replicate the essence of US Maxim are depressing. Despite reusing a lot of material from the American edition, it still comes off as cheap, vulgar and crude publication that ultimately seems to be written by a bunch of monkeys with typewriters. Overpaid monkeys.
Mark Golin’s DetailsBack then, Golin tried to apply the same formula that had served him so well at Maxim, toning it down a little bit. Not as many scantily-clad women, not so much booze. The funny photo captions did cross over, which I remember were a hook for me. Also, he put babes on the covers. (That was a bit confusing. Many people approaching the magazine for the first time –me included- thought it was a ladies’ mag) The magazine still looked after the metrosexual male of the new millenium with lots of fashion spreads and features on quirky (and pricey) accessories for the man who had it all. The writing was fast-paced, always interesting. They took a lot of risks. The design was fresh and exciting. The comedy was very sofisticated, and you had to be in-the-know to get all the jokes, which wasn’t easy.
This is where nostalgia kicks in. This was 2000. Before 9/11, before the digital bubble burst. Lots of people were making money off stocks and thought “Bin Laden” was some sort of new trendy spa. New Yorkers were cocky and loaded with cash, and wrote that way.
My first timeI had never seen a magazine quite like Details, and loved it right away. I vividly remember the place I bought my first Details at: a drugstore that isn’t around anymore. It was one of the few places carrying American magazines. I remember they only had the February issue, so I had to go to a warehouse downtown to get the January issue. Then I kept on buying Details monthly.
Unfortunately for me, I learned of Details about half into Golin’s run, from Jan to May 2000. But I will cherish those five issues forever.
Current DetailsHowever, my affection for this flavor of Details was not shared by many. This period is considered by many as a lowpoint of the magazine. Long-time readers hated this Maxim clone, and wanted their old magazine back. Golin was fired and the next creative team sobered up the magazine dramatically. It even changed the size, making each page bigger. Gone were the ladies on the covers, the fratboy humor. The fashion stayed. Most of the writing staff didn’t.
EpilogueWell, it wasn’t easy to realize that my beloved magazine was gone forever. I purchased the new Details, but didn’t really like it at first. I missed the wackiness, the easygoing spirit. Then the stock market crashed. The attacks happened. The era was over.
I haven’t really found any magazine like my old Details. There’s a few traces left of it in Maxim but the more brainy Details has managed to grow on me. Its writing style reminds me of GQ, which is another magazine I really like. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Of course, when you take 2500 photos, you have to store them somehow. Since all I took for the trip was a couple of memory cards totaling about 280 megs, I had to buy myself another card. Not just any card, but a 1 Gigabyte card! As you can imagine, I filled that one in less than four days. So I was always on the lookout for places where I could download my pictures to a CD and wipe the card. Being on a schedule, I couldn’t be too picky as to where I could go to download my pics. Stationary stores, pharmacies, photo labs... Any place was good! Those circumstances led to the fateful situation I am to tell you about.
Photo tragedy(Act One)
While on the second leg of the trip, New York, I was quite anxious to empty my brand new 1 meg card. So I walked into a drug store and asked to put my photos on a disc. The usual person wasn’t there, but a very young guy said he could do it. That right there was Warning Number One. He popped the card onto the photo machine and downloaded all the photos to a disk. It took a long while, almost 10 minutes. That was Warning Number Two. At the end, he handed me just one 700 Megabytes disc where he had fitted 1000 Megabytes of images. That was my Third and Final Warning. But I chose to ignore all three.
Photo tragedy(Act Two)
Confident that my photos were all safe on a CD, I proceeded to erase the card.
(Cue ominous music here)
Photo tragedy(Act Three)
Back home I started to download all the photos onto my computer. When I came to the disk that drugstore guy made me, i noticed the download was fast. Too fast. I checked the folder where those photos were and it read 290 Megabytes. Confused, I checked out the images themselves. In utter horror I discovered that the MORON had shrinked ALL my photos to less than a third in size!!!! So instead of a 1200 x1600 pixel image, I had a 580 x 623 thumbprint. I thought I was gonna convulse, puke and pass out all at the very same time. I wanted to cry, I wanted to die. Only by sheer force of will did I prevent my bowels from losing it completely. The photos became utterly useless. Not only did the guy reduce them, but he erased the metafile data (the part of the image that says when the image was taken, if flash was used, if the image is vertical or horizontal, etc.). Even the original names were erased.
Well, obviously murdering that idiotic drugstore guy is out of the question, now that I am back here in Kzanderallia. So I’ve had to concentrate on making peace with the fact that most of the photos on that card will be lost permanently. There is a bit of hope, however.
The obligatory library analogy
Just like a computer disc is never fully erased, a memory card always retains a bit of info after erasure. Think of the disk as a library that has program files instead of books. It also has a couple of drawers with all the files sorted by title, genre or author. Imagine that you set fire to the drawers, but the files stay intact. That’s what happens when you erase a hard disk or a memory card. The books are fine, but searching for a particular title now requires a lot of extra work.
Hackers to the rescue!
I’ve asked a hacker friend to help me out. He is a major computer geek.
If he can’t get them pictures, NO ONE WILL.
So hopefully, by next Friday I’ll have some of my photos back and maybe my homicidal thirst toward drugstore employees will be satiated.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Saturday, May 28, 2005
As usual, I will be visiting my world-hopping sister and do a little wandering around on the side. This particular tour will take me to the wonderful cities of Cinncinatti, Chicago and New York. In this opportunity, my younger sister couldn’t come along, so my mother is taking her place.
Ok, I think that’s about it.
AMERICA, I’M READY!!
Monday, May 23, 2005
Reason to like long car trips #1: The scenery
I enjoy gazing out the window. I like how the panorama seems to remain the same even though I know it keeps changing every fraction of a second. The distant mountains turn into small villages, a patch of wilderness or maybe a surreal sunset. It is a continuous slide show that throws color and scenes at me in a way that can never be fully captured by painting or video.
And going thru cities is almost more fun than driving in the country. Whenever you go into a populated area, a million little stories unfold in front of my eyes at brisk speed. A couple walking down the street: she is carrying all the bags, while her male companion carries nothing. What does it mean? Is it that he’s macho scum? Or maybe he has a bad back? What would it be like to be him? To be her? When did they meet? What’s their story? How will it end? The possibilites are endless. Multiply that for every man, woman and child in the street and you see how the world can be quite entertaining for the alert voyeur... I mean, observer.
Reason to like long car trips #2: The music
When you travel by car, you get to enjoy some musical amusement. You are exposed to the driver’s musical tastes, which may or may not concur with your own. In the second case, you are faced with music you would never pick by yourself and, who knows? it may be music that you may end up adding to your own playlist. Or it could be hours of neverending torture... It all depends.
But if you have a say in what the music is gonna be, then it’s your opportunity to share your personal musical predilections with others. You get to be a DJ for a few hours. Be warned, however, that some people may not agree that the Enrique Iglesias is God’s gift to music.
Reason to like long car trips #3: The conversations
A lot of car trips consist of two people and two people only: the driver and the co-pilot (also known as “That Lazy Sonuva That’s Just Sitting There Lookin’ At The Window And Playing With The Radio While I’m Driving My Butt Off”). It’s a great setup for a deep, meaningful talk.
It’s in moments like these when two friends are able to deepen their bond as they discuss the profound themes of the universe, like What do women want? and What’s the shortest LEGAL way to get into their pants...WITHOUT paying for it?
You know, all the stuff that has troubled Man since the beginning of time.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
When somebody tells you a personal secret, it is a grand feeling. It makes one feel ultra-special. I am always overwhelmed by the trust that has been placed on me and my discression. I think to myself, “Nobody else knows that, just me!!” That’s ultra cool.
However, sometimes folks come and tell me things that are just way too juicy. Those bits of information are the ones I really struggle with, for the primal urge of telling secrets is very, very powerful. In those cases, I begin wishing my memory was able to be wiped clean at the push of a button. Sometimes I have to make such an effort to keep my mouth shut that the veins in my neck start to bloat and they feel like they’re gonna burst at any given moment. It’s just like passing a kidney stone, but without being able to expel the damned thing out.
Lucky for me, I’ve been provided with a lousy long term memory. So even if a secret has given me a bit of trouble to keep, it eventually gets deleted a little while after it enters my brain. It’s a real blessing.
When cushy ain’t kosher
I came in contact with cushy toilet seats about three years ago, at my girlfriend’s house.
In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, picture a toilet with a soft pillow shaped like a toilet seat. That’s a cushy seat.
Back then, I remember it was such a different experience, at first I didn’t quite know what to think. I also remember it was quite comfy yet odd.
I even tried unsuccesfuly to convince my folks to get one.
A little while later, I forgot about the whole thing.
Some time later, my mom replaced one of the house toilet seats with a cushy seat. I tell you, it wasn’t pleasurable. After being so accustomed to a hard seat, sitting on that thing is eerie. It feels too soft. Obscenely soft. It wasn’t a problem at my in-laws, ‘cause it was a new toilet and everything. But this is one hard toilet seat I knew and loved. You can’t just go and change stuff on me all of a sudden.
GIVE ME BACK MY HARD SEAT!!!
I just called a friend long distance to her cell phone. The conversation was very nice and we had a good laugh. I just hope I can at least chuckle when the phone bill gets here.
I don’t want to know THAAAAT!
My boss down at the Culture Publishing House is very concerned with his health. Flu, indigestion, sores, allergies, you name it, he’s got it. Some people would say that he borders on hypocondria, but even if he is, that’s ok with me. Everybody is entitled to a hobby, right? The ugly part is that he likes to narrate every symptom to the smallest detail.
I really wish he didn’t. I mean, c’mon… telling your coworkers about your fifth bathroom break is not endearing.
Not by a long shot.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
This is a date when folks try to convince other people (and themselves) they aren’t totally lousy as sons. Most try to achieve this the material way, buying gifts left and right. The wealthy get appliances, vehicles, jewelry or clothing. The underprivileged like me go for candy, flowers or balloons, depending on each one’s own sense of guilt. I went for all three.
This year I sent flowers to my mother-in-law, my granny and my mom. My granny and my mom got balloons and chocolates. My mom also got an authentic KzanderCard©.
A bit much? Perhaps. But I have a philosophy regarding Mother’s Day:
“A man who spens too much on his mother is emotionally sick, but not as sick as the man who doesn’t spend enough.”
Checking up on the Flaviuses
Remember Flavius?? After he and his delightful wife came back from their honeymoon, they moved into an apartment a few blocks from where I live. Last night, they invited me to dinner.
I felt like I was walking right into an IKEA catalog. It’s amazing: everything looks modern and stylish. Very few frames are placed on the walls, giving the room a very spacious feel.
However, appearances can be deceiving. The whole dining set (dining table, 5 chairs, two little shelves) cost them about $250, total. Apparently, some German teacher got her contract revoked and had to sell all her furniture to get some fast cash. Now that is some bonified good luck.
Sometimes UNRATED is a real warning
Fully aware of what stuck-ups censors can be, I have eagerly looked forward to the release of UNRATED versions of my favorite movies. There you can see the stories in their unadulterated splendor. Finally, I can see the humorous scenes that had to be left on the cutting floor just because some prude thought they were unappropriate.
It was with this mindset that I got myself a copy of Team America: World Police... UNRATED!!.
Bad idea. You know what? Lemme say that one more time with bigger and bolder letters:
This spoof on puppet shows featured the gross out humour, celebrity bashing and trucker language South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker are famous for.
So far so good, right??
However, without warning, I was treated to some unmentionable and gag-inducing sex scenes. I mean, I considered myself a connoisseur of amatory cinema, and yet I was ready to throw my lunch all over the place. Now I am actually considering getting a lobotomy to purge those images from my tender, innocent brain.
If you haven’t seen Team America yet, kids... do yourself a favor and get yourself the ‘R’ version.
You will NEVER regret it.
The fun of translingual faux pas
I was chatting with a friend in Spanish and wanted to express laughter. And how did I write it?? Hahahahaha. Then I realized that laughter is written with a ‘J’ in Spanish: Jajajajajaja.
Oh, this has gotta be my lamest post ever.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Flavius and I have been friends almost since I can remember. We met when we were both 5. We went to the same school until the sixth grade, when he switched. But we never stopped being friends, even after we started to see each other less and less and our lives started to grow apart.
I hadn't spoken to him in over a year when he popped up with startling news: he was getting married!
The indecent proposal
When the invitation arrived, however, it was just my name on the card. My mom was crushed, for she considered herself to be friends with Flavius's folks. So this seemed a slap in the face for her. Although I tried to explain to her that it could've been a mistake in labeling, she refused outright to go.
I was put in an awkward position. Should I stick by my mom and not go? Or should I stick by my friend and go?
I had a talk with my mother and resolved that I shouldn't mind her feud and go cause Flavius was my friend and he wanted me to be there.
Only after getting her blessing, I attended.
At the church
Ivy and I arrived about fifteen minutes before the wedding ceremony ended. We had to stand, for all the seats were taken. I got the chance to see my childhood friend standing in the isle, his black smoking filled to the brim with equal parts of shock and excitement. The bride looked beautiful, like a princess all dressed up in white. After the ceremony, the couple ran, not walked, to a green Mercedes that was waiting for them.
What followed was a mad dash for the hotel where the reception was being held. You know how crazy Friday Night traffic can be, and the place was about four miles away. Luckily, we got there rather fast.
At the hotel
The hotel was decorated in an elegant and sober style. Ivy and I found a table that was just the right distance between the dance floor and the exit. If we either wanted to party down or run away, we were nicely positioned for both.
Then the new couple walked in and stepped onto the dance floor. They looked just as elegant they had back in the church. The music started to flow from the twelve man orchestra. As they started to move, I know the whole audience shared a single thought: "Oh God, why didn't anybody think of dancing lessons??"
The case of the uptight bride
The couple invited everyone to make a toast and then proceded to visit each table and have their picture taken with every one. Around halfways into it, I could notice the bride was frowning quite a bit. She seemed quite stressed, in fact. I guess after a while of carrying that humongous (yet beautiful) wedding dress, I would be grouchy as well. Oh well, she’ll have time to relax. That’s what honeymoons are for, right?
The rest of the wedding was uneventful. Ivy and I chatted with the rest of the guests seated at the table. The gentleman seated at my left turned out to be a close friend of Flavius’s folks, and regaled us with wonderful anecdotes and stories. He told us how he and his wife have been together for 41 years (6 as a boyfriend and girlfriend and 35 as a married couple). Ivy and I had a great time. We danced a bit and the food was great (due to our splendid location, we were one of the first to reach the buffet). I got to say hi to my friend, take a photo at his side, and wish him godspeed in his new journey as a married man. We slipped out a little before the wedding cake was cut. I was getting kinda tired and Ivy had classes early, so the both of us had to rest. But I bet Ivy stayed awake all night thinking about how her own wedding’s gonna be like.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
No, nothing odd like monkey brains (They looked tasty in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom!)
Ok, give up??
...I'M EATING SOGGY JELL-O!
No, my fridge isn't out of order.
No, my granny hasn't rebelled and stopped making me food.
The thing is that I was kinda pekish when I came in tonight and didn't want something dry like a muffin or heavy like pie. So I started diggin thru the refrigerator and found this bowl of semi-solid gelatin, which my granny warned me not to eat cause it wasn't ready yet. But I'm such a freaky eater that it didn't matter to me that it was soft and soggy and so I took out a spoon and proceeded to clean up the whole gelatin bowl. It was cranberry-flavored. Yum!
Now don't look at me like that.
I already told you I'm a freaky eater.
I came home, looked at the clock and realized:
A.- That I had totally forgotten to take back DVDs to the video store
B.- That I had 11 minutes left to reach the shop before I had to pay about $10 in late fees.
So I ran down the stairs, dashed out the door, got into my car and drove off like the Devil himself was chasin' me. I must've set a new record for Most Traffic Violations in 5 Minutes. Lucky me, no cops were around, and managed to make it with about 2 whole minutes to spare. Then I realized I had gone to the wrong video shop!! So I revved my car and took off. Once I got to the RIGHT store, I sprinted past the door, turned over the DVDs to the clerk and allowed myself to gasp for air.
This always happens to me. Every time I rent videos, I end up forgetting to return the movies, and end up taking them back at the very last minute. This sucks.
However, after I've succesfully handed back the videos, I am usually overcome by such a rush that it makes the whole thing worthwhile. It's like I'm an adrenaline junkie or something.
Tonight I rented a couple of more videos. What can I say? I need my fix.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Sunday, March 13, 2005
What can I do? I like feedback on the stuff I do. Does this mean I'm insecure? Heck yeah!
And while I'm coming off clean, I'd also like to state for the record that I don't like piña coladas OR getting caught in the rain.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Did you ever see that Friends’ episode where Ross had an espectacular fit of rage just because somebody had eaten his sandwich??
I thought that it was utterly absurd for a grown man to have that kind of reaction for such a small thing.
Until it happened to me, just today.
At lunchtime, I opened the office fridge to get my food out and noticed I was missing one Tupperware dish. Sure enough, the food container that had some of my Granny’s famous breaded chicken was gone! Apparently somebody mistook my container for his/her own and had a lunch way better than they would’ve had otherwise.
I have to admit, this was bound to happen, for I never placed any distinguishing marks on my food containers, so they were fair game.
Oh, but trust me, that won’t happen again!! Next time my boys go out into the field they are gonna be plastered with my name in every possible size and shape.
Anyway, the food theft meant I had to go to the nearby Burger Joint to get something to replace my missing main course.
I must admit the burger was OK and everything, but it was no homemade chicken!! Never will a deep-fry cook match my Granny's prowess on the kitchen!
Oh, when I think about whole issue my blood starts boiling inside my veins!! But the finger still can’t be pointed at anybody in particular. As I write this, there are no witnesses and nobody has come forward to take the blame.
Heh, I guess I better forget about it before the rage builds inside me and I end up shotgunning coworkers just like a postman on a bad day.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
A few months ago, my sister told me about Skype, and I was totally thrilled by the concept of being able to call people thru the internet, for free! As soon as I got cable internet on my computer, I downloaded the Skype app and in matter of minutes I was talking with people hundreds of miles away, without paying a cent!! As time passed, I got to talk with friends from the US, Brazil, Europe... Imagine, the whole world united in my desktop! Isn't technology beautiful?
I am spreading the word. Everyone should have this beautiful technology.
God bless Skype.
I woke up today with an extremely sore throat, body pain and exhaustion. I can barely talk or swallow. It seems my larynx is painfully swollen.
All of this is due to the fact that I stayed up all night talking over that f***ing internet phone.
God damn Skype.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
After almost ONE YEAR of blogging, I finally got me some time to tweak up my blog a bit.
Heck, now it's all customized!!
What did you say??
No, the colors are the same.
No, I didn't change the fonts, either.
Um, yeah, the layout was unchanged too.
OK, OK!! So it still looks pretty much like Blog Template #6!
But hey: at least it has my logo now.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
My dad was a veritable dandy. He had racks of ties, socks, and suits. He had loads and loads of shirts. And the man knew how to put it all together. Even in his casual wear, he looked impeccable all the time. Everything was well pressed, all his shoes were polished. Every week he bought an extra tie, or he had some new suit made. He truly enjoyed being well groomed. Never quite at the forefront of fashion, he was disapproving of the many ridiculous trends he had to witness: tight bellbottoms, flowered shirts, acid-wash jeans... They were all abominations.
Lucky for him, he never got to see the mind-blowingly absurd trend that is a hit with teens today: “brand-new, worn-out clothes”. Manufacturers take a perfectly good piece of clothing and they dye, sandblast and hot-press it till it looks like it is 10 or 15 years old.
And it’s not just jeans. Caps, sweatshirts, you name it.
Ripped, torn, faded... these clothes seem like they’re Goodwill rejects. And yet, kids pay $120 to be dressed like a hoodlum.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE??
I sincerely believe a whole generation of kids was dropped on its head.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
It happened just a few hours ago. I saw one of them, then a lot more. They were quite a few and seemed to be in what looked like a gang. I was immediately overcome with maddening rage. I felt the urge to kill right there and then.
So I crept up right behind them and I killed one, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to kill them all, before they turned on me. And so, I started with my murderous spree. I killed one, two... I lost count! I followed them, right to their homes and brought death to their door. I couldn’t stop myself!
But no matter what, those freaking ants kept coming at me, so I kept spraying their asses until I ran out of Bug-Kill.
I am proud of my deadly deed. My front door is now a wasteland. Insect carcasses litter the ground as far as the eye can see.
In my mind, I can almost see it:
But as happy as I feel for my glorious victory, I know that for every bug killed a hundred will return.
I must be ready for them.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Pay no attention to it. And in case you already don’t pay attention to anything i say, then just pretend like you did pay attention at some point in time, and then just decided to not pay attention to this mere post.
Confused?? Me too. I think I will stop paying attention to myself as well.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Time has passed, and now those once-new slippers are falling apart as well. Actually, just one is. The right slipper has come off in the strap that keeps the foot firmly set onto the sole of this comfortable footwear. So every time I tried to take a step, my foot would move forward while the slipper would stay in the very same spot.
After trying using several kinds of glue to keep the slipper together, I ended using some Scotch tape. Scotch tape, you ask?? Well, it ain't pretty, but it does the deed. For a while, at least. Then the tape comes off and the slipper falls apart once again. It isn't pretty, as you may well imagine, but it works.
Why didn't I just go to the store and get a new pair?? Right now, you must be thinking:
a) KZ is a cheap S.O.B.
b) KZ is a poor S.O.B.
c) KZ is a really lazy S.O.B.
d) KZ has an ugly shoe fetish
But the truth is, I didn't consider it necessary. I mean, the sole was ok, the straps were ok (except the unglued part). Also, they were very comfortable and nobody will ever see me with these slippers on, since I only use them within the confines of my room. Taking all of this into account, buying new slippers was a complete non-priority.
By my mom didn't see it that way. She couldn't bear the thought that her little boy (that would be moi) would be walking around with slippers that looked like Goodwill rejects.
She must've talked to my sister or something, because the next thing I know, I get this really nice, shiny rubber slippers.
Hey, it's not like I am emotionally attached to any footwear. Ripped slippers are comfy, but if somebody gives me new ones, I will trade them in a heartbeat. And the slippers my sis gave me were very cool-looking indeed. They seemed to be made with quality plastic. Awesome.
I rejoiced, my mom rejoiced. At last, the monstruous slippers would be banished from the house for all eternity and I would be wearing the best damn plastic slippers this side of the Equator!!
Beautiful thoughts, huh? However, they were not meant to be. The slippers didn't fit. After five minutes of having them on, I would cease to feel my toes at all. And if I were to have them on any longer, I would be risking losing a toe to gangrene. So I handed the shoes back to my sis and asked her to change them for a bigger size.
It's been almost two months since, and my sister hasn't gone to the store to make the exchange. I think she even lost the receipt. So my awesome new slippers are gathering dust in a box somewhere.
Tonight, I tried box-packing tape on my ripped slipper.
It worked like a charm.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
But as I grew up, I discovered some stuff about Catholicism bugged me. Banal stuff (at least they seemed that way to me at the time): Why must priests be single? Isn’t this going against human nature? And why can't there be female priests??
If you found the above comments somewhat controversial, just wait: it gets better.
Later I discovered that I also had problem with the heavier stuff: the dogmas. In case you were wondering, a dogma is a religious doctrine that is proclaimed as true without proof, like the Holy Trinity: A trinity? Isn’t it THREE GODS?? Last time we checked, we were monotheists, or has that changed? And just why is the Holy Ghost “a person”?? Why couldn’t it just be the Father and Jesus? And why did Mary have to remain untouched after giving birth to Jesus? I mean, once that was over, why couldn’t she and Joseph be a couple and have more kids?
You get the idea.
As time passed, even more questions kept piling up. During my first years in college, I had no girlfriend, so I had a lot of time to dwell on stuff like this. And I got more confused every time I started thinking about Catholisism and religion. My perspectives changed almost daily. I was adrift.
I thought a massive infussion of Christ would help me. I decided to check out The Other Side: the “separated brothers” who left the Catholic Church along with Martin Luther during the Middle Ages. They are known as Protestants, but most prefer to be called Christians.
So I hung around Christians, listened to Christian music, attended ‘cells’ (Christian youth groups) and even went to a few services. It will always amaze me the devotion this guys have. They are fully commited to their churches, and don’t flinch at the thought of three-hour services each Sunday. Three hours straight! And I felt that a 60-minute Mass was pushing it a bit.
I tried, but I just couldn’t get into the ‘WWJD’ feeling. I felt fake all the time I was there. So I dropped it.
Then I started to rebel against almost every form of organized religion. I saw every religious head as a phony who turned his followers into brainless zombie slaves, while sucking their wallets dry.
Now I should make it clear that all this furious theological rebellion pretty much existed solely within the confines of my mind, for I never acted on it. I didn’t even stop going to Mass! In retrospect, I don’t think anybody really noticed my heretic phase. It’s kinda sad, now that I think about it.
Time has passed and I have made a peace of sorts with the Church. Catholicism is not perfect, but it is the one religion I really like. I don’t think I’m 100% Catholic anymore, though, since I have decided to just believe in the things that make sense to me. A real Catholic wouldn’t do that. He would take the whole enchilada and gulp it down without hesitation, just like my mom and my granny.
So that’s me nowdays: part Catholic, part heretic, mostly moronic.
I must say, one Christian belief I never had any problems thinking about was Hell. Maybe that’s because a part of me knows one day I will be rotting in there for sure.
Friday, February 11, 2005
All this characteristics actually make perfect sense since he is, in fact, a mouse.
Yeah, we got a mice problem down at Lexcorp. Needless to say, nobody is thrilled about it. A single mouse can turn into many quite fast. So a coworker named Louis decided to bring a mousetrap to catch the little bugger and put him out of comission.
Yesterday afternoon Louis prepped the trap and even put a bit of cheese as bait (yeah, cheese). I tried telling him that cheese only works in Tom and Jerry cartoons. In REAL life, meat works better to reel mice in. But he didn’t listen and i just shook my head and walked away.
Against all odds, the trap worked!
This morning, when Louis walked in at 7:00 and checked the trap, this is what he found:
Four hours later, he was still laughing.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Several stuff happened in my life, which prevented me from publishing here.
But now I’m back!!
Whether that is a good thing or not, I leave it to you, my beleaguered readers.
You’re the ones who have to read this stuff.
A quick update
After a long bout with cancer, my dad finally passed away November 10th, 2004.
Stay tuned for the full story, coming soon to a blog near you.
Fleur worked for the Communications Office down at Lexcorp. Despite being in different departments, she and I were the only designers in company, so we used to chat about fonts, headings, and design ideas. She was fun to hang around with. She talked about her husband and her pregnancy. It was her first kid, so she was totally ecstatic.
But, there was a twist: she only had one kidney. Having one kidney can be harsh in itself, but it can be quite serious in case of pregnancy. It was a gamble and she lost. Around the fifth month, her blood pressure skyrocketed and her baby died. Then, a couple of days later, her condition stabilized and the doctors sent her home. She seemed fine. But less than a day later, something happened and she died. Probably, her kidney couldn’t take the stress and gave out.
There is a dark atmosphere at the Communications Office nowdays. Fleur’s colleagues blame her boss for her untimely demise. Apparently, she repeatedly overworked Fleur even after her pregnancy got complicated. Instead of resting at home, Fleur had to work extra, even weekends.
And you thought Scrooge was just some character on a Dickens story.
The first rule of Fight Club is...
...you don't talk about Fight Club. But I will. And lots.
Recently I’ve become a Fight Club fanatic. What can I say? I love that weird little film. I love the acting, I love the music, I love the photography. The effects are excellent. But first and foremost, I love the writing. In a sea of dissapointing movies, this one stands afloat time after time. Like the first Matrix, it blew me away the first time I saw it. And then you can revisit the film and note the little details you’ve missed, despite the fact that they were there all along.
So once I got the DVD, about six months ago, I couldn’t help but watching it almost the whole way thru that very night. Only total exhaustion and the fact that I had to work the next day prevented me from watching it whole. Since then, I’ve seen it in its entirety about eight or nine times. Just so I don’t get saturated with it, I have opted for selected watching. Just seeing specific parts of the movie, a few minutes at the time.
But what I really love is the backbone: the story. Tyler Durden outlook speaks the truth: “You are not your job. You are not your f...ing khakis!”
It’s a pain-filled yell against society’s merciless twisiting of the hunter/gatherer instict into compulsive consumism. It’s also an urge to find freedom in your existence, to escape rigid conformity.
It’s your life. Where will you spend your next minute?
Choose fast. Another second just went by.