What is it about fans that makes one want to stick something in it?? Is it the sound of the blades tearing into pencils, paper, clips, and the like?? Or is it the sheer appetite for destruction latent in every human??
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.
*BRRRRRRRTTTT!!!*
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
OUCH!!
I just smashed my right thumb a few minutes ago. I was closing the door after parking my car at LexCorp, and didn’t notice that I had left a finger in the way. At first, it didn’t really hurt, I just felt jammed. For a fraction of a second, I even laughed at my clumsiness. Nevertheless, as the door slowly began crushing my thumbnail, I realized this was no joke. Frantically, I managed to open the door and pull my finger out in about two seconds flat.
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?
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
So many missed chances!
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.
Ugly on the inside
I distinctly remember a little nursery rhyme I read once, about a very beautiful child, who had awfully improper language. The last line on it was, "Pity this child: so beautiful, yet so ugly!"
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.
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
Not my best week
Ivy got sick on Wednesday night. Her white cell count had dropped dramatically, and had to be checked into a hospital for observation. After her tests came in, it was clear that she had an infection and needed antibiotics. When I went to see her on Thursday, she had been put under sanitary isolation, and every visitor had to wear masks and robes. Let me tell you, if the sudden news of her hospitalization hadn’t been harsh enough, having to bear cumbersome hygenic measures was really tough to bear. Luckily that was dropped by the next day. And Ivy herself got released on Saturday.
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.
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
My old radio
Back in the Mesozoic Age, when I was in sixth grade, I started having trouble sleeping. It would seem that all the sounds I’d heard throughout the day would start coming back to me, playing in my head over and over throughout the night.It was maddening.
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.
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 Cheat Sheet
Just now, as I was cleaning up my Mac, I came across a really old Word file. As I started reading it, memories flushed to my mind.
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.
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
Good Ol' Details
For a while now, I've been an off-again, on-again reader of Details magazine. I first approached the magazine during Mark Golin's 1999-2000 tenure as editor. His previous job had been at the helm of another famous male publication: Maxim.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Maxim
If 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 Details
Back 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 time
I 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 Details
However, 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.Epilogue
Well, 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
The traveling shutterbug
Those who know me as an avid photographer won't be surprised when informed that I managed to take over 2500 photos in my two-week trip. You think that’s too much? Whilst in Europe, I took 3300 pics in three weeks! That makes about one photo every 8 minutes. I must admit, the hardest part was waking up at night every eight minutes to take that damned picture.
Storage issues
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.
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.
Confident that my photos were all safe on a CD, I proceeded to erase the card.
(Cue ominous music here)
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.
Now, what?
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.
Or not.
Storage issues
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.
Now, what?
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.
Or not.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I'm back!!!
After two grueling yet fun-filled weeks, the Kzanderall USA Tour 2005 has come to a close.
Stay tuned for the full story, coming soon to a blog near you!
Truly disturbing
Isn’t this the creepiest photo of a kiss you’ve ever seen??
(shudder)
Stay tuned for the full story, coming soon to a blog near you!
Truly disturbing
Isn’t this the creepiest photo of a kiss you’ve ever seen??
(shudder)
Saturday, May 28, 2005
The Kzanderall USA Tour starts today!
Yes, once again it’s time for me to dust off my suitcase and passport and leave my beloved homeland for new sights and adventures. This time my destination will be Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Yes, I am off to the United States of America.
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!!
Are you?
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!!
Are you?
Monday, May 23, 2005
Long car trips: THEY'RE GREAT!!
Some people hate long car trips. I don’t. Specially if I don’t have to drive and am able to chill while somebody else has to deal with crazy bus drivers and maniac truckers.
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.
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
The pros and cons of being a confessor
I’ve always loved it when people become so comfortable with me that they allow themselves to open their hearts to me and tell me things they have buried deep within, things they can’t tell to their families, coworkers, or other friends.
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!!!
Caller’s remorse
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.
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!!!
Caller’s remorse
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
Mother's Day
Fun fact: unlike the American holiday, which is fixed on a day (2nd. Sunday of May) in Kzanderallia it’s fixed on a specific date. So for us, May 10th is always Mother’s Day.
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:
BAD IDEA.
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.
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:
BAD IDEA.
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
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?
Aftermath
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
Guess what I'm eating!
No, nothing fancy like caviar.
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.
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.
Late night deliveries
It happened again.
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.
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
Super cookie!
My girlfriend baked me a cookie today.
Have I ever told you how much I TOTALLY LOVE this woman??
Have I ever told you how much I TOTALLY LOVE this woman??
Sunday, March 13, 2005
I had forgotten about this
After you neglect your blog for a while, you forget about how it is: the frustration of the delays in publishing, the problems when editing posts and the anguish of comments.
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.
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
How could you not like classical music??
It's not that I don't like classical music, but I never felt enthused by it, you know what i mean??
No more!! Check out Bond. These four English ladies have managed to put the adrenaline back into a fiddle!!
No more!! Check out Bond. These four English ladies have managed to put the adrenaline back into a fiddle!!
Don't let it happen to you!
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
Got Skype??
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.
(Groan)
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
Fixin' up the place
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
Is THIS being fashionable??
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
Mass Murderer!!
I never thought tonight I’d become a killer. But I had no choice.
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:
Kz: 1
Bugs: 0
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.
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:
Kz: 1
Bugs: 0
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
Ok, let's try this thing!
This is nothing but a mere test to see if the dang blog-by-mail is back on track.
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.
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
My ripped slipper
A loooong time ago, (I think it was still the nineties) I remember going into a store and buying me a pair of badly-needed slippers. My previous pair was totally falling apart so I had decided to retire them and get a spankin' new pair.
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.
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
The Church and me
Since I was a fetus in my mother's womb, I was raised a Roman Catholic, just like most kids in Kzanderallia at the time. Communion, confirmation, Hail Mary, mother of Christ and stuff like that. And it was good, it really was. I went to Mass, prayed before going to sleep. I was a good Catholic boy.
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.
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
Juri
There’s a new guy down at the office. His name is Juri, and in very short time he has managed to freak out all the women and a few of the men who work there. Maybe it’s his weird name. It could also have to do with the fact that he has big ears and big teeth. Or maybe the fact that he eats like a rodent.
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.
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
The return of the mad blogger
Yes, this quaint little blog has been out of business for quite a while.
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
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.
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
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.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Cut off!!
A few days ago, the phone went out. We had it coming. It had made a strange noise for a while, and then, one day it just went out. We’ve called the phone company, but it will be a while.
This means my dial-up internet connection is gone as well. I feel totally isolated. Well, I still have my cell phone, and my mom lent hers to my granny. So we are still semi-connected.
But... I want my Internet!!
Luckily, there are choices. My parents have a cable connection, and so does my girlfriend. There is the occasional internet cafe or the campus lab. But nothing beats being able to hook up at midnight to look at some dirty slu....uhm, I mean... to check up Merriam-Webster.com for new words to add to my vocabulary. Yes, that’s what I always do with my online time. Always.
Can’t live without that Webster.
This means my dial-up internet connection is gone as well. I feel totally isolated. Well, I still have my cell phone, and my mom lent hers to my granny. So we are still semi-connected.
But... I want my Internet!!
Luckily, there are choices. My parents have a cable connection, and so does my girlfriend. There is the occasional internet cafe or the campus lab. But nothing beats being able to hook up at midnight to look at some dirty slu....uhm, I mean... to check up Merriam-Webster.com for new words to add to my vocabulary. Yes, that’s what I always do with my online time. Always.
Can’t live without that Webster.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
A few words about my dad
Ok, it's time to talk about something that's been troubling me for a very long time.
My dad is sick, really sick.
He has a malignant lymphoma in his neck. It started on his panchreas two years ago, but you know how cancer doesn't like to confine itself to just one place. So it migrated to his neck. That's when things got ugly. The lymph nodes there starting to swell up, and he started to get a lot of bulges around his throat. That was kinda hard to watch, but the best was yet to come. The doctors decided to put a catheter in him, so the chemotherapy could have a direct input into his bloodstream. So he has a plastic valve grafted onto his chest, barely covered with a layer of skin. You can clearly see the contours of the thing. It's gross. Very Frankenstein-ish. I can't imagine what having that must feel like.
When the cancer got to his panchreas, it made him diabetic. But when it got to his neck, it crushed several nerves and paralyzed half of his face.
The chemo started to waste my old man away. He quickly lost over 50 pounds. And his hair.
Eventually, some of the hair grew back, and some of the pounds made a return. But it wasn't the same. His arms, which used to be thick as a log, became as thin as matchsticks.
The drugs started to wreack havok on his body. His digestive system got devastated. He was the one who taught me the love of food. Now the thought of eating one of his beloved burgers is enough to make him heave.
It is as if 30 years dropped on him in just one year. He used to be a vivacious man. He used to look 10 years younger than his real age. Now he looks 80. The disease has turned him into a frail old man.
The doctors have given up trying to cure him, and now are focusing on lessening his pain. He may not last more than six more months.
Making peace with the past
I smirk whenever I see a TV show that has kids mouthing off to their parents. Had I done anything REMOTELY close to that when I was a kid, I would’ve had to pick my teeth off the floor.
I got my dose of whuppings when I was a kid. I used to resent my Dad for it. He wasn’t (and still isn’t) the easiest person to talk to. You couldn’t summon his wrath without grave consequence. And boy, was that easy to do! Several times as a kid, he felt the need to show me my place with a good smack to the back of my head every now and then. If you haven’t been slapped in the back of the head, it’s not fun, trust me.
When my own kids misbehave, I’ll whip their lower back till there is no skin in there, but I’ll leave their heads alone. I figure God put extra filling in the butt area for a good reason. Those cheeks aren’t just for sitting, kids!!
As a consequence of the body punishments, I used to resent my Dad profoundly. But that was before he got sick. It’s hard to hold a grudge at somebody who is fading away before your very eyes.
This is not my dad
I want the man I knew two years ago. Give him back.
I have stopped taking pictures. I loved to photograph my family every chance I had. But now I won’t go with a camera near my dad. This is not how I want to remember him. I don’t think he would like to be remembered this way, either.
Cancer is a monster
It can take everything away: your health, your youth, your will to live. But it can't take your family's love away. We love you, Dad. We always will.
May God give each one of us the strength to overcome this terrible trial.
My dad is sick, really sick.
He has a malignant lymphoma in his neck. It started on his panchreas two years ago, but you know how cancer doesn't like to confine itself to just one place. So it migrated to his neck. That's when things got ugly. The lymph nodes there starting to swell up, and he started to get a lot of bulges around his throat. That was kinda hard to watch, but the best was yet to come. The doctors decided to put a catheter in him, so the chemotherapy could have a direct input into his bloodstream. So he has a plastic valve grafted onto his chest, barely covered with a layer of skin. You can clearly see the contours of the thing. It's gross. Very Frankenstein-ish. I can't imagine what having that must feel like.
When the cancer got to his panchreas, it made him diabetic. But when it got to his neck, it crushed several nerves and paralyzed half of his face.
The chemo started to waste my old man away. He quickly lost over 50 pounds. And his hair.
Eventually, some of the hair grew back, and some of the pounds made a return. But it wasn't the same. His arms, which used to be thick as a log, became as thin as matchsticks.
The drugs started to wreack havok on his body. His digestive system got devastated. He was the one who taught me the love of food. Now the thought of eating one of his beloved burgers is enough to make him heave.
It is as if 30 years dropped on him in just one year. He used to be a vivacious man. He used to look 10 years younger than his real age. Now he looks 80. The disease has turned him into a frail old man.
The doctors have given up trying to cure him, and now are focusing on lessening his pain. He may not last more than six more months.
Making peace with the past
I smirk whenever I see a TV show that has kids mouthing off to their parents. Had I done anything REMOTELY close to that when I was a kid, I would’ve had to pick my teeth off the floor.
I got my dose of whuppings when I was a kid. I used to resent my Dad for it. He wasn’t (and still isn’t) the easiest person to talk to. You couldn’t summon his wrath without grave consequence. And boy, was that easy to do! Several times as a kid, he felt the need to show me my place with a good smack to the back of my head every now and then. If you haven’t been slapped in the back of the head, it’s not fun, trust me.
When my own kids misbehave, I’ll whip their lower back till there is no skin in there, but I’ll leave their heads alone. I figure God put extra filling in the butt area for a good reason. Those cheeks aren’t just for sitting, kids!!
As a consequence of the body punishments, I used to resent my Dad profoundly. But that was before he got sick. It’s hard to hold a grudge at somebody who is fading away before your very eyes.
This is not my dad
I want the man I knew two years ago. Give him back.
I have stopped taking pictures. I loved to photograph my family every chance I had. But now I won’t go with a camera near my dad. This is not how I want to remember him. I don’t think he would like to be remembered this way, either.
Cancer is a monster
It can take everything away: your health, your youth, your will to live. But it can't take your family's love away. We love you, Dad. We always will.
May God give each one of us the strength to overcome this terrible trial.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Crash
Have you ever seen Crash?? It’s a creepy film, man. It’s about a secret community of weirdoes that get turned on whenever they’re on a car crash. These are really sick people. They take pictures of traffic accidents because it makes them hot. Even seeing crash test films makes the horny devils want to do the horizontal mambo. I don’t know what made me dislike this film. Maybe it was the man-to-man love scenes. Or maybe it was the cross-dressing. Could’ve been the cripple-sex. Truly, I am not sure.
But now I know why the kid at the video store kept looking at me funny while I was renting it out.
I banged a lady
I was driving to my school last Friday, to return some overdue books at the library. It had been a rainy afternoon, and the traffic was bad. Then I saw the lady in front of me suddenly slowing down. I tried to brake, but the pavement was wet and the tires didn’t take hold.
It was kinda funny, actually. I was driving at around 20 kph, so it was a slow collission. It felt like the car slid for a lifetime before slamming into that lady’s rear bumper. Sort of like slow motion: S.....L.....A......M.....!!!
I got a bit shaken, but not too much. After a quick damage assesment, we knew the following:
Since my car hit the woman’s bumper with the right headlight, it got totally pushed in, along with the hood, the bumper, the grill and the front side of the car. Yeah: OUCH.
Luckily, both of us were insured, so it was a matter of waiting for the insurance guys to show up (they would eventually show up about an hour later, due to traffic). We moved our cars to a nearby gas station to clear the way and to minimize any posibilities of having the Kzanderallian police show up. (In case you have skipped posts, they are bad news). The lady turned out to be quite nice. We even had a cup of coffee together while we waited inside the gas station. It felt kinda surreal to sit there and talk to her like we hadn’t just crashed a few minutes ago.
In short...
It’s confirmed:
Crash the movie is nothing like real life.
Traffic accidents are a total turn-off.
But now I know why the kid at the video store kept looking at me funny while I was renting it out.
I banged a lady
I was driving to my school last Friday, to return some overdue books at the library. It had been a rainy afternoon, and the traffic was bad. Then I saw the lady in front of me suddenly slowing down. I tried to brake, but the pavement was wet and the tires didn’t take hold.
It was kinda funny, actually. I was driving at around 20 kph, so it was a slow collission. It felt like the car slid for a lifetime before slamming into that lady’s rear bumper. Sort of like slow motion: S.....L.....A......M.....!!!
I got a bit shaken, but not too much. After a quick damage assesment, we knew the following:
- She was ok
- I was ok
- Her car was ok (just a banged-up bumper)
- Mine was not
Since my car hit the woman’s bumper with the right headlight, it got totally pushed in, along with the hood, the bumper, the grill and the front side of the car. Yeah: OUCH.
Luckily, both of us were insured, so it was a matter of waiting for the insurance guys to show up (they would eventually show up about an hour later, due to traffic). We moved our cars to a nearby gas station to clear the way and to minimize any posibilities of having the Kzanderallian police show up. (In case you have skipped posts, they are bad news). The lady turned out to be quite nice. We even had a cup of coffee together while we waited inside the gas station. It felt kinda surreal to sit there and talk to her like we hadn’t just crashed a few minutes ago.
In short...
It’s confirmed:
Crash the movie is nothing like real life.
Traffic accidents are a total turn-off.
Monday, October 04, 2004
BBB
A few days ago I reached the top ‘user status’ rank: Baby Buggy Bumper. What this means is that I have made over 3200 comments in the forums. I like to think of myself as an ‘active forum participant with a noted inclination towards frequent written participation and with a focus on the enrichment of the thematic pool’.
Arsi has a word for this: BLABBERMOUTH.
Who’s talkative?
It was never my intent to become a ‘Baby Buggy Bumper’. I just saw a lot of opportunites for commenting in the forums, and went ahead and did it. That’s all. However, the comments started piling up over time, and here we are.
But this rank can give people the wrong idea about me. Just because I’ve posted 3200 times in 16 months, it doesn’t mean I talk a lot. I just talk often. There is a diference.
Most of my comments are short, which is no wonder when you take my famed impatience into account. If you bundled them together, I don’t think all my comments would amount to more than three full pages of text. Need more proof? Take a good look at the blog you’re reading. Large type makes up for the fact that I don’t write that much! When you compare this blog to Cyn’s or hbomb’s, you can easily see that they have more words in just one page than I do in my whole blog!!
However... 3200 comments in little more than a year...
Oh, what the heck: I guess I do talk a lot.
Arsi has a word for this: BLABBERMOUTH.
Who’s talkative?
It was never my intent to become a ‘Baby Buggy Bumper’. I just saw a lot of opportunites for commenting in the forums, and went ahead and did it. That’s all. However, the comments started piling up over time, and here we are.
But this rank can give people the wrong idea about me. Just because I’ve posted 3200 times in 16 months, it doesn’t mean I talk a lot. I just talk often. There is a diference.
Most of my comments are short, which is no wonder when you take my famed impatience into account. If you bundled them together, I don’t think all my comments would amount to more than three full pages of text. Need more proof? Take a good look at the blog you’re reading. Large type makes up for the fact that I don’t write that much! When you compare this blog to Cyn’s or hbomb’s, you can easily see that they have more words in just one page than I do in my whole blog!!
However... 3200 comments in little more than a year...
Oh, what the heck: I guess I do talk a lot.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Oh arsi, how I wish you were wrong about this one
Recently, I was over at Bunny Corner and I was reading a post where arsi said that Haloscan, the company that provides the commenting service in my blog, was deleting all comments older than four months. I decided to checked this for myself and was dismayed at the results. At least one comment has been erased so far, but it was an important one: it was my very first comment ever. I even made a post mentioning that very fact. Now that posting is completely pointless, since the comment that originated it is gone. Many precious gems by dpenguin, Taz and arsi (yes, the bunnymeister himself!!) will be lost! Even though I haven’t read some of those comments in months, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t mind if they disappeared forever.
I must do something. But what?
My guess is that I’ll be switching to Blogger’s own commenting system. It came out about six weeks after I started blogging, and I tried switching back then, but it was a mess. The code was mixed up and I ended up with two commenting links. With Galoot’s help I managed to separate the two. In the end, I stayed with Haloscan, cause it displayed comments in a separate window, without having to leave the page you were in. Also, the interface was way easier to use and manage than Blogger’s. But no feature is too cool for me to allow further massacre of my beloved comments.
I read how jaymeekaye copy-pasted each and every comment she ever got from Haloscan to Blogger when she switched. I admire a person willing to perform such a tiresome, monotone task.
Maybe I’ll ask her to switch my comments for me.
Insert your comment here
Visitor comments are very important to me. When I see comments after one of my blog postings, it tells me that people are
a) reading this blog, and
b) so interested in what they read, that they feel compelled to write about it
Writing a blog isn’t easy. I have to turn off my TV, walk all the way to my room, turn on the computer, fire up my mail app, and write.
It sure is nice to know that all this exhausting effort isn’t a total waste.
I must do something. But what?
My guess is that I’ll be switching to Blogger’s own commenting system. It came out about six weeks after I started blogging, and I tried switching back then, but it was a mess. The code was mixed up and I ended up with two commenting links. With Galoot’s help I managed to separate the two. In the end, I stayed with Haloscan, cause it displayed comments in a separate window, without having to leave the page you were in. Also, the interface was way easier to use and manage than Blogger’s. But no feature is too cool for me to allow further massacre of my beloved comments.
I read how jaymeekaye copy-pasted each and every comment she ever got from Haloscan to Blogger when she switched. I admire a person willing to perform such a tiresome, monotone task.
Maybe I’ll ask her to switch my comments for me.
Insert your comment here
Visitor comments are very important to me. When I see comments after one of my blog postings, it tells me that people are
a) reading this blog, and
b) so interested in what they read, that they feel compelled to write about it
Writing a blog isn’t easy. I have to turn off my TV, walk all the way to my room, turn on the computer, fire up my mail app, and write.
It sure is nice to know that all this exhausting effort isn’t a total waste.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in
I thought i had bit it today. I had to hand over a report for the graduation class I’m taking. Well, I had to write tons and tons of stuff. I started writing around 22:00 last night and didn’t stop till about 7:00 today, when I took a break to have a bite to eat. But even after burning the midnight oil, I was far from finished. I started to lose hope around noon. I had to hand out the thing around 16:35. There was just so much ground to cover!! I decided to call it quits around 17:15. I printed the report out and was out the door like yesterday’s sunshine. Not that the traffic was helpful, either. I must’ve made a 20 minute trip in about twice the time. When I arrived at school, I was hesitant to enter. The girl teaching the class had warned me that if I missed this drop-off, I was out.
Out. After spending so much money, time and effort on this dang class. In case you’ve forgotten, I even had to take a 3-month break from the job at Lexcorp just to have enough time. All for not. I was feeling like a total failure as I crossed the doorway. Of course, having arrived so late, I was the last on the list. When it was time for my work to be evaluated, she was in a very cheerful mood. She said she was sorry for coming down on me so hard last time, and the report looked promising. I was so thrilled, I almost cried. I wanted to hug her, but barely managed to keep a hold on myself.
After everybody was gone, I let out a humongous sigh of relief. I was still on the race.
I couldn’t believe it. I was so sure I was a goner. I felt like a condemmned man who had been given a full pardon just as he was sitting in the electric chair.
I can do this: I can win this class.
I have to.
Oh but all things have a price
It’s 23:44 and I’ve been awake for about 24 hours straight. I had to, otherwise I would’ve never finished the report I had to hand out today.
Staying awake was tough. Luckily, I had a little help from Mr. Red Bull. Oh, and i mean the energy drink, not the man (unfortunately)
Despite the chemical boost, around 6:27 I found myself trying to catch some rest in any way possible. I even slept on the floor for a while. This was a trick I picked up in my early student days. If you sleep on the floor, you are never comfortable, which prevents you from dozing off the whole night away.
I kept having these mini-naps, which were not cool, for I didn’t get any rest at all. I remember going to bed and saying to myself “Oh, let’s have some sleep...just for a bit.”
I would get a mini sleep, but then the anguish of the unfinished paper would overcome me and get me on my feet.
Geez, I feel exhausted.
Right now, I am not sleepy, but I know i will drop down like a brick as soon as the adrenaline rush stops, which could be any minute now.
SLAM! Zzzzzzzzz...
Out. After spending so much money, time and effort on this dang class. In case you’ve forgotten, I even had to take a 3-month break from the job at Lexcorp just to have enough time. All for not. I was feeling like a total failure as I crossed the doorway. Of course, having arrived so late, I was the last on the list. When it was time for my work to be evaluated, she was in a very cheerful mood. She said she was sorry for coming down on me so hard last time, and the report looked promising. I was so thrilled, I almost cried. I wanted to hug her, but barely managed to keep a hold on myself.
After everybody was gone, I let out a humongous sigh of relief. I was still on the race.
I couldn’t believe it. I was so sure I was a goner. I felt like a condemmned man who had been given a full pardon just as he was sitting in the electric chair.
I can do this: I can win this class.
I have to.
Oh but all things have a price
It’s 23:44 and I’ve been awake for about 24 hours straight. I had to, otherwise I would’ve never finished the report I had to hand out today.
Staying awake was tough. Luckily, I had a little help from Mr. Red Bull. Oh, and i mean the energy drink, not the man (unfortunately)
Despite the chemical boost, around 6:27 I found myself trying to catch some rest in any way possible. I even slept on the floor for a while. This was a trick I picked up in my early student days. If you sleep on the floor, you are never comfortable, which prevents you from dozing off the whole night away.
I kept having these mini-naps, which were not cool, for I didn’t get any rest at all. I remember going to bed and saying to myself “Oh, let’s have some sleep...just for a bit.”
I would get a mini sleep, but then the anguish of the unfinished paper would overcome me and get me on my feet.
Geez, I feel exhausted.
Right now, I am not sleepy, but I know i will drop down like a brick as soon as the adrenaline rush stops, which could be any minute now.
SLAM! Zzzzzzzzz...
Damn kids!!
It just seems that every bozo that has a mildly powerful engine in his car has the need to try it out as often as possible. Since the closest racetrack is about 50 miles away, those who like to live in the fast lane have turned any available city street into their own little Daytona. I have the misfortune of living in a very long and wide street, which makes it perfect for racing. So every time I leave the house i am afraid that I may lose a life or limb as one of those jerks passes whooshing by.
I’m not a fan of speedbumps, but I’m totally ready to make an exception.
I’m not a fan of speedbumps, but I’m totally ready to make an exception.
Tough times
My mother-in-law is going thru very tough times right now.
Last year, a brain clot got her mom into a coma she will probably never get out of.
Then, about four months ago, her sister died to a very painful form of stomach tumor. She is the second sister to die of cancer.
Two days ago, her father finally passed away, after being bedridden for about a year due to a stroke.
This was very shocking, for this happened almost before my very eyes. I remember leaving the room for just a minute, and when I came back, he was gone.
There was a lot of crying and sorrow, but deep down we knew he was going to a better place. He had been such a gentle soul, funny, talkative, friendly, courteous... The stroke ended all that. During his last year of life, he was little more than a wooden puppet, unable to think or do anything for himself. It broke my heart to see him this way.
His wife was a very funny woman, impetuous and lively. Then the coma turned her into a little wrinkle on the bed. Tragic.
I really admire my mother-in-law. Her faith has kept her together. She is a very strong woman.
So is Ivy. They are a tough breed.
If the need for it ever arises, I hope to be as strong myself.
Last year, a brain clot got her mom into a coma she will probably never get out of.
Then, about four months ago, her sister died to a very painful form of stomach tumor. She is the second sister to die of cancer.
Two days ago, her father finally passed away, after being bedridden for about a year due to a stroke.
This was very shocking, for this happened almost before my very eyes. I remember leaving the room for just a minute, and when I came back, he was gone.
There was a lot of crying and sorrow, but deep down we knew he was going to a better place. He had been such a gentle soul, funny, talkative, friendly, courteous... The stroke ended all that. During his last year of life, he was little more than a wooden puppet, unable to think or do anything for himself. It broke my heart to see him this way.
His wife was a very funny woman, impetuous and lively. Then the coma turned her into a little wrinkle on the bed. Tragic.
I really admire my mother-in-law. Her faith has kept her together. She is a very strong woman.
So is Ivy. They are a tough breed.
If the need for it ever arises, I hope to be as strong myself.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Blog That!!
I am curious about the way the "Blog This!" tool works. Apparently it enables you to post entries in your blog with a lot more ease. This can be quite useful if you are the blog aficionado. I don't think I'll use it too much. I got blog-by-mail, and I'm not that talkative, anyway. Before I forget: this tool allows you to make links, which is cool, cause there this awesome site you should totally check out.
Oh what a night!
Yesterday, it was Clio night.
For those of you who don’t know the advertising business, the Clio Awards are given out every year to the best works in advertising and design around the world. They are handed out in Miami (Florida) during the month of May. And around September, in Kzanderallia, there is always this gala organized by the Kzanderallian Advertising Association where they show the winning awards. They’ve been doing it for several years now. Some people would balk at the idea of paying $12 just to go see commercials for two hours straight. But actually, it’s very entertaining. An ad can be a work of art, moving and captivating while telling you a tiny story in just under 30 seconds.
And this is so much more than just showing ads! Every year they have a theme, and the decorations, invites, tickets and giveaway prizes are in tune with it. One year, it was ‘Chinese Culture’, then it was ‘Summer Party’. This year’s theme was ‘Know Kzanderallia’. They got together with the Kzanderallian Institute of Tourism and produced a very interesting work, showcasing the different aspects of Kzanderallia. They have ‘Wild Kzanderallia’, ‘Caribbean Kzanderallia’, “Colonial Kzanderallia”, and so forth.
I love the Clio show. I wait all year for it. But... Yesterday, several things didn’t work out as planned.
To show off the ads, the Clio people turn a banquet hall into a projection room with 5 screens and 2000 seats. This was never a problem when they used video, but this year, they went digital. There was malfunction galore. Several screens didn’t go at the same pace as the soundtrack, and they had to turn several screens off at the end.
They cut off the ad reel. Usually two hours long, they only showed half of it so people would have time to see a “Magical Mystical Tour of Kzanderallia”. The expo was OK, and everything, but I paid to see ads, not to see an expo.
After the chopped-off ad reel ended, we were supposed to leave the projection room and go to a nearby hall. This didn’t seem to be so hard, since most of us had been to the hotel before and knew the place where the expo was being held. But here’s the thing: we had to take a specific, little-known path. This was never said. Most people (me included) took the well-known route and found ourselves faced with closed doors. We had to doubleback and try to make our way into the expo. Me and a few people got into an elevator and ended up three basements down, and had to go back up via the stairs. It was a mess.
Then, we finally made it to the hall. It was packed with lights, music and people. They were handing out little souvenirs like petite bottles of Quetzalteca Especial, a drink one step away from rubbing-alcohol. There were tamales, and tortillas. There was a photo booth, where you could take a photo of yourself with the Miss Kzanderallia.
However, the night ended shortly. Turns out Ivy got quite pissed at me, ‘cause she thought I’d been neglecting her all night. It got to a point where I dragged her out and took her home. Of course, we made up once we were there. But when I managed to get back to the Clios, the party was over. Damn.
The dreadful aftermath
Oh, but the worst part was yet to come: when I got home from the Clios and downloaded the photos into my computer, half were missing!
Either by camera malfunction or human error, about 20 photos are gone. Total bummer, as yu can imagine. But maybe some things we aren’t meant to remember. I only wish the mental images from that sucky night were as easy to erase from my brain.
For those of you who don’t know the advertising business, the Clio Awards are given out every year to the best works in advertising and design around the world. They are handed out in Miami (Florida) during the month of May. And around September, in Kzanderallia, there is always this gala organized by the Kzanderallian Advertising Association where they show the winning awards. They’ve been doing it for several years now. Some people would balk at the idea of paying $12 just to go see commercials for two hours straight. But actually, it’s very entertaining. An ad can be a work of art, moving and captivating while telling you a tiny story in just under 30 seconds.
And this is so much more than just showing ads! Every year they have a theme, and the decorations, invites, tickets and giveaway prizes are in tune with it. One year, it was ‘Chinese Culture’, then it was ‘Summer Party’. This year’s theme was ‘Know Kzanderallia’. They got together with the Kzanderallian Institute of Tourism and produced a very interesting work, showcasing the different aspects of Kzanderallia. They have ‘Wild Kzanderallia’, ‘Caribbean Kzanderallia’, “Colonial Kzanderallia”, and so forth.
I love the Clio show. I wait all year for it. But... Yesterday, several things didn’t work out as planned.
To show off the ads, the Clio people turn a banquet hall into a projection room with 5 screens and 2000 seats. This was never a problem when they used video, but this year, they went digital. There was malfunction galore. Several screens didn’t go at the same pace as the soundtrack, and they had to turn several screens off at the end.
They cut off the ad reel. Usually two hours long, they only showed half of it so people would have time to see a “Magical Mystical Tour of Kzanderallia”. The expo was OK, and everything, but I paid to see ads, not to see an expo.
After the chopped-off ad reel ended, we were supposed to leave the projection room and go to a nearby hall. This didn’t seem to be so hard, since most of us had been to the hotel before and knew the place where the expo was being held. But here’s the thing: we had to take a specific, little-known path. This was never said. Most people (me included) took the well-known route and found ourselves faced with closed doors. We had to doubleback and try to make our way into the expo. Me and a few people got into an elevator and ended up three basements down, and had to go back up via the stairs. It was a mess.
Then, we finally made it to the hall. It was packed with lights, music and people. They were handing out little souvenirs like petite bottles of Quetzalteca Especial, a drink one step away from rubbing-alcohol. There were tamales, and tortillas. There was a photo booth, where you could take a photo of yourself with the Miss Kzanderallia.
However, the night ended shortly. Turns out Ivy got quite pissed at me, ‘cause she thought I’d been neglecting her all night. It got to a point where I dragged her out and took her home. Of course, we made up once we were there. But when I managed to get back to the Clios, the party was over. Damn.
The dreadful aftermath
Oh, but the worst part was yet to come: when I got home from the Clios and downloaded the photos into my computer, half were missing!
Either by camera malfunction or human error, about 20 photos are gone. Total bummer, as yu can imagine. But maybe some things we aren’t meant to remember. I only wish the mental images from that sucky night were as easy to erase from my brain.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Consequences, consequences
Yeah, well it had to happen. After a string of days of little sleep, my eyes got incredibly irritated and tired. And my body was overcome with exahustion. But I've been trying to stay off the Red Bull. Don't want to depend on it to do everything. However, if these keeps up, I think I have little choice but to pop another can just to keep going. I have tons of stuff to do for tomorrow, and I can’t fall asleep.
(SLURP)
I’m a hermit
Due to all the work from studying, I have seen my family and friends alarmingly less.
It’s come to the point where I fear that one of these days I’ll show up for dinner and I’ll get nothing but unfriendly stares while a voice in the background squeals, “Mom, who is that?” “No idea, honey. I better call the cops”.
My sister is... no, wait
Dammit, I can’t believe I was gonna tell the same thing again...
Instead, I’ll tell ya a bit how my sister’s two week stay has gone so far. Maybe the word ‘stay’ is wrong, for she hasn’t stayed still much... She has been all over town, visiting old friends from school and college. She even went to a nearby city to nurse a sick friend for a while. Then, she went to the next country (no kidding) to visit a friend from the time she was studying her Master’s.
This flutter of activity has somewhat miffed my folks, who had counted on having her around more. But being homely is not my sis’s style. Never has been. There is even an expression my mother uses: She is‘like a streetlamp: she shines brightly on the road, but not at home.
My first 36 hours of chat
I’ve choked a guy over another guy’s affections.
I have spoken total jabberwacky with meow.
I’ve Stepped Up!
I’ve been kicked out five times.
So far, so good!!
(SLURP)
I’m a hermit
Due to all the work from studying, I have seen my family and friends alarmingly less.
It’s come to the point where I fear that one of these days I’ll show up for dinner and I’ll get nothing but unfriendly stares while a voice in the background squeals, “Mom, who is that?” “No idea, honey. I better call the cops”.
My sister is... no, wait
Dammit, I can’t believe I was gonna tell the same thing again...
Instead, I’ll tell ya a bit how my sister’s two week stay has gone so far. Maybe the word ‘stay’ is wrong, for she hasn’t stayed still much... She has been all over town, visiting old friends from school and college. She even went to a nearby city to nurse a sick friend for a while. Then, she went to the next country (no kidding) to visit a friend from the time she was studying her Master’s.
This flutter of activity has somewhat miffed my folks, who had counted on having her around more. But being homely is not my sis’s style. Never has been. There is even an expression my mother uses: She is‘like a streetlamp: she shines brightly on the road, but not at home.
My first 36 hours of chat
I’ve choked a guy over another guy’s affections.
I have spoken total jabberwacky with meow.
I’ve Stepped Up!
I’ve been kicked out five times.
So far, so good!!
Eight is a magical number
Recently, the phone company decided to add another digit to all phone numbers in the country. So now we've gone from seven digits to eight.
It ain't easy, lemme tell you. Numbers you used to know by heart are no longer valid. Of course, everybody in the country is pretty much in the same predicament. So the phone company put up ads on TV, on the radio, even on the net. And they are also handing out all sorts of little cardboard reminders you can stick on the fridge door or the kind you can put in your wallet. Luckily, since mine is a small country, we still don’t have to mess with area codes. Wonder how much that’ll last.
It ain't easy, lemme tell you. Numbers you used to know by heart are no longer valid. Of course, everybody in the country is pretty much in the same predicament. So the phone company put up ads on TV, on the radio, even on the net. And they are also handing out all sorts of little cardboard reminders you can stick on the fridge door or the kind you can put in your wallet. Luckily, since mine is a small country, we still don’t have to mess with area codes. Wonder how much that’ll last.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Am I dreaming?
After months of endless frustration, I have finally been able to chat with my fellow Worthians.
A lot of famous faces were there: meowza, atomica, catwoman, rob_church, jago... even CCZ!!
Somebody pinch me!!
A lot of famous faces were there: meowza, atomica, catwoman, rob_church, jago... even CCZ!!
Somebody pinch me!!
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
I didn't think I'd make it this far
Last night I tried, for the very first time, the very famous Red Bull Energy Drink. I have to say, I didn't really believe in energy drinks in general, having tried a couple some time ago. But never Red Bull... Until now.
I was at my girlfriend’s and I was beggining to feel kinda sleepy at 19:00, so I popped a can open and drank from it. At first, it didn't feel a lot different in taste or effect to the other energy drinks I had tried before. But less than five minutes later, I was quite awake. And that was just from a couple of sips. I reassumed work and kept taking pulls from the slender aluminum can till there was nothing in it to drink.
Then I drove home. I was feeling quite good as I got to my room and plopped in front of the ‘puter for some working. Only... I didn’t get any work done. I fiddled with pictures, organized my files and did a million things alike. Before I knew it, it was 5:30 and I hadn’t slept a wink. By now, I was kinda numb all over, so I decided to park it for a while.
A couple of hours later, I was up again. Now it’s 2 in the morning and I am still awake. I know a second Red Bull would get me thru the night, but I guess we better leave it here. It’s not safe for humanity to have my brain sleep-starved for too long.
Just imagine the threads that would arise...!
I was at my girlfriend’s and I was beggining to feel kinda sleepy at 19:00, so I popped a can open and drank from it. At first, it didn't feel a lot different in taste or effect to the other energy drinks I had tried before. But less than five minutes later, I was quite awake. And that was just from a couple of sips. I reassumed work and kept taking pulls from the slender aluminum can till there was nothing in it to drink.
Then I drove home. I was feeling quite good as I got to my room and plopped in front of the ‘puter for some working. Only... I didn’t get any work done. I fiddled with pictures, organized my files and did a million things alike. Before I knew it, it was 5:30 and I hadn’t slept a wink. By now, I was kinda numb all over, so I decided to park it for a while.
A couple of hours later, I was up again. Now it’s 2 in the morning and I am still awake. I know a second Red Bull would get me thru the night, but I guess we better leave it here. It’s not safe for humanity to have my brain sleep-starved for too long.
Just imagine the threads that would arise...!
Several things at once
One of the things I hate is that life doesn't stay still just 'cause I don't have any time to blog anymore.
I’ll try to address as many anecdotes as I am able in just one post:
Igor
About a month ago, a Belgian friend of my sister’s dropped by my parents’ house. His name was Igor. Despite what you might think, that is his actual name. Because of all the monster films I watched as a boy, all the time Igor was here I had to keep shaking visions of him as Doctor Frankestein’s helper.
Igor is quite tall. Maybe not so for a European, but here in Kzanderallia, he’s a veritable giant. There are photos that have him standing right next to him barely reaching his shoulder. Felt like a total pygmy. But it must’ve been quite awkward for him as well. Kzanderallian folk aren’t that tall in general. So all his stay he must’ve felt like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.
One night, he came to have dinner with us. After it was over, I took him out for a night on the town. Unfortunately, a night out in Kzanderallia isn’t what it used to be. The bars close at 1 AM. You read that right: ONE IN THE MORNING. And they don’t just stop serving drinks, they kick out all the customers, and close up the bars. Now is that sucky or what?
Before leaving for home, Igor thanked us for our hospitality and told me he had a great time that night.
I wish i could believe him... But I can’t shake the notion that he’s in some Belgian bar right now, laughing his head off at us crazy Kzanderallians and our lame party lives.
Independence Day
Yes, it’s coming. But here in Kzanderallia, we celebrate it on Sept. 15th. A lot of flags will wave in the air on Wednesday. My granny has one she made, but bugs have ridden it with tiny holes. It is at least 20 years old. Seeing how decayed my granny’s flag has become, I bought her a new one. She says she’ll put it up on the 15th, but I know she’s kinda dissapointed. Maybe a new flag wasn’t a good idea after all.
Meanwhile, I better start rehearsing the Kzanderallian National Anthem. You never know when the situation demands a burst of patriotic melody!
My sister is here!!
Yep, folks, the big sister the executive is back in town. She works for a big company as a Supply Manager for North America. Quite a bigwig, my sis. She was posted for about to years in Antwerpen, Belgium. During her stay in Europe, she visited almost all of the countries in the Union. Now she is going to work at the company headquarters, in the US. But she’s taking a couple of weeks off to visit us. We are all happy she’s here, but no one is more thrilled than my mom. The cub is reunited with the lioness. All is well in the jungle.
Fab
I had a pleasant surprise the other day. Fab, a friend of mine from grammar school, dropped by for a visit. Unfortunately, I wasn’t present at the time. But we talked on the phone a few days later and tomorrow we’ll see each other for breakfast. It’s gonna be cool. This will be the first time we’ve seen each other in over 7 years. And we have quite a topic to discuss: he’s getting married!
And that’s it for now!
What else can I say? I have said all I had to!!
I know... having nothing to say hasn’t stopped me in the past, but as it is nearly 2:30 AM, I find this little case of writer’s block the perfect op to go to bed and rest a bit. I must say that I am afraid it will be hard for me to go to sleep this very moment, as I am just so full of stamina... and... energ....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
I’ll try to address as many anecdotes as I am able in just one post:
Igor
About a month ago, a Belgian friend of my sister’s dropped by my parents’ house. His name was Igor. Despite what you might think, that is his actual name. Because of all the monster films I watched as a boy, all the time Igor was here I had to keep shaking visions of him as Doctor Frankestein’s helper.
Igor is quite tall. Maybe not so for a European, but here in Kzanderallia, he’s a veritable giant. There are photos that have him standing right next to him barely reaching his shoulder. Felt like a total pygmy. But it must’ve been quite awkward for him as well. Kzanderallian folk aren’t that tall in general. So all his stay he must’ve felt like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.
One night, he came to have dinner with us. After it was over, I took him out for a night on the town. Unfortunately, a night out in Kzanderallia isn’t what it used to be. The bars close at 1 AM. You read that right: ONE IN THE MORNING. And they don’t just stop serving drinks, they kick out all the customers, and close up the bars. Now is that sucky or what?
Before leaving for home, Igor thanked us for our hospitality and told me he had a great time that night.
I wish i could believe him... But I can’t shake the notion that he’s in some Belgian bar right now, laughing his head off at us crazy Kzanderallians and our lame party lives.
Independence Day
Yes, it’s coming. But here in Kzanderallia, we celebrate it on Sept. 15th. A lot of flags will wave in the air on Wednesday. My granny has one she made, but bugs have ridden it with tiny holes. It is at least 20 years old. Seeing how decayed my granny’s flag has become, I bought her a new one. She says she’ll put it up on the 15th, but I know she’s kinda dissapointed. Maybe a new flag wasn’t a good idea after all.
Meanwhile, I better start rehearsing the Kzanderallian National Anthem. You never know when the situation demands a burst of patriotic melody!
My sister is here!!
Yep, folks, the big sister the executive is back in town. She works for a big company as a Supply Manager for North America. Quite a bigwig, my sis. She was posted for about to years in Antwerpen, Belgium. During her stay in Europe, she visited almost all of the countries in the Union. Now she is going to work at the company headquarters, in the US. But she’s taking a couple of weeks off to visit us. We are all happy she’s here, but no one is more thrilled than my mom. The cub is reunited with the lioness. All is well in the jungle.
Fab
I had a pleasant surprise the other day. Fab, a friend of mine from grammar school, dropped by for a visit. Unfortunately, I wasn’t present at the time. But we talked on the phone a few days later and tomorrow we’ll see each other for breakfast. It’s gonna be cool. This will be the first time we’ve seen each other in over 7 years. And we have quite a topic to discuss: he’s getting married!
And that’s it for now!
What else can I say? I have said all I had to!!
I know... having nothing to say hasn’t stopped me in the past, but as it is nearly 2:30 AM, I find this little case of writer’s block the perfect op to go to bed and rest a bit. I must say that I am afraid it will be hard for me to go to sleep this very moment, as I am just so full of stamina... and... energ....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Just WHERE are my messages???
I just came here to check if anybody had left any messages on my blog... And there were none. But not just the last entry, but the whole blog!! It seems that Haloscan's server is down. They can’t do this to me!! I can’t live without messages!! How else can I know if people like me??
Flat on my ass
Me and Ivy, we have a thing we do at her house. Sometimes, when she’s distracted, I dash for the door, as fast as I can. When she realizes I’m gone, she runs right behind me. Usually she catches me before I reach the street. Then we have a hug, a kiss and a good laugh on account of the silliness of the whole thing.
Tonite was no exception. We were talking in the lobby, and Iv turned her head at some noise she heard. When she turned back, I was long gone. It took her about a minute to react, but by then, I was almost at the front door. I was laughing my head off, when it happened, almost in slow motion: I stepped on a very slippery puddle of water and started to slide forwards as I started to fall backwards. Next thing I knew, SLAM! I was laying flat on the floor.
After the initial shock had passed, and just before I could moan or curse, I started to laugh out loud. Ivy was petrified, but started giggling too. It was just so absurd! It took me a good five minutes or so before I could stand again, still laughing at myself.
After performing a quick body check, I realized that my ego had been the only casualty that night.
Tonite was no exception. We were talking in the lobby, and Iv turned her head at some noise she heard. When she turned back, I was long gone. It took her about a minute to react, but by then, I was almost at the front door. I was laughing my head off, when it happened, almost in slow motion: I stepped on a very slippery puddle of water and started to slide forwards as I started to fall backwards. Next thing I knew, SLAM! I was laying flat on the floor.
After the initial shock had passed, and just before I could moan or curse, I started to laugh out loud. Ivy was petrified, but started giggling too. It was just so absurd! It took me a good five minutes or so before I could stand again, still laughing at myself.
After performing a quick body check, I realized that my ego had been the only casualty that night.
M.I.A.
Yeah, i know. Once again, I have been abandoning my blog. It happens quite often, but this is the absolute longest I’ve been away from it: three weeks. A lot of stuff happened. I got back to school, there were people coming from abroad, I left Lexcorp... But I’m getting ahead of myself. So, without further ado...
School Daze
Did I tell you about the class I’m attending?
Yes I did.
Well, I’ve started making friends and everything. Even gave away chocolate cookies a couple of times.
I love meeting new people. The classes took a while to get a hold on, but I’m making progress.
More as the situation develops.
Don’t cry for me, Lexcorp
After about a week of going to work in the morning and going to school in the afternoon, I started to realize that I wasn’t gonna be able to do both things for long. My schoolwork started to lag as I didn’t have any real time to do it. My work-work started to suffer as well, for several times I had to take homework to the workplace to try to finish it there. Believe me, those were stressful times, trying hard not to get caught by my boss while working on a school paper. Not that work at Lexcorp was a walk in the park, either. Remember the Lexcorp Gazettes?? Well, in case you had forgotten, there’s still three 1000-page books unfinished which are due on October. I started to get migranes and ended up exhausted all the time.
Something had to give. I started to look into work licenses. I wanted a three-month permit, with no pay. But I realized that there was no way I was gonna get it, considering the Gazette situation. So I decided to quit for good. I was quite determined, too. But when I told my boss, he wouldn’t have any of it. He asked me to reconsider my decision several times. Finally I said, “The only other alternative I can think up is a three-month permit...”
The permit was on its way to Human Resources by the next day. It took them two endless weeks to approve it, but now I am resting in the commodity of my own home, able to dedicate fully to getting that darn degree. I must hurry, I only have seven more weeks to do it.
Enter the Temp
Obviously, Lexcorp couldn’t stand to be without me the whole three months, so they hired a temp. But, as things are never simple at Lexcorp, instead of hiring a temp to substitute me, they were gonna transfer a girl from Public Relations to replace me and they were gonna hire a girl to replace her. Sounds complex? Sure, but here’s the deal: The P.R. Girl was eager to switch jobs for two reasons: she was fed up with her boss and she wanted to earn a bit more. So replacing me for three months, she would get a break and more cash. But it was meant not to happen. The Human Resources people decided that the P.R. girl wasn’t qualified to replace me, so the temp replaced me in the end. I felt sorry for the P.R. Girl, but what could I do?
But, that’s only half of it. P.R. girl’s boss made Temp Girl come into the office a week before her hiring to make sure she would know her way around the workplace by the time P.R. Girl left. So the poor girl followed P.R. Girl for days, writing down stuff and making sure she knew all the procedures done there. Just as she was mastering P.R. Girl’s workload, she was ordered to come to my department and learn from me. Really, that must suck. Specially when you consider that she still hadn’t been hired. She was doing all of this for free.
Training her was kind of a hassle, since we were trying to to churn out one more tome of the Gazette at the same time. But I managed to tell her a thing or two about my work. The girl is smart, friendly, capable, BUT...she has the worst B.O. ever.
Really!! I can’t even begin to describe it. Have you ever smelled a very old and used $5 bill? Dirty, damp and stinky. I’m reminded of a Seinfeld episode where a valet parking lad rendered Jerry’s car useless after driving his car once. I had to hold my breath for long periods of time while trying not to sound like I was holding my breath. After a while, the smell would die down since my nose would get accustomed to it. But if I walked away for a minute, the pungent stench would rush back to my nostrils.
I feel for those I leave behind. May my temp’s B.O. not render them insane.
School Daze
Did I tell you about the class I’m attending?
Yes I did.
Well, I’ve started making friends and everything. Even gave away chocolate cookies a couple of times.
I love meeting new people. The classes took a while to get a hold on, but I’m making progress.
More as the situation develops.
Don’t cry for me, Lexcorp
After about a week of going to work in the morning and going to school in the afternoon, I started to realize that I wasn’t gonna be able to do both things for long. My schoolwork started to lag as I didn’t have any real time to do it. My work-work started to suffer as well, for several times I had to take homework to the workplace to try to finish it there. Believe me, those were stressful times, trying hard not to get caught by my boss while working on a school paper. Not that work at Lexcorp was a walk in the park, either. Remember the Lexcorp Gazettes?? Well, in case you had forgotten, there’s still three 1000-page books unfinished which are due on October. I started to get migranes and ended up exhausted all the time.
Something had to give. I started to look into work licenses. I wanted a three-month permit, with no pay. But I realized that there was no way I was gonna get it, considering the Gazette situation. So I decided to quit for good. I was quite determined, too. But when I told my boss, he wouldn’t have any of it. He asked me to reconsider my decision several times. Finally I said, “The only other alternative I can think up is a three-month permit...”
The permit was on its way to Human Resources by the next day. It took them two endless weeks to approve it, but now I am resting in the commodity of my own home, able to dedicate fully to getting that darn degree. I must hurry, I only have seven more weeks to do it.
Enter the Temp
Obviously, Lexcorp couldn’t stand to be without me the whole three months, so they hired a temp. But, as things are never simple at Lexcorp, instead of hiring a temp to substitute me, they were gonna transfer a girl from Public Relations to replace me and they were gonna hire a girl to replace her. Sounds complex? Sure, but here’s the deal: The P.R. Girl was eager to switch jobs for two reasons: she was fed up with her boss and she wanted to earn a bit more. So replacing me for three months, she would get a break and more cash. But it was meant not to happen. The Human Resources people decided that the P.R. girl wasn’t qualified to replace me, so the temp replaced me in the end. I felt sorry for the P.R. Girl, but what could I do?
But, that’s only half of it. P.R. girl’s boss made Temp Girl come into the office a week before her hiring to make sure she would know her way around the workplace by the time P.R. Girl left. So the poor girl followed P.R. Girl for days, writing down stuff and making sure she knew all the procedures done there. Just as she was mastering P.R. Girl’s workload, she was ordered to come to my department and learn from me. Really, that must suck. Specially when you consider that she still hadn’t been hired. She was doing all of this for free.
Training her was kind of a hassle, since we were trying to to churn out one more tome of the Gazette at the same time. But I managed to tell her a thing or two about my work. The girl is smart, friendly, capable, BUT...she has the worst B.O. ever.
Really!! I can’t even begin to describe it. Have you ever smelled a very old and used $5 bill? Dirty, damp and stinky. I’m reminded of a Seinfeld episode where a valet parking lad rendered Jerry’s car useless after driving his car once. I had to hold my breath for long periods of time while trying not to sound like I was holding my breath. After a while, the smell would die down since my nose would get accustomed to it. But if I walked away for a minute, the pungent stench would rush back to my nostrils.
I feel for those I leave behind. May my temp’s B.O. not render them insane.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Time sure flies when you're busy!
I could swear I posted in here just yesterday, but as the date shows, it’s been a whole week!!
Have my fans deserted me?? Do the still care about my hijinks???
Hello?
Have my fans deserted me?? Do the still care about my hijinks???
Hello?
A N Y B O D Y ?
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Hmmph!!
The blog-by-mail thingie is not working!!
Sent two entries twice and none got thru.
I think I'll copy-paste them.
Not the best, but it'll have to do if I want those posts online as fast as possible.
Can't keep the fans waiting!!
Sent two entries twice and none got thru.
I think I'll copy-paste them.
Not the best, but it'll have to do if I want those posts online as fast as possible.
Can't keep the fans waiting!!
Worst... headache...ever.
This is a follow-up to my insane posting session at 3AM on a Monday.
That kind of thing always has consequences. Damn, these were harsh.
For a while, though, I thought I had gotten off scot free. I just felt a bit tired throughout the morning. I got off work, went to my very first class of the semester, when...WHAAAM!!!
The biggest crushing migrane headache ever fell upon me. I swear my head felt like it was in a vise, with somebody screwing the damned thing tighter and tighter. After a while, I couldn’t even see properly with my right eye.
Being in the farthest corner of campus, the closest extra-strength aspirin was at least half a mile away. So I had three choices:
I chose the latter, for I thought a good dose of machismo would do me good. In retrospective, it was the best choice, but it sure didn’t feel like it when I was holding my face with my hands, trying to muffle the pain and pay attention at the same time. I remember my teacher tried not to look at me funny, but was crassly unsuccessful.
100% understandable.
So, I’ve learned my lesson: no more staying up till 3 AM just to blog.
Starting tomorrow night.
That kind of thing always has consequences. Damn, these were harsh.
For a while, though, I thought I had gotten off scot free. I just felt a bit tired throughout the morning. I got off work, went to my very first class of the semester, when...WHAAAM!!!
The biggest crushing migrane headache ever fell upon me. I swear my head felt like it was in a vise, with somebody screwing the damned thing tighter and tighter. After a while, I couldn’t even see properly with my right eye.
Being in the farthest corner of campus, the closest extra-strength aspirin was at least half a mile away. So I had three choices:
- Run like heck across two parking lots with a mangled equilibrium and just one good eye
- Cry like a baby
- Tuff it out
I chose the latter, for I thought a good dose of machismo would do me good. In retrospective, it was the best choice, but it sure didn’t feel like it when I was holding my face with my hands, trying to muffle the pain and pay attention at the same time. I remember my teacher tried not to look at me funny, but was crassly unsuccessful.
100% understandable.
So, I’ve learned my lesson: no more staying up till 3 AM just to blog.
Starting tomorrow night.
Back on the saddle
I am an official college student... Once again.
Yes, I’m giving this “get your godforsaken College Degree” thing one more go.
It’s not easy. I had a very traumatic academic experience two years ago, and haven’t been back since.
In case you’re wondering, I flunked my final exam. Horribly. Was completely unprepared, and paid for it hard. Plus my evaluation board was totally against me.
Reasons notwithstanding, I am back now and that’s what counts.
But it’s gonna be tricky.
The class is called Portfolio. But don’t be deceived by the innocuous name. It is actually three classes bundled into one:
As you see, it’s not just one class, now is it??
As if that wasn’t a handful, I get the distinct feeling that the faculty knows not what it is doing. You see, this is the first time such a class is being given. Ever. It is supposed to be an improvement over the old system. I don’t see how cramming a whole year’s worth of work in just one semester is so much better. Time will tell.
I’m stressed and anxious all the time, afraid I won’t be able to cope. I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to let down all the people who believe in me. I can’t let myself down. I have to get that title.
On another note, it sucks having classmates five years younger than me. The first day, everybody kept adressing me as if I were another teacher. It was until after a while that they realised that I was just another student like them.
I feel outdated, I feel obsolete. I keep questioning myself: Is my work good enough? Am I good enough??
I want my mommy.
Yes, I’m giving this “get your godforsaken College Degree” thing one more go.
It’s not easy. I had a very traumatic academic experience two years ago, and haven’t been back since.
In case you’re wondering, I flunked my final exam. Horribly. Was completely unprepared, and paid for it hard. Plus my evaluation board was totally against me.
Reasons notwithstanding, I am back now and that’s what counts.
But it’s gonna be tricky.
The class is called Portfolio. But don’t be deceived by the innocuous name. It is actually three classes bundled into one:
- Research (We have to do a design essay on a topic of our choosing)
- Strategy (We have to do a design project following a procedure called ‘Creative Strategy H’)
- Portfolio (As the name suggests, it is a collection of our best design work)
As you see, it’s not just one class, now is it??
As if that wasn’t a handful, I get the distinct feeling that the faculty knows not what it is doing. You see, this is the first time such a class is being given. Ever. It is supposed to be an improvement over the old system. I don’t see how cramming a whole year’s worth of work in just one semester is so much better. Time will tell.
I’m stressed and anxious all the time, afraid I won’t be able to cope. I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to let down all the people who believe in me. I can’t let myself down. I have to get that title.
On another note, it sucks having classmates five years younger than me. The first day, everybody kept adressing me as if I were another teacher. It was until after a while that they realised that I was just another student like them.
I feel outdated, I feel obsolete. I keep questioning myself: Is my work good enough? Am I good enough??
I want my mommy.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
My tummy aches...
Yeah, got the tummy blues goin' in my belly. I dunno what could've brought this upon me, but I can be 100% certain it DIDN'T come from underfeeding.
It feels like I ate the world last weekend...
Now, my stomach feels bloated and it rumbles like a Harley.
Yes, I will stop before the disgusting details come up.
But my ailment will not last long. I got the world's best nurses at my side: Ivy, my mom and my granny.
Mayo Clinic, eat your heart out!
It feels like I ate the world last weekend...
Now, my stomach feels bloated and it rumbles like a Harley.
Yes, I will stop before the disgusting details come up.
But my ailment will not last long. I got the world's best nurses at my side: Ivy, my mom and my granny.
Mayo Clinic, eat your heart out!
The Gazette is dead! Long live the Gazette!!
Yeah, Gazette No.2 is done!!
As forecasted, the darned book got delievered on Friday.
Now, work has started on Gazette 3: Son of the Gazette.
So far, it seems that it’ll be twice as big as its predecesor.
Hurray?
As forecasted, the darned book got delievered on Friday.
Now, work has started on Gazette 3: Son of the Gazette.
So far, it seems that it’ll be twice as big as its predecesor.
Hurray?
Monday, August 02, 2004
Enter the gringo
I have a friend called Van. He’s a fully certified gringo. Got papers and everything to prove it.
I met him two years ago, while he was visiting my country as a tourist, and we’ve kept in contact ever since.
Two weeks ago, he dropped by on a business trip, so I went to see him at his hotel. I go up to his room and out he comes, gives me a big hug on the doorway and then SLAM! the door closed behind him. Two minutes with the guy and I already got him locked out of his room!!!
The day before he was due back, we met in Antique City, a very beautiful Kzanderallian city just 20 miles from the capital. We talked and had dinner with an Aussie girl he had just met. It was a very delightful time, specially since Van picked up the bill at the end.
Then we proceeded to stroll up and down Antique’s streets, while chatting all the time. I love talking to Van for two reasons:
We got tired of walking, so we ended up in an Arabian-themed bar. Aussie Girl wanted to check out the place. We sat down and ordered an arguileh, which is a funky Arabic water pipe they have, filled with fruit-flavored tobacco. Four people on a nearby table were making a helluva noise, so I turned around and recognized one guy: Diego. I explained to Van and Aussie that Diego is a big male model here in Kzanderallia. Van turned to me and whispered, “Geez, look at their socks!!”. One of the guys and one of the girls of Diego’s group had exchanged footware, so each had a white sock and a cyan sock. It was hilarious. Oh, the glamour of the fashion crowd.
After a while of sipping the arguileh, we got tipsy and started talking out loud and acting like big clowns. Diego and his comrades found us unsettling, so they left to find a more refined establishment. The waiter was also displeased at us, and was extremely rude. So we got out as well.
All the way back to his hotel, Van kept glancing at the ads on the street. Whenever he saw one with male models on it, he stopped cold and asked out loud, “Wait. IS THAT DIEGO??”
How can you not love a guy like that?
I met him two years ago, while he was visiting my country as a tourist, and we’ve kept in contact ever since.
Two weeks ago, he dropped by on a business trip, so I went to see him at his hotel. I go up to his room and out he comes, gives me a big hug on the doorway and then SLAM! the door closed behind him. Two minutes with the guy and I already got him locked out of his room!!!
The day before he was due back, we met in Antique City, a very beautiful Kzanderallian city just 20 miles from the capital. We talked and had dinner with an Aussie girl he had just met. It was a very delightful time, specially since Van picked up the bill at the end.
Then we proceeded to stroll up and down Antique’s streets, while chatting all the time. I love talking to Van for two reasons:
- I get to practice my crummy English.
- He’s one of the most intelligent people I know, so I can bring up any subject and he can discuss it fluently.
- He’s funny as heck. (Ok, that was three reasons. I can’t count)
We got tired of walking, so we ended up in an Arabian-themed bar. Aussie Girl wanted to check out the place. We sat down and ordered an arguileh, which is a funky Arabic water pipe they have, filled with fruit-flavored tobacco. Four people on a nearby table were making a helluva noise, so I turned around and recognized one guy: Diego. I explained to Van and Aussie that Diego is a big male model here in Kzanderallia. Van turned to me and whispered, “Geez, look at their socks!!”. One of the guys and one of the girls of Diego’s group had exchanged footware, so each had a white sock and a cyan sock. It was hilarious. Oh, the glamour of the fashion crowd.
After a while of sipping the arguileh, we got tipsy and started talking out loud and acting like big clowns. Diego and his comrades found us unsettling, so they left to find a more refined establishment. The waiter was also displeased at us, and was extremely rude. So we got out as well.
All the way back to his hotel, Van kept glancing at the ads on the street. Whenever he saw one with male models on it, he stopped cold and asked out loud, “Wait. IS THAT DIEGO??”
How can you not love a guy like that?
The cops suck (Surprise, surprise)
My cousin was driving with his girlfriend last month when he got stopped by some cops.
But, they were crooked cops and proceeded to rob him. They threatened to do bad things to the girl if they refused. So my cuz handed out all of his cash, his cell phone, his watch and assorted items that were on the car. My cuz’s girl was freaked, but he kept his cool and was even able to talk them into letting him keep his car radio and, most importantly, his car.
Thankfully, they came out of the ordeal with nothing but big scare. The poor kids.
Goes to show you the practicality of life in Kzanderallia. Crime and law enforcement, bundled up in just one place. How convenient!!
Next time some cops try to stop me, I think I’ll run like heck.
But, they were crooked cops and proceeded to rob him. They threatened to do bad things to the girl if they refused. So my cuz handed out all of his cash, his cell phone, his watch and assorted items that were on the car. My cuz’s girl was freaked, but he kept his cool and was even able to talk them into letting him keep his car radio and, most importantly, his car.
Thankfully, they came out of the ordeal with nothing but big scare. The poor kids.
Goes to show you the practicality of life in Kzanderallia. Crime and law enforcement, bundled up in just one place. How convenient!!
Next time some cops try to stop me, I think I’ll run like heck.
Son of the beach
My girlfriend Ivy turned 27 last Saturday. So her folks decided to take her, my sister-in-law and me to the beach.
The trip was uneventful. We got to a resort and headed to the pool area.
We swam a bit, then Ivy and me went to the beach. The sea was quite wild, so we didn’t go far into the water, just waist level. We got wet and headed back.
The pricey admission ticket entitled us to have food all day long, and we did. I ate so much that I got a bit sleepy, and so did everyone except Ivy. She got mad ‘cause all of us wanted to lie down while she wanted to play in the pool. “Swimming is no fun if I have to do it by myself”, she complained. I concluded that nobody should have to play by themselves on their birthday. So I made an effort and got myself into the water. Once there, I felt less heavy and sleepy, so we were able to have some fun times there. Guess the “you should not swim two hours after eating” rule doesn’t always apply.
So the day was over, and we had to get into some dry clothes.
At this point I should say that I don’t like locker rooms. I’m not too comfortable being naked with other people. Yes, I’m a nudiephobe. So there, I’ve said it. But I’ve found ways around that. I concienciously try to block out the nakedness and just proceed with maximum efficiency to shower, change or do whatever I’m supposed to do in a locker room.
My father-in-law isn’t as squeamish as me. So when he was having some trouble unfastening some strap on his wrist, he found it totally logic to come up to me and ask for my help. The fact that he was only wearing slippers at the time didn’t bother him at all. So I got to see my girlfriend’s dad in the nude, up close. I focused on the strap and nothing else. I was able to undo the knot in record time and each of us got back to our own dressing affairs.
I can say with full confidence that I will never forget this trip for as long as I live.
The trip was uneventful. We got to a resort and headed to the pool area.
We swam a bit, then Ivy and me went to the beach. The sea was quite wild, so we didn’t go far into the water, just waist level. We got wet and headed back.
The pricey admission ticket entitled us to have food all day long, and we did. I ate so much that I got a bit sleepy, and so did everyone except Ivy. She got mad ‘cause all of us wanted to lie down while she wanted to play in the pool. “Swimming is no fun if I have to do it by myself”, she complained. I concluded that nobody should have to play by themselves on their birthday. So I made an effort and got myself into the water. Once there, I felt less heavy and sleepy, so we were able to have some fun times there. Guess the “you should not swim two hours after eating” rule doesn’t always apply.
So the day was over, and we had to get into some dry clothes.
At this point I should say that I don’t like locker rooms. I’m not too comfortable being naked with other people. Yes, I’m a nudiephobe. So there, I’ve said it. But I’ve found ways around that. I concienciously try to block out the nakedness and just proceed with maximum efficiency to shower, change or do whatever I’m supposed to do in a locker room.
My father-in-law isn’t as squeamish as me. So when he was having some trouble unfastening some strap on his wrist, he found it totally logic to come up to me and ask for my help. The fact that he was only wearing slippers at the time didn’t bother him at all. So I got to see my girlfriend’s dad in the nude, up close. I focused on the strap and nothing else. I was able to undo the knot in record time and each of us got back to our own dressing affairs.
I can say with full confidence that I will never forget this trip for as long as I live.
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