lunes, diciembre 31

Red Meat (Best Of...#1)

The week has passed yet somehow I am still preparing for last Monday. It's the short weeks, like this past one, that make me think of a week as an accordion. (Not surprising since when playing word association my answers are always instruments.) They both are parts in the middle that matter and change the notes, but it's the end of the accordion where all the fun is going on. That spot where twiddling digits flick over holes and press keys can be considered the nexus of the polka universe. The end of my week is the driving (or cosmic) force behind my universe. Yes, that's right, my life can be best described as an accordian. Or at least I tell myself that to not admit that Loverboy was right, everybody is working for the weekend. I fear that truth spells doom, but the accordion metaphor will get me through the day. You can take that golden wrapped shit-nugget for all its worth.

I woke up today to go to work and noticed I had a missed call from my boss on my mobile. I had missed the call by half an hour; so unsuprisignly, when I called him back but there was no answer. He left a message, but I never listen to my messages and everyone leaves messages. This meant that I had 36 other messages to listen to before I got to his. That amount is way out ofmy oft documented toleration zone, in case you're wondering if I listened to them. The result- I went to work and no one was there. The office had closed due to flood warnings.

It's some minutes past noon and I have spent the past hour outside cleaning the inside of my car, the sun was shining the whole way through. Now unless some tidal wave, or let me say tsunami, (to sound japa-cool/thai-unsensitive) has come into town and been unable to make it past the palmetto x-way then I can't fathom how downtown Coral Gables can be flooded. Maybe the area was threatened to be flooded with South Americans and expensive restaurants, but that's another story.

This means I'm officially done with my internship. There's also a surprise happy ending to it. I'm going to be getting some type of financial compensation for the work I did. Thank the Lord.

The way I know I'm getting the bonus is b/c I sat in my office staring at the walls. After realizing no one was going to show up I spent fifteen minutes listening to messages that say 'call me back' 36 different ways in the same language (this has to be some type of grammatical feat of Guiness proportions). I think there was maybe 2 funny messages, which kept me afloat. Do people not realize I have a thing on my phone that tells me whose call I missed? Everyone knows that cell phones have caller id. Is it perceived that I'll look at my phone, see I have a missed call and say "hey, look who called, I'm sure if they really wanted to talk they'll leave a message?"

This is how it works for me- I miss your call, and I know you, then I'm going to call you back. I'm not going to listen to you prep me on what I'm about to talk to you about and then call you. I'm not a fighter pilot, I'm not a talk show host, you aren't a guest on my program, we can just jump into a conversation, there's no cards to read off of, that mug doesn't have coffee in it.

Wow I really come off sounding like crabby old man. Must be the flood.

jueves, noviembre 17

Top Searches That Cause People To Stumble Onto This Site:

  1. cheeks "eaten by spiders" costa
  2. "Allen J. Brown" fl
  3. I want to view some porn..
  4. Vampire Bats starring Lucy Lawless
  5. Ohio lotto kicker
  6. Somalian pirating
  7. otterbourg
  8. "pobre nalga"
  9. michael de lorenzo

I didn't make these up folks. You'd think there would plenty else coming up with #3 that you'd never get to mine. Why people are still doing #9 is perplexing. It must have been a search party his mother sent out or something.

miércoles, noviembre 16

Music Machete y Viejitos Endrogados

Someone I work with volunteers at a local radio station. The station exists only on the internet as it sold its broadcasting rights a while back. It is an independent music radio station and like most stations of that format they have been taken off the air waves. - that’s the station link. Check it out if you’d like to hear some relatively new and good music. The guy who volunteers there brings in CDs that he’s supposed to listen to as part of his job with them. He let someone else listen to a bunch and I made sure to pilfer through that stash and find anything I could like.

I almost gave up hope when out of pure listening frustration I picked an album I had no idea what to think of just by the cover. The band’s name is Rogue Wave and the album is named “Descended Like Vultures.” This is my attempt to claim that the music on that album s good. Bands like The Shins, Flaming Lips, and Death Cab for Cutie are garnering a huge amount of fame and Rogue Wave should definitely be considered a contemporary of those bands. Pulsating guitars, sweet sounding voices, and ambient noises are the most common ingredients used in their concoctions. They don’t do anything original but they don’t sound like a rip off either. It’s quality music and I’m sure some will find it amazing (with probably just as many finding it terrible). If you want to listen to something that’s both upbeat and relaxing at the same time give it a try. The band is at its best on songs like “10:1” Love’s Lost Guarantee” and “Are You On My Side” in case you need me to whittle it down for you. I'm just trying to relate some music I heard that might help you sift through the clutter, thats all.

My body must wonder which way I’m trying to go shape-wise. I spend more than enough in the gym after work to be considered someone who is trying to stay in shape. Still, I think I’m sending mixed messages every time I have lunch from Skyline. I’m a fan of their burritos; it’s about all I like from there. As I finished and looked down to my plate I noticed I could see something that seemed weird. Upon lifting the aforementioned finished plate I noticed that the grease from the chili had saturated not only the plate but my desk also and I could now see straight through to my shoes. My body must figure we’re going back to the fat old times we use to have around. In some sort of weird way I’m actually thankful for Skyline since eating it replaces the need to be a peeping tom, key someone’s car, or not go to church on Sundays in order to feel shameful.

In national headlines today you can find a vast amount of articles written on the new prescription drug benefits program. Since it is now taking effect many senior citizens are rushing to understand what to make out of all the new rules and requirements. In between all their doctor visits and hours musing over fruit ripeness it was very difficult for them to go over the rules before the program took effect. They were going to do it last month but then they forgot where the put their glasses and forgot why they were looking for their glasses soon after trying to look for them. Maybe if they had printed it in a larger font or provided a supplemental reading magnifying glass this wouldn’t have been a problem. You can’t expect seniors to remember everything, especially at their age and with all the worries they have.

Many of the articles you’ll find have a title like “Seniors Struggle To Grasp New Prescription Drug Benefits Program” or “New Drug Program Confusing for Elderly” or “Medicare drug plan puzzles Mainers.” These gems of journalistic originality and profoundness leads me to ask when have the combination of elderly people and new (you can add Mainers to that also) ever resulted in anything but confusion and griping. Mind you elderly people react to 95% of all situations with griping but this is serious heartfelt griping since they’re being affected where it hurts- their drugs. People who take drugs, prescription or otherwise don’t like finding out the way they get their drugs are changing, and if you think all those old farts who earned the right to be doped up through years of breathing and avoiding death are just going to drop dead and let you take their drugs you’ve got another thing coming buster. They plan on keeping their drugs and dropping dead either way; screw the rules.

As for Mainers, well, they’ve been confused about almost everything except which is the best state to live in for six months out of the year. Refer to the profuse allegiance to mullets for evidence, it puts Kentucky to shame.

It snowed on my way back from getting the chili.

My apologies if my sister forced you to read this.

lunes, noviembre 14

Well I'm Not The World's Most Passionate Guy But

Now that I’ve returned from a quick trip to New York I wonder how boring and mundane this week will seem in comparison. Either way this feeling is not a negative one; if anything it frames the good times that passed. Before I left I wondered if I would come across anything that would be entertaining to relate here. I have to admit there was no single event or activity that can justify its own passage. The main result of my trip was several realizations, so I guess my trip in the end served some cosmic life altering purpose, if only a minute one. Among these mini-epiphanies were the revelations that I should think of certain people differently, not be afraid of trying to hold an interesting conversation with strangers, Brazilian steak houses can feed you for a week in a single sitting, and that I can no longer be considered a tourist when visiting New York.

That last one came to me when my sister did a really nice thing and acquired tickets to see the sunset from the top of the Rockefeller Plaza. The observatory deck of the Rockefeller building was recently opened after not being open to the public for 40 years. As you can imagine this has become another hotspot for tourists, although I doubt there are more than three spots that aren’t hot with tourists in all of Manhattan. Still, every once in a while you need to brave the tourist frenzy and experience some of the things that make the city a very unique place. While it would be very “New Yorker” like to avoid doing the things that tourists do it wouldn’t be prudent to turn down to the opportunity to experience something rare and stimulating.

I feel like I’m trying to justify myself. Screw that, it was an amazing view and I’m happy that my sister made it happen. The thing I wanted to talk about was how I could have done without all the tourists that accompanied us. From being cut in line, pushed, shoved, guffawed, and otherwise irritated by foreign tourists I was left wondering how it is that Americans have earned such a prolific reputation as the rudest people on the planet. Most likely this belief stems from the fact that all tourists are rude and since Americans probably have the means to travel more than most nations and do so that people just come to think that Americans are extremely rude when the case is that tourists are rude no matter where they come from. It makes sense for them to be rude also. They don’t need to worry about dealing with any of their surroundings after their brief stay and can move along merrily with their slash and burn tactics when it comes to their fellow man. Either way just remember tourists are shitty to deal with, but hey at least they’re paying a part of your taxes, so just take their money and try not spit at them.

In the end there is at least one person who wasn’t too happy I also visited NY. I don’t know him, but I know it’s a “him”. He doesn’t know who I am either or that it’s me he should be hate. You see I was getting off the elevator and I noticed that one of the doors on my sister’s floor had the keys hanging from the lock. Seeing the opportunity to be cast in the starring role of “The Good Samaritan of Park Avenue, I immediately tried to do something to help the dude out. At first I thought it would be easy and I knocked on the door. No one answered so I knocked some more and rang the dinky sounding doorbell. My sister said she knew him and that I should just open the door to get his attention.

When I opened the door I figured that there was no one inside or that he was doing what I was about to do (take a nap) b/c all of the lights off. So I threw the keys into the apartment and said “Hey you left your keys hanging in the lock.” I quickly closed the door so as to add to the weird dream I thought I was inducing in his slumbering mind.

A few minutes later after I had finished congratulating myself on being such a great guy I heard something that turned everything around. I was in the bathroom and I could hear people in the hallway. I could make out someone say “Awww fuck, where are my keys!” To much chagrin it seems as though the neighbor wasn’t inside when I did my act of kindness. Yeah, that’s right; I locked him out of his own apartment.

All This has reminded me of a lesson I learned a while ago. I used to save lessons I learned into my phone for quick reference but forgot about them after a while. The next lesson I’ll put in will probably be to not forget the lessons I’ve learned.

The lesson this story is referring to is that you should not touch other people’s things even if it helps them out. I learned this a couple years back when I noticed I had parked next to a friend’s car and that his doors were unlocked. No I don’t usually check if car doors are unlocked, even though I probably should, especially if it’s a cool new car I haven’t sat in yet. This instance was different b/c this friend had just moved out of his apartment and still had a lot of stuff in his car, like a computer and such. I thought I was doing a good thing by locking his car, but then thought about it again and decided to leave it unlocked in case he had left it like that on purpose. Either way I figured I would see him soon enough and let him know.

When I did let him know I realized that I should have never touched his car at all or mentioned the fact that his car was unlocked. The guy went off on me asking me who did I think I was to be going through his car (which I didn’t do) and if I had planned on stealing anything before realizing it was his car (no, but after he said that I felt as though I should). I don’t even think he was drunk, which would have partially excused his behavior. He went on for about 15 minutes with his yelling at and berating of yours truly.

Perhaps the real lesson was that when it comes to locks don’t help someone out. Let the lock be. Don’t touch it, don’t bring it up, and definitely don’t do anything that could be considered kind or helpful.

Outside of locking the guy out of his apartment I think I had a positive effect on the people of New York and they are all better off for having me in their presence. Yes, like anything else most won’t realize it but the fortunate ones who do will look forward to my return in, umm, well, I haven’t decided that yet but it should be soon.

Here’s for ending that story with a load of crap.

I also like to say that today is one of those days that remind me how life is all about balance. When the day started I received a call from my mother to inform that my cousin’s wife was pregnant with triplets. Making this news even better was the struggle they had gone through to get to this point. It made me extremely happy to hear that he had been blessed with three children after wanting one for so long. I haven’t felt this happy for someone else in a while. Now I just pray that he’ll soon have three healthy babies to cherish.

Not too long ago though my sister called me and let me know that a friend of her and her fiancé had passed away. He played on the same rugby team as my soon-to-be brother in law. During one of their games it seems he was impacted in a way that caused him to collapse and go into a coma. It was later found that he had a hole in his heart, and that the impact had perhaps just spurred what was inevitable. Sadly there will be no recovery for him.

Even though I never knew or met him he has reminded me that life is all about balance. The fact that life is precious and should never be taken for granted is something that I am also reminded of, but in today’s world we are constantly reminded of that fact. Now I pray that his family and friends can take something meaningful away from his passing and that w/e positive outcome there is from all this is what resonates most in their lives.

viernes, noviembre 11

Friday’s Are For Smorgasbords

At least that’s what I remember my school doing throughout most of my elementary years. I probably passed through a couple grades before I realized what a smorgasbord was. At first I figured it to be some German or Eastern European dish which automatically led me to think t would be disgusting. This false assumption on my part also led to a bit of contemplation on how a school in Miami, with a predominantly Hispanic student body no less, could get away with serving some Euro-dish that sounded like a foot disease. It wasn’t until later that I realized what the word really meant- leftovers.

It was all just a glorified way of taking everything that hadn’t been cooked or served the previous four days and making a fifth day of lunch out of it. Like most kids I packed a lunch the majority of the time so it wasn’t like eating the same thing I had eaten the day before was really going to cramp my style.

My favorite thing to think about Friday smorgasbords is how they came up with the idea at my school. I’m sure they weren’t the first to do it either. The school’s board of directors probably met over budget issues for the fifteenth time one year to figure out how to save more money, and one guy probably thought he had the greatest idea when he brought up the smorgasbord concept. “We’ll only have to buy 4 days worth of lunch! Was probably his most convincing point. There after the entire board probably joined together in Mr. Burns like finger rapping as they basked in the glory of masking their budget cut with the façade of the Swedish word for a fish, eel, cheese, and egg buffet.

I actually had the same issue with “pot luck” dinners. I didn’t know what crazy American tradition that was, probably some lucky pot gathering. Either way I, being of Cuban descent, knew I’d never go to one.

So I’m bringing it back Florida Christian School style and making Friday’s here a smorgasbord. No not the fish buffet version but the other definition- a collection containing a variety of sorts of things. Wow, I didn’t realize how vague that definition was until copied it over.

Since we already started off with food I’ll let you all in on something I’ve been doing at work that probably leads some people to think I’m strange and others to believe I’m a godsend. Which side of the fence you fall depends a lot on how much you enjoy Mexican food and social interactions. My workplace isn’t any different than the majority of them in that there are some people there that would rather be by themselves with their work than spend time interacting with their coworker, but this isn’t about them. On Friday’s a few of us have made it a tradition to go eat Mexican food at a little place called Fontova’s. I mentioned going there one day while I was in training and then it got pushed back to a Friday, which then found 7 other people coming along to partake in burrito festivities. Almost immediately Friday’s became Fontova Friday’s and I made sure to do my best Mexican yelp and ethnic exclamations every time the two magic words were mentioned in my presence. If you could imagine Chairy from Pee Wee’s Playhouse being Mexican it would be what she would scream every time Pee Wee said the word of the day.

I also went on to make a flyer promoting Fontova Friday’s. These quickly became collectors’ items and the biggest Mexican food enthusiasts around the office can be identified by the presence of these flyers in their cubes. Each week I make a new one, but not this Friday. I feel I’ve done enough for Fontova already by talking about it here.

The people who work there are all Mexicans so I make sure to use my Spanish to my benefit when ever I’m there. I would say on average I pay $1.50 less than everyone else who goes with me for the same meal. It’s pretty obvious why I’m so enthusiastic about continuing to go. Still, the best Mexican food I ever had was in San Francisco.

In Superhero news we can still look towards Louisiana and Mississippi for some acts of bravery in vigilantism. That is where Karl “The Mailman” Malone is making a new name for himself. Many of you may remember Karl as part of the basketball-crime-fighting-duo: Stockton&Malone as part of the Utah Jazz professional basketball franchise. In their years together they came to exemplify the pick and roll and among other things- short shorts and Rogaine ads. These days though Karl is cleaning up the area that was demolished by Hurricane Katrina. Even though the federal government tried to stop Karl and his construction equipment (re: superhero arsenal) company from assisting in the reconstruction and relief effort The Mailman went ahead and did his best to restore life in the gulf. 115 condemned homes in Pascagoula, Mississippi were cleared by Malone with no one’s permission. Talk about seeing a problem and getting the job done. This country would be better off with more men like Malone- does the right thing even though no one asked him and has a killer jump shot.

Kudos, Mailman you have done your namesake well. Rain, sleet, snow, or red tape can’t stop you from delivering.

Most of our modern day heroes are the soldiers who fight in wars and keep the majority of us safe and free. It seems that someone in Florida felt the best way to honor the fallen men of valor and courage is by using their tombstones as a walkway outside their mobile home. Every time this person stepped outside their humble abode they were reminded that someone died so that they could walk barefoot to the back of their trailer without getting mud all over their feet. Those past wars may have been praised for preserving freedom but we should never take for granted the amount of ringworm that was avoided thanks to countless deaths in combat.

So far no one knows who these tombstones belong to. It has been two years so I’m going to post the names here to do my part to restore some of the dignity these men deserve even in death.

Have a great weekend! I’ll be in New York so hope and pray I run into some good material on my trip.

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