2009

I am always unreasonably hopeful on NYE. On this particular day, that hope feels epic--blame our new President (there are no words!!) or the return of Rylan or my recent graduation. For some reason, the Mary Tyler Moore theme song and beret toss seems appropriate. 

 I wish you all a lifetime of health, productive bowel movements, satisfying friendships and orgasms, travel and productivity, peace and pancakes. 

I am not a fan of resolutions so I never make them, but I do have a list of desires that I would like to share.  

In 2009, I hope to...

read more 

reject complacency

work on my art (for you...actualizing your passions?) 

travel. often. with all of you. (I would settle for some of you.) 

correspond more with those who are not present in my day-to-day

work on my health...recognize my fallibility, deal and act accordingly.

calm my ass down. nothing (or few things) is (are) THAT serious. 

put myself first more often. I don't condone selfishness, but one deserves to be the star of their own existence. 

save money. because its a smart thing to do. 

cook more often. 

dedicate myself to relationships that are fulfilling. rid myself of those that are not. 

stand up for myself. exercise my power of "no." 

perfect my french toast recipe. 

serve humanity in a way that my President, my mother and the universe would approve of. 

find a job that satisfies me and the desire above. 

Love to all of you. Fucking rock out tonight...I send you e-kisses at midnight and in general. Besos para siempre. 

La patria celebrates: Cinco pa' las 12

So this is how it ends...

how sad to realize I am a cliche.

damn indie films. force my imagination to wander about...where my hair is long, my body lithe, my inhibitions nonexistent. there are accents involved and vice without consequence. wealth is understood, mystery abounds. there is a magic in the air that I can perfectly describe and I am fucked up in a way that is massively appealing, erotic, necessary. i am bold. i watch the sun rise, writing and smoking cigarettes, listening to jazz. my awkwardness is sensual. my talent, apparent. luminous. 

then i look down and realize I am fucking wearing gray yoga pants, bobby pins are falling out of my hair, my lips are stained with red wine in a most ridiculous way. i am surrounded by used tissues and my nose may or may not be raw. there is no jazz, i cough every morning from the nicotine binges and from experience, no one seems to stick around for the times when you become unglued. 

damn indie films. 

.

my lips feel underused. 

wine...notes.

wine and political conversations with my grandma...lots of yelling, fist-shaking, fire-in-the-eyes and accusations. 

braved the malls--presents for you, my rose...soon on the way. mostly useless but perfectly charming, i am thinking...

anxiously waiting your return, pamps. proactive masks at the ready. 

constantly surprised by the abilities of this new lappy...BUILT IN CAMERA AND MIC? I am like a fucking redneck over this thing, rendered stupid and slack-jawed at its technological perfection. 

love that my mother prepares for my arrival with brie, berries and bottleS of wine. am also quite pleased with the tradition of happy hour as a daily event-cute hispanic alcoholism. 

still wondering about my mythology and first impressions and pasts vs. futures. 

hoping that new adventures and returning home/transitioning from the university lifestyle are progressing marvelously. 

MISS YOU. 

wishing you lot...

...flowers, bubbles and sunshine. 

...good food, good wine, good sex. 

...amor. 

Veronica Koernig: The New Class

If I were an early nineties high-school sitcom, I would be nearing cancellation....I'm done with high school. At ten this morning, I will have graduated from university. So...where my Vegas wedding special where I debut a strange haircut, my group of friends and I have to scheme and lie, starting a sequence of events that lands us in jail and yet somehow, all is forgiven and someone ends up married? Once this airs, I fade into obscurity until I a) die, b) am internet rumored to have died and media outlets contact me to confirm, c)become a gif, d) Vh1 approaches me to do a reality show, e) I FINALLY get my show on TNT, because they know drama. This is the natural order of things, right? 

Congrats to Daniella, Neilz and Yainks. Its great to be...a fucking graduate! Much love and exuberant pride from RonTonTon. 

Your Art Here.

I was planning on mentioning that this art-related post was to improve the level of culture among my reader(s?!) Then I realized A) I know all of you. B) You are all quite cultured. It would be arrogant to preach about culture, particularly in terms of art-related themes to the art major/encyclopedia, the whimsical photographer, the keen pop culture observers and intellectuals. This pleases me to no end. Good job, y'all.
So, instead...this image. You've seen these on my wall. They were a gift from Rosa and I've slept in the artist's bed. Sadly, there is no sassy tale attached to the latter comment..SHE is Frank's sister (Frank being Rosi's BF, keep up!) and I stayed in her room during my first visit to Trieste. This time coincided with the preparation of one of her first major art shows...she is quite talented, at least in my view. Whatever. Enjoy.

Pleased.

Is it more than slightly ridiculous that I am so pleased by this?

hmmm...

So that last tirade seems a bit incoherent, but I leave it posted because...its my GD blog and I do what I want. I began the last post with the idea that because of my experience as part of certain cultures (or perhaps, as in anthropology, engaged in a participant observation of said culture) I can comment. 1, 2, 3...GO! Imaginonda. Shamiracle. Diont'avia. Interesting names that crop up as endemic to "black" culture. As the product of a bilingual, Hispanic household, I can tell you that we (as the other brown people,) have our fair share of bizarre naming habits. Take Tia Transito or my great-grandfather, the scoundrel...Baldomero. His wife, Isidora. My cousin Ziomara. My mom, ALBA. I mean...wow. I've determined that these naming habits might be explained by the process of identity authentication that our generation is exposed to daily in this series of tubes. To comment on a blog post, to purchase something online, to open an email account...all require that you prove you are, in fact, human by typing some random assortment of letters, symbols. I've determined that this is the post-9/11 baby-naming book for minority culture. Recently, I was typing out a comment to a favorite blogger and needed to prove I was skin and bones. To authenticate, I needed to type Vaneysus. I think I went to high-school with her...

Just sayin'

As someone who spent her formative years in so-called "ghetto" schools (understood as schools for "those people," meaning "minorities,") I feel have agency to comment on certain aspects of the cultures I was exposed to. For example, the inequity of the American education system--the concept of the "class set" of books had to be explained to me. I remember staring at the lockers longingly as I carried my 36 lb. backpack around...when you are carrying 36 lbs in the front, as well as strapped to your back, you come to understand the value of chiropractic care. My schools were too poor to afford books for everyone, let alone enough to avoid spasms and herniated discs. And we were not allowed to use the lockers, because the black male youth population is inherently violent, constantly packing...right? As I recall, the mass scale school shootings in this country have not been in low-income, minority populated areas, but lily-white hunting-centric locations. Whatever.
I understand the school system in this country is informed by tax brackets, but let us be realistic in assessing these brackets as reinforcing de facto segregation. Minority populations in this country represent the lowest numbers of land holdings, education levels, etc...these lines are drawn to reflect the financial contribution to the tax system, which is significantly less in comparison to homeowners, the upper-middle class....where I come from, this population is predominatly white. I am careful to reinforce the notion that this is informed by my experience because I want to be politically correct. I would not argue with those brave enough to say that this is typical (perhaps universal) in this country.
This stems from some comments I just overheard as I sat outside studying...I cannot recall the exact wording...suffice it to say the comments were ignorant and ridiculous.
Yes, Virgina, there is a Santa Claus. Yes, Virgina, we DO have a amazing, gifted, Biracial president...but this isn't the end of the line. The weight of history is still reflected in the primary social institutions of this country, namely the education system and the media; the accountability to minority populations in terms of equal access, distribution of resources and representation does not evaporate with the election of Barack Obama. While his campaign tended to shy away from explicitly racial claims/discussions, perhaps his presidency will not only open dialogue but promote advocacy, not just for the "gun-wielding, illiterate" black youth, chonga or Other, but for those of us that understand that the fight isn't finished...its only just begun.

one day...

What is the connection between salvation and the process of a man's emancipation in the course of history?

things.

Am busily avoiding coursework; graduation is one week from today and I don't really know how to feel about it. I'm sure I will start to feel anxious at some point (as this is my nature...) but at the moment, I am just exhausted, apathetic and ready for no academic-related worries. *kiss*

Sound advice...

"So be lonely… learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings." From Eat, Pray, Love.

in case you are reading this...

I love you.

Let's, HST.

Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.

Telling.

My admiration of the color gray (in nature, clothing, etc.) has been documented. It has recently come to my attention, as a massive fan of gray, that it is the preferred color of self-critical individuals. Yes, that sounds about right.

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down...

fucking proud of you.

pokemonkilluhr: I was the first foreigner in the history of changyeong to receive a black belt...it's nuts.

My boyfriend kicks ass.

Wise words, Ms. Lorraine Peterson

The more you know...

For my ladies that love them some Duchovny...

I mean...I can kind of see the appeal and my love of large noses is well-documented (and possibly genetic.) But the quote below, written for the Duch's character on Californication, represents the Duchovny I could absolutely fall in love with.

"But this - this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it: I met someone. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking for it. I wasn’t on the make. It was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another. Next thing I knew, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there’s this feeling in my gut. She might be the one. She’s completely nuts in a way that makes me smile; highly neurotic. A great deal of maintenance required. She is you, Karen. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that I don’t know how to be with you right now. And it scares the shit out of me. Because if I’m not with you right now, I have this feeling we’ll get lost out there. It’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns. And people have a way of blinking - and missing the moment; the moment that could have changed everything. I don’t know what’s going on with us and I can’t tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me. But damn you smell good, like home."

If someone made a grand speech like that for me, I would "waste" a leap of faith. I would also do unspeakable things to him...I guess I am a romantic. Fuck.

Daoist core values...

This serves as an example of the Daoist strategy of non-action as a means to achieve the optimal state of harmonic integration between the various dimensions of life; this does not imply sitting idly by but rather emphasizes non-artificial action, or an understanding of the practical experience of nature's creative power.
"The more prohibitions and rules,
The poorer people become.
The sharper people's weapons,
The more they riot.
The more skilled their techniques,
The more grotesque their works.
The more elaborate the laws,
The more they commit crimes.

Therefore the Sage says:
I do nothing [wuwei]
And people transform themselves.
I enjoy serenity
And people govern themselves.
I cultivate emptiness
And people become prosperous.
I have no desires
And people simplify themselves."

Something to think about...

drunk post.

went to harry's. twofers. no sustenance to avoid inebriation. drunk and happy yet avoiding massive, throughly important coursework that will decide my fate. tired of being responsible. 22 years of responsibility has not afforded enough for me to continue to pretend like I am motivated. i love learning yet am throughly exhausted by this bureaucratic system they called university. Rescue me. I'll clean.

thoughts.

As I mentioned in my "introduction" at the start of this blog-situation, I wasn't certain how my ideas would take shape. It seems this space has become more of a photo-album than a journal. I don't know why this is...perhaps because it is much easier to upload photos than it is to actually verbalize my ideas, particularly in this VERY FUCKING BUSY time of my life. Also, while the majority of images reflect events that most of you have participated in, dear reader (s?,) part of my reason for starting this was to show those people I care about that aren't involved in my day-to-day what the fuck it is that I am doing. **cute run-on, Ron** I would like to think that I will write more following graduation, or pamps' return...perhaps after the holidays, when I pay my credit card bill off, when Obama takes office...who knows? Stop pressuring me. This little link naturally lends itself to my next point...I have no idea what voice I am writing in (or want to write in) at any given moment. Nor do I have any idea who this is addressed to. I like to pretend that I am sending out these measly ideas into the void...without attention, consequence, judgment. So when I write something along the lines of a command (see link!) its not to you (or is it?) This does sound eerily like a conversation...hmm. Maybe this blog is a post-it note to myself, reading "Time to confront your neuroses. And don't forget to pay Cox." Perhaps it will remain a photo album, reflecting my fear of social networking sites yet desire to share snap-shots of my life with someone. I'm still hesitant about getting too private; contrary to popular belief, I am quite reserved and like to keep certain things sacred. I fear that if I get in the habit of being too honest or revealing too much, I will not be able to take it back. And you might know too much. And then I would have to kill you. Don't quite know what precipitated this post, but I do know that I feel better. Don't you? Let's hug this one out.

Random images from Spanksgiving 2.0

Some photographs from Spanksgiving, a reincarnation of the Labyrinth's massively successful potluck holiday celebration. This year boasted a bigger backyard, fancier set-up, more people, more food, more alcohol and far less annoying interlopers. Pleased with the results...hope to make this a tradition, a sort-of Gainesville prep (possible respite) for the main event, typically spent in our respective hometowns (with attendant/possible annoyances of travel, family, whatever.) Contributed sweet potato casserole and corn casserole...yum.

Our Influences Are Mostly German: A Restrospective Perspective

Possible album cover art for Our Influences Are Mostly German: A Retrospective Perspective's first American release.
Collection features such bass-thumping, ass-shaking, hug-a-stranger inducing coke-jams as:
*My iLLuminated Manuscript
*Your Life, My Syringe/Evil Energy
*Symphony of Flashing Bulbs
*PureMoods Bum-Fuck
*SugarFree Grind
*Acrobatics of Soul Seduction
*Freedom of Our Space Journey
*Crushed Exoskeleton

vamos a la playa...

,







As a native Floridian, I am quite sentimental about the beach (despite how rarely I have the opportunity to visit it...) There is something inherently calming about it, particularly when its empty, overcast and seems so throughly private, infinite. I am nostalgic for the smell of the salt, the sound of the waves as they roll in. For whatever reason, I have always had this nostalgic attachment to all things related to the natural realm...so I guess this Muir-esque mentality is not limited to the ocean. However, these particular images represent my attempt to capture that emotion, perhaps to serve as a reminder as I sit in this landlocked city, dreaming of something else. My paps and I maintained our tradition of early morning escapes to watch the sunrise, sitting on the sand and being honest with one another. This is a tradition I intend to preserve should I ever have children.

One of the most brilliant prof. I've been fortunate enough to work with.

Below is an email from my professor, Dr. Thursby. A fascinating, amazing professor. I am better for having met him and I wish I could've been his student for longer. Read the end..the measure of a truly remarkable person.

"Seminar Colleagues,

'Tis the season to be jolly, and you may be happy to know that our last class meeting for the Junior Seminar is this Thursday (December 4th).

We meet in two groups (last names A-L at 2pm and last names M-Z at 3:30pm). [If you cannot get to one because of commitments that cannot be changed, then please attend the other.]

Some historians see this season as equipped with a surplus of traditions -- many (or even all) of them "invented" at some time past. Among obviously invented traditions in the USA holiday calendar is Festivus ( see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus ) which was invented in a script for the Seinfeld television program a few years ago.

Online commentators -- so many of them, and not restricted to professional historians -- have noted that there may seem to be one multi-part festival that runs from late October through the end of the year that we could call Hallothanksmas ( see http://inmedias.blogspot.com/2005/11/on-holidays-and-other-invented.html )

So-called postmodernism (along with historicism and most forms of Buddhism) tends to reduce everything to brief blips or bits -- short-term processes with beginnings and endings, generated out of some well-guided or misguided interest -- including the most cherished realities on which we may rely. For me, a cherished although shorterm process is the Fall 2008 Junior Seminar, soon to end. My enjoyment because of the opportunity to meet you and work with you this term could be represented fairly accurately by the figure of Christopher Walken as featured in the music video for Fatboy Slim's "Weapon of Choice." Walken starts out a just another old guy slumped in a chair, and then something happens that gets him moving! For me, it has been this Seminar.
See you, probably for the last time, this Thursday afternoon,
Gene Thursby"