As I listen to Nirvana my mind wanders. I'm not sure I'm the kind of person that can listen to music and focus on something else at the same time. You'd think I'd be able to use my ADHD to my advantage here. Nope, all of my focus is being drawn to the music. My mind fills with melodic mist and I meander for cogent strings of thought. Is there an accordion in this song? Ugh, I can't see my hand in front of my face.
I sigh and realize it's a sigh of relief. I've had my first good day in a while. I've had a productive, fulfilling day and now Kurt Cobain is cradling my soul in his warm open embrace. Thanks Kurt. I go to my happy place. I'm in an open jeep, venturing across an endless savana of highway somewhere in the Midwest. There's a dog in the backseat, although he's mostly just for picturesqueness. I'm allergic to dogs and this imaginary dog is not a poodle. He's some iconic American dog, like a retriever. There's rock music playing, and I wouldn't object to some affectionate, beautiful dandy in the passenger seat next to me. She's got a smile that melts any bad day and can wear a pair of jeans like it's no-one's business (unless it's mine).
Signs of adulthood seem to be creeping in on me. Although I welcome the stubbly beginnings of my neard (note: neck beard), I still think it's weird that I've started to wear a belt. I'm not even sure why I harbor this feeling. The feeling that belts are a formal signature of adults, meant for others, but not me. I suppose I've always catalogued the belt as part of a suit. Apparently, it completes the look. One of the deterrents that I've proudly gotten over is the cold reminder of the belt buckle on skin when one sits down. I also wear a watch these days, a recent development. The transformation will be complete when I'm finally living in my own place and you can find capers in the fridge. It sounds like an arbitrary indicator. Groucho Marx insisted that the price of pumpernickel was directly correlated to the value of the dollar. He ratiocinated that the demand of pumpernickel was very static and thus any price change indicated an economic disturbance. He also once smuggled Cuban cigars into the states, and on the customs form, under the heading of purpose of visit, he marked other and penciled in 'smuggling.' True story. TSA held him for four hours.
Future plans: get bartending license, fix stereo, and make a stew. If I make the stew an irish one, I'd have the makings for a pub. Hahaha. It's always sunny in Los Angeles (except for right now).
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Ear Junk
Daft Punk ear junk, fed from the movie
clunky tunes melodic smoothie
a reason to smile in the dark
online journal catches my crumbs
drips and thrips dominate and congregate
boldly entertain suggestions of grandeur
dare I venture? cognate burr sounds like techno
Is that so? Is this of substance? A horse stance readies for trouble
Self-suppliant? not yet
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Meandering Thoughts
I've landed back in LA and it's good. It's good to be home. Being around people who already understand me. I don't have to do the whole meet and greet and build that repertoire before I can cut past the small talk. Having concluded my aimless misadventures in Argentina, I feel compelled to eke out a daily routine. No, I don't usually use words like eke. But when writing, I like to exercise a certain level of finesse that makes me feel fancy and droll. See what I mean?
If I had to describe my sense of humour I would probably come to the label of self-deprecating [insert poop joke here]. Unfortunately, I feel as though that sense of self-deprecation comes from a genuine feeling of self-dissatisfaction. Don't worry! This isn't going to turn into a whining, "I'm so sad", crying-while-eating-ice-cream-out-of-the-carton-and-watching some-fat-camp-reality-show-on-TV rampant blog entry. I don't do that anymore. No, I'm going to self analyze my own troubles in a graceful manner. Oh dear, I'm getting in my head again. Ok, ok shake it out. That's what she said? Ugh. New paragraph. Also, tangent.
Right now it's raining, and I'm told by my widget app that it will continue for the remainder of this week. I'm glad. I quite enjoy the rain. It's a nice diversion from the groundhog's day 75 and sunny LA weather that we are usually blessed with. If you've never spent a good deal of time on the east coast, I highly recommend you find an excuse to change that fact. Being forced through seasons can be exhilarating. Here's my tree shout out: The trees allow you this dramatic arboreal calendar. I appreciate trees as much as the next person, but I sincerely do not understand "leafers." Whatever, continuing... Nice sunny days have no value, no goodness when they're all stacked together with no foul, precipitous bookends. You need shit weather to have awesome weather. LA has neither. It has none. Back in Vermont, after months and months of fall and winter a nice sunny day is almost cloying in it's delectation. Everyone's outside playing frisbee. I mean, how cool are frisbee's? They fly. Weird. Anyhow, back to my angst.
This is a non-pity mongering paragraph. Just want you to know that going in. It can be hard to process life frustration without actual discussion. Sometimes I get twinges or pangs. Those words just sound made up. Sometimes I even get wangdoodles and spurgles. Spurgles from decisions I've made in my past that I'm not proud of that still haunt me. The 'g' in 'spurgle' is a hard 'g' if you're wondering. I don't know. Whenever I'm stagnant: not up to something, I have this masochistic tendency to relive my regrets. It's not crippling, the pain. It's like a sore throat. It's bearable. Perhaps I've watched too many movies and I'm convinced that I need some unknowable burden in order to achieve that tortured hero complex. Now I just need to do something heroic. Hmmmmm. I don't have enough choking friends. They all swallow with tremendous ease. Oh well.
I'm just eyeballing on these indents by the way. I would use the tab button, but it just advances the cursor to the next typing field. I'm using 6 spaces. Wow. I need to start playing video games or something or I might develop one of those awful hobbies. Like stamp collecting, or taxidermy or scrapbooking. Shudder. I'm sorry if you scrapbook, its just that I always see those scrapbooking kits on the sale rack outside of Borders and they always look so pathetic sitting there next to the unsuccessful children books and how-to-massage reference guides. Although I do have the latter.
Well, it's ridiculously late and my friend August collects shoe horns. At least he used to. Final thoughts and statements: I've recently discovered a taste for black coffee, I'm quite sure I've got some kind of cold, I'm planning on getting an SLR camera tomorrow, my mom redid my room and I'm not sure I'm digging the tope, gonna start rock-climbing again, think that the Walking Dead zombie series on AMC is uninspired, gonna see Black Swan with friends, bathrobes are weird, and finally the new Tron movie is pretty awesome. It lagged a bit, but that's to be expected when running so many programs. Zing!
If I had to describe my sense of humour I would probably come to the label of self-deprecating [insert poop joke here]. Unfortunately, I feel as though that sense of self-deprecation comes from a genuine feeling of self-dissatisfaction. Don't worry! This isn't going to turn into a whining, "I'm so sad", crying-while-eating-ice-cream-out-of-the-carton-and-watching some-fat-camp-reality-show-on-TV rampant blog entry. I don't do that anymore. No, I'm going to self analyze my own troubles in a graceful manner. Oh dear, I'm getting in my head again. Ok, ok shake it out. That's what she said? Ugh. New paragraph. Also, tangent.
Right now it's raining, and I'm told by my widget app that it will continue for the remainder of this week. I'm glad. I quite enjoy the rain. It's a nice diversion from the groundhog's day 75 and sunny LA weather that we are usually blessed with. If you've never spent a good deal of time on the east coast, I highly recommend you find an excuse to change that fact. Being forced through seasons can be exhilarating. Here's my tree shout out: The trees allow you this dramatic arboreal calendar. I appreciate trees as much as the next person, but I sincerely do not understand "leafers." Whatever, continuing... Nice sunny days have no value, no goodness when they're all stacked together with no foul, precipitous bookends. You need shit weather to have awesome weather. LA has neither. It has none. Back in Vermont, after months and months of fall and winter a nice sunny day is almost cloying in it's delectation. Everyone's outside playing frisbee. I mean, how cool are frisbee's? They fly. Weird. Anyhow, back to my angst.
This is a non-pity mongering paragraph. Just want you to know that going in. It can be hard to process life frustration without actual discussion. Sometimes I get twinges or pangs. Those words just sound made up. Sometimes I even get wangdoodles and spurgles. Spurgles from decisions I've made in my past that I'm not proud of that still haunt me. The 'g' in 'spurgle' is a hard 'g' if you're wondering. I don't know. Whenever I'm stagnant: not up to something, I have this masochistic tendency to relive my regrets. It's not crippling, the pain. It's like a sore throat. It's bearable. Perhaps I've watched too many movies and I'm convinced that I need some unknowable burden in order to achieve that tortured hero complex. Now I just need to do something heroic. Hmmmmm. I don't have enough choking friends. They all swallow with tremendous ease. Oh well.
I'm just eyeballing on these indents by the way. I would use the tab button, but it just advances the cursor to the next typing field. I'm using 6 spaces. Wow. I need to start playing video games or something or I might develop one of those awful hobbies. Like stamp collecting, or taxidermy or scrapbooking. Shudder. I'm sorry if you scrapbook, its just that I always see those scrapbooking kits on the sale rack outside of Borders and they always look so pathetic sitting there next to the unsuccessful children books and how-to-massage reference guides. Although I do have the latter.
Well, it's ridiculously late and my friend August collects shoe horns. At least he used to. Final thoughts and statements: I've recently discovered a taste for black coffee, I'm quite sure I've got some kind of cold, I'm planning on getting an SLR camera tomorrow, my mom redid my room and I'm not sure I'm digging the tope, gonna start rock-climbing again, think that the Walking Dead zombie series on AMC is uninspired, gonna see Black Swan with friends, bathrobes are weird, and finally the new Tron movie is pretty awesome. It lagged a bit, but that's to be expected when running so many programs. Zing!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Don't Cry For Me Argentina
As I sit here in the dark of my hostel's heavily graffitied lobby I realize this will be my last night in Argentina. It is 9:30, oh no wait 21:30. The Argentines will start going out to have dinner in a couple of hours. Anyhow, I'm in no rush. Some of the graffiti is painted in UV paint and glows underneath the black lights. Some guy from Australia showed me his UV tattoo yesterday. It's invisible normally. Finished The Hobbit today and ate a hot dog. Indeed my adventuring is coming to a close and I couldn't be happier. Just like Bilbo and his halfling friends, I, enjoy a good cozy burrow, food, drink, and a quiet agenda. Though I'm not much for pipe weed, tobacco mind you. Yes, I am eager to enter the land of the English speakers, and that magical place called Los Angeles. A treasure trove of multi-cultured eatables. Ahhhhhhh! It's been like a long twilight zone episode. Yesterday I ordered guacamole and got a green sauce. To quote my parents, "I'm not mad, just upset." Well, all of the craziness of Argentina will soon be below me, if south is down. Ratatat plays in my ears. A belated Hannukah party awaits me at home, as does the option to consume root beer.
Some of my strongest memories: Getting electrocuted in the chest. Not sure if I've mentioned this, but I got quick the shock when I walked into a previously benign fence back at the cheese farm. I felt my heart beat and then got thrown to the floor. The guys I was working the field with just started laughing. Miss those guys. They never wore underwear, shoes and seldom shirts. I took a jar of dulce de leche from the farm, which eventually broke in my pack. Fortunately, I had it in the electronics bag. I had great fun cleaning dulce de leche off everything. I must admit I'm pretty good at that. There's also the time I hitched a ride with Rodolfo, the eccentric alternate anesthesiologist. He sometimes stings people with bees in his work. He's also not the best driver out there. We popped one tire, and almost slid of the road about four hours later. Very nice guy though. I will also never forget all of the incredibly creative salads I've had in Argentina. Each one was awful in it's own unique way. A favorite was the caprese which consisted of five cheese medallions and five tomato slices arranged in a circle with a single sprig of basil in the middle. I'm also having flashbacks of the variety of hostel's I've graced with my presence. I'll be honest, it's been weird. There was Ana's house, a hostel set in the desolate town of Cholila. Ana was nice, but it took me ten minutes to figure out how to flush the toilets. A technique I'm not eager to share. This current one has the reception on the third floor. I got sprayed with silly string by one of the staff members today. There was also the gas house nestled in the hurry-get-out town of Rio Gallegos. I could smell this hostel walking up to it's front door. A propane palace of blue and pink. It was there in Rio Gallegos that I experienced the death funeral of ex-president, Nestor Kirschner. I've learned to cook rice, and more impressively, a mean pasta sauce from absolute scratch. I've watched maybe four dozen movies and the entirety of Twin Peaks and Carnivalé, that one show that was on HBO. I've written a handful of blog entires, and engendered several ideas for movies that one day I'd like to direct. One involves chasing ghosts. I've bought three jackets. Met up with two of my college friends, and made countless others, from around the world. Some of which don't live too far, and might be seeing again. I might be changing my major to film, and my stomach is more sensitive than it used to be. I'm ok with both of these things. I hiked on a glacier, got drenched by a waterfall and saw some whales. The most valuable thing I'll come away with? A leather jacket, and a greater affinity for my friends, mexican food, movies and the states. And my hair's longer. All in all, a good trip. Consider this the death of a travel blag and the start of much more random but equally as awesome general life blag. Blag? Blag!
Some of my strongest memories: Getting electrocuted in the chest. Not sure if I've mentioned this, but I got quick the shock when I walked into a previously benign fence back at the cheese farm. I felt my heart beat and then got thrown to the floor. The guys I was working the field with just started laughing. Miss those guys. They never wore underwear, shoes and seldom shirts. I took a jar of dulce de leche from the farm, which eventually broke in my pack. Fortunately, I had it in the electronics bag. I had great fun cleaning dulce de leche off everything. I must admit I'm pretty good at that. There's also the time I hitched a ride with Rodolfo, the eccentric alternate anesthesiologist. He sometimes stings people with bees in his work. He's also not the best driver out there. We popped one tire, and almost slid of the road about four hours later. Very nice guy though. I will also never forget all of the incredibly creative salads I've had in Argentina. Each one was awful in it's own unique way. A favorite was the caprese which consisted of five cheese medallions and five tomato slices arranged in a circle with a single sprig of basil in the middle. I'm also having flashbacks of the variety of hostel's I've graced with my presence. I'll be honest, it's been weird. There was Ana's house, a hostel set in the desolate town of Cholila. Ana was nice, but it took me ten minutes to figure out how to flush the toilets. A technique I'm not eager to share. This current one has the reception on the third floor. I got sprayed with silly string by one of the staff members today. There was also the gas house nestled in the hurry-get-out town of Rio Gallegos. I could smell this hostel walking up to it's front door. A propane palace of blue and pink. It was there in Rio Gallegos that I experienced the death funeral of ex-president, Nestor Kirschner. I've learned to cook rice, and more impressively, a mean pasta sauce from absolute scratch. I've watched maybe four dozen movies and the entirety of Twin Peaks and Carnivalé, that one show that was on HBO. I've written a handful of blog entires, and engendered several ideas for movies that one day I'd like to direct. One involves chasing ghosts. I've bought three jackets. Met up with two of my college friends, and made countless others, from around the world. Some of which don't live too far, and might be seeing again. I might be changing my major to film, and my stomach is more sensitive than it used to be. I'm ok with both of these things. I hiked on a glacier, got drenched by a waterfall and saw some whales. The most valuable thing I'll come away with? A leather jacket, and a greater affinity for my friends, mexican food, movies and the states. And my hair's longer. All in all, a good trip. Consider this the death of a travel blag and the start of much more random but equally as awesome general life blag. Blag? Blag!
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