But I Dance on Vaseline

I was shocked to realize recently the power within us. Shocked to realize how people have the power to give or take away another person's sense of humanity – with only a look or a word. As Archbishop Desmond Tutu said, “when I dehumanize you, I am inexorably dehumanizing myself.”

David Byrne's song I Dance on Vaseline comes to mind tonight. 

A cosmic miracle of epic proportions

They held hands, and each other, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

Addicted to dreams

Those addicted to dreams, like many of the characters that people Kafka's works -like Franz Kafka himself by his own admission- are often unfit for life. He succeeded, managing well as a writer who mined his dreams to enrich the "other" world, (known to most of us as the real world). But obviously failed to live in reality.

Come to think about it, Kafka is his stories. Not in the sense that they are intentionally autobiographical but that they are spun from those thoughts and dreams that result from a horror of life. His stories are an arsenal in which a pomegranate may in fact be a hand Granade-

I wish I had the ability to become my own stories but I don't think I live deeply enough. I find myself whisking my thoughts away when emotions get in the way- I prefer neutrality & I need to stop this before I begin to stop loving & living.

...you get me closer to god...

Unable to sleep, I went downstairs and out my front patio and stared at the sky last night. The longer I watched, though, the more nervous I became. There were simply too many stars, and the sky was too vast and deep.

Up until this point, I realized how I had pretended that the earth on which I stood was a solid object that would last forever. Or rather, I just hadn't thought of such a thing at all and had simply taken it for granted. But in fact, the earth is nothing more than a chunk of rock floating in one little corner of the universe: a temporary foothold in the vast emptiness of space. It-- and all of us with it-- could be blown away tomorrow by a momentary flash of something or a tiny shift in the universe's energy.

And, beneath this breathtaking sky full of stars, the uncertainty of my own existence struck me full force.

Hedonic uninterrupted...

Let us look at "hedonic adaptation" -- the brain's natural dimming effect, which guarantees that a new house won't generate the same pleasure a year after its purchase and the thrill of having a boyfriend will ebb as you get used to being part of a couple. Happy people are wise to this, which is why they keep their lives full of novelty, even if it's just trying a new activity (diving, yoga) or putting a new spin on an old favorite (kundalini instead of vinyasa).

Oh, Father Time, Where Art Thou?

The passage of time will usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless. Then, sooner or later, I forget about them. This happens to us all.

In the course of my life so far, I've been able to keep my world in a relatively stable state by avoiding most useless troubles through the activation of this emotional management system. I have succeeded in maintaining a rather effective way all this time to the point it has become a matter of pride to me.

When it comes to person X, however, my system refuses to function and this fact annoys the hell out of me. I've known of people to be far worse human beings, but person X, an egoist with nothing inside seems to make me want to smackabitch.

Mi lengua materna: una práctica.

Este verano fue el peor que jamás he logrado superar. Antes de salir el sol, el cielo del desierto de esta ciudad tan al norte de México y tan, pero tan al sur de EEUU, se tornaba de un marrón de arpillera, se iba oscureciendo lentamente, hinchándose como una vejiga enorme y dejando asomar los relieves de las nubes. Estas nubes eran gigantescas octavas de color ocre que se amontonaban sobre la ciudad como capas de ceniza al pie de un volcán. Q cosas!! Y todo esto, antes de salir el sol... El calor es insoportable pero estar viendo este paisaje triste es aun más desesperante...

True enlightenment or absolute madness?

What exactly is the universe for those now dead? What about for the never-to-be born? All cultures have created myths about the dead, so it's difficult as it is to accept that our consciousness can just go away the minute our oxygen pump fails to power our brain, but what does consciousness mean for those combinations of DNA that never started, not ever will be?

I think that it is just as hard to understand how consciousness emerges & dies as it is to grasp the idea on how something, the stuff of the universe, erupted out of nothing. Was there an actual CREATION or was there always something? Could there even be nothing if there were no one to know there was nothing?

The more I try to understand these crazy questions, the more I feel like I'm on the edge of either true enlightenment or absolute madness.

Birds of a feather smoke cigarettes together

I found Y.C. Wee's recent (2008) paper on anting fun to read. In it, he describes how Kelvin K.P. Lim (probably from Singapore) saw a Javan myna bird "carefully picking up live kerengga ants and placing them, one at a time, under its wings. Each time it did this, the bird went into a curious dance that involved flopping around on the grass with its wings outstretched and beak opened." (There are pictures.)
"Anting" as I have learned in my brief professional camping experience, is a process where birdies use ants either as oil (in springtime when shedding) or, as insect repellent. Apparently, ants are filled with enough repellents to guard off countless insects- when these are squished.
What is of most interest to me, however, is the fact that many of these birds get hooked on the feeling of anting. In fact, two scientists, whose names escape me at the moment, have concluded that the feeling of "anting" is similar to the effect nicotine has in humans.
I couldn't find the photos I mentioned above.

Running with Scissors

I've often romanticized the ailments that plagued Virginia Wolf and Sylvia Plath... In fact, I've often been quoted as "wishing to go the way of Virginia Wolf" when I'd find myself having a less than stellar day...I

Now, I'm nursing back to life someone who has been running with scissors for years on end and can only wonder if that's the way Virginia & Sylvia felt.

“Doublethink,” Orwell called it: the ability to “hold simultaneously two opinions which canceled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them.” And today, I stand a doublethinker before you... Confusion and clarity both begging me to make a choice. Truth be told, I want that diplomatic passport more than anything... I want to once again eat, sleep, drink in Spanish...
This town shackles me yet, the dichotomy remains the same: I'd be shackled anywhere else, wouldn't I? Isn't that Samsara?
To be born a Libra is to have the inability to make decisions... Any decisions....

The Dingo didn't eat my baby... Religion did...

It strikes me, even as I type this, how distant our formulaic methodology is from the artful narrative of writing. It makes you wonder whether we can even get to the truth. It makes you wonder if all our time spent making lists would be better spent painting or writing or singing or learning to speak stories. When I think of this, I think of organized religions and the church comes to mind.Sometimes I feel as though the church has a kind of pity for Scripture, always having to come behind it and explain everything, put everything into actionable steps, acronyms, and hidden secrets.

My life is a story.  I feel this blood slipping through my veins and these chemicals in my brain telling me I am hungry or lonely, sad or angry, in love or despondent. And I don't feel that a list could ever explain the complexity of all this beauty, all this sun and moon, this smell of all this sudden rain, the beautiful mysteries of women, of giving birth, of loving men and their truck-like complexities.. It seems nearly heresy to explain the gospel of anyone - to anyone-, the messages are  infinitely complex, delivered to an infinitely complex humanity, in bullet points.

The power of free will excites me

Sin Now Pay Later?...Thou Shall not Think?...

I find the notion of the predestination behind Psalm 139 very creepy. One of the best things about being human is free fucking will. Of course we are controlled by brain chemistry, upbringing, economic circumstances, milligrams in serotonin inhibitors/blockers, etc., but we mostly get to make choices on our own and –somehow adjust- to the consequences. If you move all the choices and give them back to God, you remove your choice of free will; making you a coward with a flare for cop-outs. Sure, it frees you from the misery behind hard choices and blunders—it's God's will—but it also removes the accountability, regret, and self-examination that make us creatures of judgment and eventually, learn from our mistakes.

There's also a self-contradictory value to Psalm 139: It says publicly that God has set our future and knows every word we will say before we say it. At the same time, it frequently asks God to "test" us—to explore us and make sure we are not depraved, immoral cabareteras and pimps. If God has written our futures and knows our feelings, why would He need to test us? (ADHD people like me don't do well with tests, by the way). Either way, the psalmist wants to have his cake and then eat it like a filthy, filthy pig! Whomever wrote the Book of Psalms  wants to give God acknowledgment for total power, but he also wants to get credit for not being impious (that sounds like a good religion word, doesn't it: IMPIOUS?). This Psalm reads: "Test me, Lord. See, I'm not wicked." You don't get to have it both ways: If God has predetermined it all, then you ought to have absolutely no credit for your goodness. God made it take place.

Symphony vs. Philharmonic

Definition/History along with a very smart-ass but accurate correction to when the term 'philharmonic' was once used...

A symphony orchestra is a group of musicians (orchestra) that play symphonies. Wouldn't a philharmonic orchestra be an orchestra that plays philharmonics? Sounds reasonable to me... except for the small problem that there is no such thing as a philharmonic.

The first use of 'philharmonic' was in London in 1813. An organisation was founded called the Philharmonic Society. The word 'philharmonic' translates to 'music lover'. The sources I've found say this was taken from the French 'philharmonoque', but I think it is more likely that the word was taken right from the Greek. Greek is much more fashionable than French - especially if you're living in London in 1813*.

Anyway, the first Philharmonic Orchestra was established in London in 1895. The current London Philharmonic was established in 1932, the London Symphony was established in 1940. My guess is, whoever got to the name they wanted first - won. (This avoids having names like "The Other London Symphony Orchestra".)

I'm sure if you asked a member of the LSO or the LPO, they could tell you all sorts of jokes on how to distinguish a philharmonic from a symphony orchestra. But in practical application, there really is no difference. They both love music, and they both play symphonies.

Remember
A symphonic orchestra and a philharmonic orchestra are really the same thing.


SMART ASS YET ACCURATE CORRECTION:

Your statement that "The first use of 'philharmonic' was in London in 1813" is, um, somewhat less than correct. That might have been the first use in an English context, but in Ljubljana, Slovenia (which was then known as Laibach and was in the Austrian Empire) the Academia Philharmonicorum was founded in 1701. That translates easily as "academy of music-lovers" (or at any rate "harmony-lovers"), but the original members were all professional musicians, though their by-laws were amended to admit amateurs who were capable of making a contribution, and they gave regular performances. According to the history on the website of the Slovenian Philharmonic (http://www.filharmonija.si/), the organization was based on the example of similar societies in Italy, so it would probably make sense to look there for the introduction of the term (probably filarmónico or something similar), into modern usage, whether it was invented or borrowed at that time.

The Academia Philharmonicorum itself petered out during the 18th century, although the active musical life of Ljubljana certainly didn't. A new Slovenian Philharmonic Society was founded in 1795, and the orchestra called the Slovenian Philharmonic ('filharmonija' in Slovene, which might come over into English as "Philharmony") has existed officially since 1908. I think most modern "Philharmonics" are abbreviated forms of longer names (Philharmonic Orchestra, Philharmonic Society, etc.) in which 'philharmonic' still is really an adjective.

Yours in the service of facts that no one much cares about, Charlie Bowen

Fiódor Dostoievski

Ultimamente Raskolnikov parece haber entrado con fuerza en mi vida, escuché hablar de él en un programa de radio y hoy dudé entre hablar Crimen y castigo o de Los hermanos Karamazov, mis dos novelas favoritas de Dostoievsky. Lo mas fascinante de Los hermanos Karamazov, es sin duda, la memoria de Alyosha. Pero hoy me decanté por Crimen y castigo, quizá porque es una de esas novelas que todos deberíamos haber leído y una que no logra que me enamore desesperadamente de un personaje ficticio como lo hice con el personaje de Alyosha.

Vale la pena aclarar que, el leer Crimen y castigo es en parte la intención, porque las novedades literarias aparecen en los suplementos de los periódicos, en revistas... pero pocas veces se nos cuentan cosas de novelas como ésta. Si tuviese que elegir las diez mejores novelas que he leído, sé que incluiría esta. Me gusta más Los hermanos Karamazov, pero Crimen y castigo es... no sé, el principio de la culpa moderna, tal y como la conocemos. El protagonista mata a su casera y a su hermana, dos ancianas, casi al empezar la novela. El resto del largo relato desarrolla el interior de Raskolnikov, un ser aberrante dentro de su normalida.

Como Napoleón, Raskolnikov cree que un fin superior justifica el medio, y la vieja usurera, para él, está mejor muerta. Lo fuerte es el contraste entre ese interior tan mezquino y el resto de los personajes, su amigo, su madre, su hermana.

This is not an anti-patriotic statement....

McCain's speech was so refreshing and inspiring until he gleefully cheered the crowd by saying "Americans never quit. We never surrender..."

Please, I beg that you stop thinking of yourself as a proud American that never quits and never surrenders; it makes you look creepy and stupid. Americans have no need to quit nor to surrender, we simply have the need to be grateful for the security, the plan b's and the enormous financial back up that the American way of life gives us.

If you don't agree me with me then I challenge you to answer this: What exactly do you NOT surrender to? The wars we've fed or ignited around the globe? Or is it the enormous credit card balances you are left with while attempting to live beyond your means? Also, I'd like to know What exactly is it that you don't quit? The free education that is given to you? The shitty job that pays you minimum wage but allows you to get free welfare assistance? ... Or do you quit the court-appointed attorney in case you can't represent yourself?..

What exactly do we not quit and not surrender to? I'm not being sarcastic nor am I attempting to be anti-patriotic. I simply want to see myself as someone who never quits and doesn't surrender but it's just not happening because I've no reason to see myself in this light: I'm fortunate enough to live in this country where the need to never surrender and never quit are not necessary.

WAIT! Before you answer these questions, I want to invite you to get out of this country and visit remote villages all around the world. Places where financial aid, welfare systems and free housing programs are not available. In these places you will find people who have been stripped of their pride by hunger, militia, drug cartels and underground sex slavery rinks.

These people, I think, are the ones that never quit, never surrender...

On a different note, I'd like to suggest that we eat less burgers, read more books,learn about the mind blowing cultures of the world and, minimize our TV time.

I've posted McCain's speech below (in case you are living under a rock and missed it). You will be so inspired by his words until he kills it all with the aforementioned.

Of Politics and Palin...

Not to be unduly partisan but McCain is not really the American capitalist beast I thought he was. McCain is not the problem, the problem is directly linked with our pent up ill feelings for all things Republican and Sarah Palin, of course. If he does win, he damn well better stay alive, though.

Here's a message from women and girls across the U.S. begging Palin to remember that it was the smart, independent, hard working women in the 1920s who paved the way for her possible election as VP... It's simply brilliant and touching... This is the nicest way to tell someone what little value they have in the political world without being arrogant.

Brilliant... why didn't I think of this?
Message for Sarah Palin!

The War of the Felafels

Lebanon plans to charge Israel with violating a food copyright by marketing provisions such as hummus and falafel as Israeli, Fadi Abboud, the president of the Lebanese Industrialists Association announced Monday. Abboud contends that these foods are historically Lebanese, and that Israel's appropriation of them has cost the Levantine country profits "estimated at tens of millions of dollars annually."

Lebanon's case will likely rely on "the feta precedent," said Abboud. Six years ago, Greece was able to win a monopoly on the production of feta cheese from the European Parliament by proving that the cheese and had been produced in Greece under that name for several millennia.

The origins of hummus remain shrouded in mystery, but attempts to claim the food as a "national dish" remain a reliable way to start nationalistic squabbles across the region. Bringing this case to the courts, however, is unlikely to win the Lebanese government points even with a domestic audience. Most likely, it will simply reinforce the belief that while Hezbollah readies its rockets against Israel, all the Lebanese state can muster is frivolous lawsuits.

I, too, dislike the Nobel Prize..

Without taking anything away from former Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize today for his work as an “outstanding international mediator” in conflicts from Indonesia to Northern Ireland, the entire institution of the Nobel Committee has grown so self-important that this is a worthwhile opportunity to question its judgment and ultimately its usefulness.

The 1973 Peace Prize, awarded to then-Secretary of State Henry Kissinger and Vietnamese negotiator Le Duc Tho for their role in the Paris Peace Accords, remains a head-scratcher. Kissinger played a major role in expanding the U.S. bombing campaign across Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, while Tho’s government would soon violate the Accords by launching a military invasion of South Vietnam that culminated in the 1975 fall of Saigon.

The Nobel Prize in Literature also has been guilty of sins of omission. Many of the last century’s most celebrated writers, such as Leo Tolstoy, Graham Greene, Vladimir Nabokov, Mario Vargas Llosa and Philip Roth, have been ignored by the Committee. Greene and Nabokov were considered in 1974, but eventually lost out to Swedes Eyvind Johnson and Harry Martinson -- who just happened to be Nobel judges themselves.

The Literature Prize is awarded by a committee selected by the Academy, founded by the Swedish King Gustav III in 1786, while the Peace Prize is awarded by a committee appointed by the Norwegian parliament. In any other context, the idiosyncratic tastes and political beliefs of these elite Scandinavians don't exactly make headlines. Why the entire world pauses to honor the selections of an otherwise unknown group of people remains a mystery.

In the end, the Nobel Prize reveals more about society's collective obsession with honorifics than it does about the world's great leaders and writers.

I want to wake up and piss excellence...

I’ve taken it upon myself to wake up every morning and piss excellence…

Day One:

I woke up a bit late and completely forgot to piss excellence.. damn you melatonin...damn.. damn.. damn..

Day Two:

Note to self: write it on your calendar, you have a photographic memory so it might stick better this way.

Day Three:

I'm seriously beginning to question my intelligence now. How hard can it possibly be to wake up and remember to piss excellence? I swear that I meant to read the note on my calendar (the one I left for myself yesterday on my phone). In retrospect, I wish I had hit the snooze button only three times.

Day Four:

Forget about pissing excellence today… I can’t piss excellence if I’m having car troubles.

Day Five:

Waking up for the sole purpose of pissing excellence has been postponed until further notice.Thank you for your patience.

But I ain’t going out like no punk bitch.

No, not at the gas station....

Shot with Canon Powershot SD950; ISO between 200 and 400.

The Smell of Helga's Perfume

It's 630ish in the morning and, after an almost hour long Vajrasattva meditation, the painful ringing in my ear made me crawl back to bed. Why am I such a freak about meditating, you might ask? Two reasons: I desperately want to appear to be cooler than you and, because I'm kidding about the whole cool vis-à-vis.

In all seriousness, meditation sets your ideas straight and pulls you back into your core so you can get your shit together. Don't question my words, Google those who know and question theirs: B. Allan Wallace, Robert F. Thurman, Lama Ole, His Holiness the Dalai Lama or Google Casa Tibet (Spanish) or Tibet House (English) for a complete low down.

In other stories: As I crawled back in bed in awful, awful, gut-wrenching pain, I heard my email's dingy-dong alert with a link to a blog. Here's an excerpt: "I'll admit that casual sex for me is a total defense mechanism in order to experience intimacy without risking emotional detriment. I'd so much rather be fucked than fucked with."

The point of the story is that after going against her instincts, she trusts this dude who, in two weeks dumps her (see link below for complete story).

People of my generation: WTF is up with us? What the fuck did our parents and our exes do to us to behave so cowardly in the face of love? Better yet, what is it that we seemingly can't get over, that caused us to play silly games for the sake of attention? Is it greed? Is it fear of being vulnerable? If our generation keeps this shit up, we will all end up as old, bitter people living in a nursing home or a geriatric unit talking about our great conquests, the great sexcapades and go into full details about all the pretties in our beds. Yet, at night, we will be put to sleep my a nurse who wears trashy shades of green and pink eye shadows, whose name tag might read Helga or Betty. Her cheap perfume mixed in with the hospital's pinesol will be enough to make us drown in silent tears. As we cry in silence, Helga or Sue or Betty, will be our source for our good night kiss, instead of that one gorgeous soul we chose to resist... For fear of loving them.

And then we wonder why the f u c k our country is being shaped the way it is? Seriously, think of the traits of our generation when it comes to love and peace and all those other cliche new age isms we so desperately seek deep inside. Now, ask yourself this: How can we practice world peace, in the blantly obvious absence of inner peace?

We're fucked People. There is no amount of Lexapro, shrinks and sexcapades that will cure this unless we all collectively choose to get our shit together.

Read the entire all-to-common story and barf at how broken we are:

Our generation sort of sucks

The Unberable Whitness of Being

Allow me a bit of self disclosure, please: I am a byproduct of Latin America’s civil wars who was raised by couple of illiterate wolverines. I come from a place where child abuse and child labor were key to a nurturing, safe environment. Television and infomercials held the ultimate truth and, the idea of a 12 year old reading Corin Tellado or Proust was punishable by Chinese water torture.

So, I almost died laughing when I read Stuff White People Like, a satirical blog by Chris Lander. It softly ridicules the fondness and self-importance of the sophisticated, well-educated and well-versed population in the U.S.

As I laughed my ass off, I scrambled to find out How and when I became a white person? Am I what sociologists would deem a misplaced first generation immigrant with a desperate flare for upward mobility?

Thus, in an effort to embrace my idiosyncrasies and laugh at the life that shaped me, I share with you –in bullet points- the fact that I am a white person by proxy. A wanna-be Mara Salvatrucha wolf dressed in sheep's clothing made by Michael Kors and Nannette Lepore; a Salvie, who didn’t swim to the land of the free, due to her immense fear of water. One who came to this country by way of American Airlines, with the unknown purpose of eventually refuting the myths of fellow sociologists and their theories of First Generation Immigrants.

This is Me, in a nutshell. All material below directly quoted from www.stuffthatwhilepeoplelike.com

- KILL YOUR TELEVISION: The number one reason why white people like not having a TV is so that they can tell you that they don't have a TV.

- ORGANIC FOOD: Because of the balance of global wealth and power, there is a general assumption that white people are pretty shrewd. And for the most part, history has proven this to be true. But white people have one great weakness: organic food.

- THEIR CHILDREN ARE IN THE GIFTED AND TALENTED PROGRAMS: The way it works is that white kids that are actually smart are quickly identified as "gifted" and take special classes and eventually end up in college and then law school or med school. … (WAIT, IT GETS BETTER:) If a white kid gets crappy grades and can't seem to ever do anything right in school, they are still gifted! How you ask? They are just TOO smart for school. They are too creative, too advanced to care about the trivial minutiae of the day to day operations of school.

- DAVID SEDARIS: white people go crazy and will pay hundreds of dollars to hear him read from his own book. Let me say that again, they will pay money to see someone read from a book they have already read. They know the jokes are coming, they know the punch lines, but they feel the need to hear the author actually say it.

- YOGA: Yoga is also an expensive activity. It gives white people the chance to showcase their $80 pants. The cost of four yoga classes is equal to the amount of money it would take to pay for uniforms and travel costs of an AAU Basketball team in the inner city. Lastly like other stuff that white people like, yoga feels exotic and foreign (ties into post #2 about eastern religions) and deep down in some way, white people feel that participation makes up for years of colonial rule in India


- NOT YOUR PARENT’S RELIGION: Popular choices include Buddhism, Hinduism, Kabbalah and, to a lesser extent, Scientology. A few even dip into Islam, but it's much more rare since you have to give stuff up and actually go to Mosque. Mostly they are into religion that fits really well into their homes or wardrobe and doesn't require them to do very much.

- DINNER PARTIES: The dinner party is the opportunity for white people to be judged on their taste in food, wine, furniture, art, interior design, music, and books. Outside of dictatorships and a few murder trials, there might not be a more rigorous judgment process in the modern world.

- SARAH SILVERMAN: White people love to laugh, so it’s no surprise that some of the funniest people in the world are white! But do not believe that white people find all types of humor funny. BET Comicview for example is not considered funny, and white people generally get little to no enjoyment out of the program.

*There's a ton more, but I didn't want to drag your ass into boredom for the sake of reading my entire list of my newfound ethnicity.

“Tu hijo por ser tan malo le vendimos los órganos”

Hace como un anio y medio, la policía local de China visita la casa de Chen Yang Zhong para cobrarle una deuda de 5 Euros (tipo 10USD mas o menos). Al cobrarle, le presentan el recibo para que el repague al gobierno Chino, el precio de la bala con la que le dieron muerte a su hijo Chen Tao...W-T-F?

Resulta que Chen Tao, Hijo de Zhong, fue ejecutado el 1 de diciembre de 2006; condenado a muerte por su participación en las revueltas de Han Yuan, obviamente, ni la familia ni su abogado tuvieron conocimiento de esta condena. Lo mas triste es que antes de irse, la policía le explica que “Tu hijo por ser tan malo le vendimos los órganos”.

¡Hijos de su re putísima madre! espero un día las fuerzas mundiales se unan para demostrarle a China el lado bonito del amor, de la compasión y de como el liderazgo no depende de fuerzas brutales. Asi mismo, espero que se le puedan curar los males a todos ellos – tanto los que causaron el dolor como a los que lo sufrieron; sobre todo por que la maldad es simplemente la forma en que la gente mas débil cree librarse de sus propias pesadillas.

Vamos mejor a un lado mas bonito: Agradece el karma de vivir en un lugar no tan desagradable.

This is Happiness…

An emotional backlash hit me when I learned of the release of Ingrid Betancourt today. She was kidnapped by the FARC guerrilla and remained captive for six long years until today, thanks to Colombian spies who infiltrated the compound and posed as would-be FARC pilots.

May the shock of freedom not take the best of you, Ingrid. I hope you don't let the crashing echoes of that roaring Colombian jungle mislead you. All the torments lived are nothing but an illusion now.

"All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.”
-Buddha


*Hincapié: Jenn Hammond has my gratitude.

Thoughts on Motherhood....

Simplicity rules at my house because we don't remember days (we remember moments). We laugh until we become breathless, we sing out of tune and make up our own language. In the absence of rain, we dance with the sprinklers on full blast. We march to the beat of our very own drums...

Funny..Funny..Funny...

My favorite comedians all contributed to this... please watch if you want to laugh your ass off.. Brad Pitt, Cameron Diaz, Robin Williams and many more contributed to Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel's biggest joke on one another- This is perhaps the most romantic thing ever- from a funny standpoint, that is.

Commitment Phobe

Sometimes I am so keen and hungry for the stunning and spectacular that only the stunning and spectacular has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something stunning and/or spectacular, I let go. Reality doesn't make an impression me anymore. Truth be told, I think Foucault and Plato where right when they both agreed that it has all been done before.
I guess that when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another...

North Korea is NOT the New Lybia

North Korea has handed over a document detailing the past production of plutonium. In an attempt to feed the western minds some symbolism, they will blow up the cooling tower (basically where the nuclear reactor was housed). This sort of symbolism, to me, means dick because it could just be another bullshit tactic. Let's wait and see if these nuclear inspectors will finally be allowed to do their jobs?

Quiet times

Lately I have spent an awful lot of time thinking about this tendency of mine for studying and contemplating human behavior. It is rather fascinating to realize the insignificant things that mold the way we think, which influence our character and behavior.

La insoportable levedad del Ser: Einmal ist Keinmal

De acuerdo con la filosofia de Milan Kundera, el ser está lleno de una "insoportable levedad" porque cada uno de nosotros tiene sólo una vida por vivir: "Einmal ist Keinmal" ("una vez es nunca", en otras palabras esto quiere decir que, lo que sucedió una vez pudo no haber sucedido nunca o, lo que llamamos en budismo una ilusion del ser). Por lo tanto, cada vida es esencialmente insignificante, cada decisión esencialmente irrelevante. Luego, ya que las decisiones no importan, ellas son leves (ligeras, livianas): no nos atan. Nos liberan de sufrimiento y nos permiten vivir en el presente en vez de vivir en el presente y estar pensando en memorias pasadas o en el futuro.

Pero al mismo tiempo, la insignificancia de nuestras decisiones (nuestras vidas o nuestro ser) es insoportable. De ahí viene mi insoportable levedad del ser una que, estoy segura se volvera menos pesada y mas amena, en cuanto pase este fin de semana y Alex y James regresen a casa.


“You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger.”
- Buddha