Imagine a playing field (soccer/football),  now imagine a huge boulder.  

The culture barrier isn't so much a barrier as it is this huge boulder.  Like a giant boulder dug deep into the ground, it protrudes out immovable and always a constant obstacle.  There are ways to dance around it, to skirt by, to climb over, or even dig into the ground and burrow a passage way underneath it.  Of course that requires massive reworking of one's foundation.  You can dig and dig and unearth this stone, but where will you put it?  There is no out of the way place that doesn't make it  an obstacle, because this boulder is still there on the playing field.  Whether you move it to one side or the other, sooner or later it becomes an obstacle.  How would you deal with this boulder?  

Simple answer maybe to blow it to smithereens.  Than you'd be erasing that part of you forever, destroying that part of your identity.  Let's face it, not all playing fields are the same.  We all have our own boulders protruding stones, there may be goal posts, line markers, different players playing different games with different rules...  you get the picture.  

The tricky part is playing fair.  Knowing the differences, whether you're playing at home or away, when you play with others everything has got to be on the level...  Complicated right, because now everyone has their boulders, you can't really remove it from the playing fields, and then everyone has different rules, lines, and boundaries... no wonder the world so fucked.  

Well what if every one blew up their boulders?  Or what if we include the boulders in the game, use them as marker, and then have everyone miraculously agree on a game of choice with set rules... sound fair?  

Hey, I can dream...  

Today, I tried dunking several times.  I'm not that tall, 5'8".  I'm one or two inches shy, but that encourages me to practice and develop hops.  :D  

Please don't let me forget.

There's this box.  

I keep everything anyone has ever written, anything in which someone has taken the time to put their sentiments down on paper, on parchment, on a card, or on a napkin...  It's my keepsake box.  There are some photos in there, and they all carry a memory I hold close to my heart.  

This is the one box I'd go back into the fire for.   Hell, I'd go into the lion's den for.  No fuck that, I'd go into Hell and kick the Devil's ass just to retrieve this one box.  Why?...

There was this picture.  

I took it a long time ago in middle school.  It was way back, and I must've been eleven or twelve.  I remember this picture and that time vividly.  It was after school, and it was all ending soon...  I knew I had to take this picture...  I remember thinking... "I will never forget you.  I never want to forget this moment."  The light was just right.  For some reason when the photograph came out, it failed in comparison to that memory.  It was after all a point and click camera.  Still, I cherished the photo because it was real and not just a memory.  

That's why I'm so angry and upset with myself this entire Saturday and maybe for life... because somewhere, someplace, sometime ago the picture was misplaced.  Why would I move it?  Where would I move it to?  Why can't I remember where it is?  Why can't I find it?

I was running around crazy most of the morning.  It's the next morning, and I'm still pretty upset and pissed... and being passive aggressive, of course, I'm internalizing it.  Now it hurts... I'm really angry, upset, sad, pissed, but mostly sad. I'd give anything for that picture back... 

It was my memory of her.  

It was how I saw her than, how I will always see her.   That was who she will always be to me.  That was the photo that I was going to show her again... one day... someday.... Now I can't.

Stopping and asking for Direction...

Wanted: My first movie call out.  

I'm sorry.  I usually don't hate on movies.  I love 'em as an art, a production, a business, and as entertainment.  There is always something to love about film.  That doesn't mean every film gets an approval and recommendation.  Take for instance Wanted (2008).  It's a good film, but I wouldn't recommend it per se... I'd take into account what you're expecting from the movie.  I came in with a bit too much of expectations (over-hyped maybe?), so that has something to do with it.   

Yes, the movie is visually stimulating (and I'm not just referring to Angelina Jolie).  It's very awesome, and if you are familiar with the director's works you're not surprised.  I had no idea that Timur Bekmambetov was the director going into the movie, but afterwards, a quick www.imdb.com search later, it doesn't really surprise me.  Some movies from the Russian director are Night Watch (2004) and Day Watch (2006).  

Like these mentioned films (which I enjoyed), Wanted is very visual graphics wise, but lacks something which I'm now beginning to realize.  After the movie, I couldn't figure out what bothered me about the movie... was it the ending, the acting, what?  Reflecting on the director's style, I realize that Bekmambetov usually forces the the story along to the next action sequence... the story elements are underplayed... no not underplayed, wrong choice of words.  Hmm... the director doesn't give the audience much time to react to the emotional turmoil of the character... the scenes move quick to the next action graphics sequence(s), and so were rushed along to the next wooha scene.  

That is maybe why my most enjoyed scene would be the development of Angelina Jolie's character, Fox.  Angie's always been a powerful actor/actress, and she delivers in the movie.  I'm not shocked that she did, nor am I surprised by her decision to play this character, given the role leans towards the darker side.  The scene was slow, not much movement, lit by candlelight and the characters, Fox and Wesley, actually connecting.

Another powerful actor, Morgan Freeman, I thought would have delivered as well.  I can't understand the decision to under-utilize such talent.  I felt his character was lacking in depth.  To be fair, I think Mr. Freeman did his best with the material... there wasn't much material to work with I guess.  This I feel is the director pushing towards action and movement on screen - not so much talking heads (it is his movie, so it's his choice unfortunately).  

"It's weird hearing Morgan Freeman cuss isn't it?" - movie attendant after the movie.

I laughed all the way to the restrooms...  it's still hilarious.

I can comment on other actors, their performances and such, but I think those are best left to the viewer.  My beef is only with the direction.  

I'm not too familiar with the source material, but I'm sure there was plenty of depth there (or at least room for it)... not only was the depth sacrificed for the aforementioned visual effects, but it was also more unforgivably sacrificed for cheap laughs.  For example, ridiculous time was spent on retracing  Wesley Gibson's (James McAvoy) mundane life with his girlfriend, Cathy, and his best friend, Barry - who yes, we get it, are cheating on him behind his back.  These cheap laughs (inserted to lighten the intensity maybe) felt like it cheated the audience from character development.  

Arguably there is depth... there just isn't time to process it before moving on to something that explodes.  Unfortunate, because I would have like the movie much much more.  Watch it, enjoy it, but know that it could've been great.  That's what bothers me really.  I mean with such talent, and here I'm saying... it could have been great.  That's just how it goes with films and life; you can't win them all.  

P.S. 

James McAvoy is not the guy in Everwood (Lol!)  

Criss Pratt who plays the asshole best friend, Barry, is though.

Sometimes you're dealt the shitty hand... atleast you're still playing.

Talk about Life...

I was going to post on my other blog, Life. Love. Laughter, but it seems to fall under the Calcifer's House of "Fallen" Cards category. Ranting doesn't seem ranting is the best way to start the day. But you know what's worst?. Having to bury some dead bodies. Yeah... no joke.

I woke to chirping birds. New, because usually chirping birds mean go to sleep. Strange enough as it is, I decide to stay awake. I know, I know, but that's not the strange part.

About a month ago, I found a dead possum outside our house. It was dead and not playing dead on account of it's entrails being gutted and limbs ripped off. Regretfully honest discription.

This morning, my brother told me that there was a cat outside the house. Well, he told my mom, who told me, this was immediately after my morning constitutional, so good timing I suppose. She was like, "I can't handle this, you and your bro go handle it." Apparently, as my brother described to her another live kitten, poor starving thing, was munching on the dead carcass. O_O

...and you inevitably talk about Death.

So I go downstairs, and sure enough, this cute little bugger was munching on a dead carcass. Dead because there was only half the body. I can't help but think there's a connection. Maybe a secret possum/cat war. Perhaps there were other cats via for territory? The mystery that surrounds us...

I sorta whistled and shooed the kitten away, and it ran underneath Val, my BMW X5. It apparently stored a snack there, because it continued to munch away. Not quite sure what to do, I decided to go dig a hole in the back yard. Now I don't know if you ever tried digging a hole in the morning, I mean I was not brought up on a farm. My muscles were not warmed up; it was sad not being able to make a fist. So the hole digging failed.

I decided I would collect the carcass, while my brother can dig the hole. It was very surreal. I found myself
apologizing to a dead carcass. I brought it out back to my brother who tells me there's another one on the sidewalk! O_O

I double back hesitantly to search for the other carcass, and sure enough it was there on the sidewalk in front of the house. Except, it was a kitten that looked similar to the cute one munchin' on the half missing carcass earlier. They must have all been related because even the half carcass one had the same fur color as the kittens. Strange relations. Maybe it was like a possum mafia hit – or some other neighborhood cat wanting to off this entire family of cats.

Back to the story... I'm saying, I'm sorry and trying to not touch the carcasses luckily there was a dustpan, similar to those used by movie theater employees who have to clean up the fallen popcorn, but different, because these weren't fallen popcorn, they were fallen souls.

Carrying both carcasses with me out back in this dustpan thing, I was apologizing for using this trash-collecting instrument to carry their bodies in... sad honest truth. To my brother's efforts and accomplishment on the hole, I commend. I failed at the hoe digging, but I did put the bodies in and buried them together. That's what my brother said to do, and I agreed. Buried together is much better than buried alone... if you are going with the whole burial route.

I said a few words for these poor souls. Apologizing for not knowing them in life, and if whether I played an unknowing part in their death that too I must apologize. I said I did not know what they did to deserve such a fate, and that I hope their souls find rest in the afterlife. I mentioned the poor starving kitten, said it probably wasn't his fault that he was sooo... hungry, and that I will buy cat food and leave it out so that the kitty can eat
and not resort to cannibalism anymore. I concluded my ceremony thus, and now I'm inevitably in a reflective mood.

Think about Death... and you inevitably think about Life.

This one was two days past...

One of those …uughh… days. Woke up feeling ….uughh…

Particular reason? Who knows? Preliminary self-diagnosis suggests it has something with that high pedestal where upon I’ve envisioned my life expectations and goals coalescing in one glorious self-actualizing moment.  Take a moment, dissect that, think about it. K

Sometimes it sucks being a Playboy. :P 

What it means to be a Playboy: A Brief Synopsis

Playboys need more sleep. More than the average boy. Our hours are unorthodox; we wake 9-10 hours after we go to sleep. We’re known for bouts of insomnia. So we don’t sleep some weekends. The sleep we lose, we always make up, if not by sleeping than by taking it out on our entourage. Yes, we always have an entourage, be it one or many, real or virtual. These days, one’s entourage is only a phone call away. It’s a personal choice from Playboy to Playboy – I just like flying solo more often than not. Besides – a real Playboy doesn’t need wingmen – we’re pretty adept at playing the many roles required to woo and be wooed.

There’s plenty more observations I can give about the trade.  There’s plenty of depth still. There are many rumors still to address, but that’s for another blog for another time.

Obviously this Playboy didn’t get enough sleep… uughh…

An empty bottle, some paper, and a pen.

There she was.

Entering the cool refuge escaping the heat, half starved, blurry-eyed, tired, and slightly relieved, I saw her.  A welcoming smile.  Words escape me, and I'm ushered off to my seat.  Too late, I'll never get that opportunity again.

Said the Passive Aggressive

"Shit I get things done.  Ask him to get one thing done... he's got a ten year plan."

Go ahead, playa, brush it off...

You tell yourself... if you want it bad enough, nothing's gonna to stop you from getting what you want.  Question is: but what do you ever want bad enough that you can't come up with one excuse or another to dismiss it?

Showtime: Californication

DAUGHTER: "When does it stop hurting?"

FATHER: "If you're lucky, it never does."

Looking through the looking glass.

He sat there, intentionally positioned with his back towards the world.  The reflection in the window shows the entire world behind him.  He sees himself, eye contact, however brief, and he penetrates the glass.  Below him, in the streets, were cars.  Exotic, expensive, luxurious cars.  He wishes... he envisions... soon, soon.  

"I just need $10,000.00 disposable to start." ~ J.H.

+o+o+o+

"You and me both."

"Yeah, those were the good ol' days.  I miss you feeding me." 

"The projector was awesome."

+0+0+0+

Are we ever going to get there?

There: The space between 'what was' and 'what could be.'

I was there once.  Usually, when you're there... you have no clue where you are.  It's when you moved on that you realize just where you were.  You were there... in that moment, you were there.  

It's not regret.  No not that.  It's not even nostalgia.  It's the moment, when you're caught up.  For some, time freezes.  For others it speeds uncontrollably.  It's fluid and static.  The fleeting 'There', for once you think you have arrived... you find you're not 'There' anymore....

There is the dream.

Excerpt from my journal: The Denver Layover 

(you're in for a treat... part of my working memoir...enjoi)

Flight 409 NY to Denver

I'm confused with thoughts of insecurities... self doubt.  It's not something I can escape.  I've tried many times over... I keep looking to the future... as if tomorrow will shine better... anew day, anew dawn, where behind I leave my pain.

She sits beside me.  Her thoughts, her world.  Long lashes. Smooth tan skin.  Fit.  Her hair in a slight pony tail.  

It never stops does it?  We as a being look to the future... my mind splinters between the here and now and the yet to be.  The "what if?" is drawing me away from this tangible world.  I grow dissatisfied with the man in the mirror.  I see the boy looking back.  His hopes.  His dreams.  Will he be disappointed?  Have I compromised so much... too much?

I feel the pressures of time.  As a child I dreamt BIG.  There was no other option... "Go BIG or go home."  Reality too cruel for a soul longing for peace.  I dreamt of Castles in the Sky... I dreamt of abstract notions like Truths, and Love.

I cannot seem to find it in my heart anymore... grief stricken.  My mind has already disengaged and the notion becomes nothing more than that... a notion... a child's dream.  Autopilot.  

Just give me a reason.  I need a cause.  

Can the boy grow up ?  No one grows up...

The stories just get more and more elaborate.

There's something I want you to know...

No.1: Fear not.
No. 2: Full disclosure.

This is a personal excerpt I wrote a while ago. I wrote this on the grass by Janss Steps at UCLA. I edited it for clarity of certain references and some thoughts that weren't transparent. It's about a girl, and a feeling. It's about tearing yourself away... steeling oneself... and longing and dreaming. These words have never been seen, nor heard, nor read by anyone. I never spoke these words to her... I only longed it in my heart, and dreamt it in my sleep.

I want you to know something.

I lie. Through the teeth, I lie. Bone to bone, I lie. That’s all on the surface.

That’s the rule; but you know how there are exceptions to every rule?

When I let down all my defenses and am most honest, usually also intoxicated, I don’t lie anymore. The things below the surface, those hidden thoughts and feelings that I submerge deep down inside… I’m pretty transparent when I’m drunk.

So, I think you know where this is heading, but here goes…

I don’t really recall everything I said while under the influence. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to protect myself subconsciously, or maybe it’s the alcohol’s wear and tear on an already stressed mind. In any case, I know this much is true. How I feel when I’m drunk, is how I feel. [w/ emphasis on the period]. It's how I feel when I sleep, it’s how I feel when I wake up, and it’s how I feel every waking hour of everyday.

That’s funny to say, because these days I’m getting plenty of sleep. See but the thing is, it’s how I feel when I’m dreaming too. It’s hard to allow myself the luxury of dreaming when I have so much I still need to accomplish.

You ever get the feeling that there’s not enough time? I can picture a list with everything I want to do in life, then I look at where I want to be at a certain age, and then it seems that these accomplishments will take the better part of my life. When do we really get to start living our dreams?

I’m sorry I can’t think right now. I’m typing on campus, and these squirrels just approached me. I don’t know what they want, but I think it has something to do with the Gold Fishes in my backpack. They’re cute furry, vicious little fuckers. It’s almost time for class, but I want to continue this one-sided conversation.

I don’t want to waste time is what I’m getting at. But time’s all we have, so use it wisely, and can it really be wasted? I can imagine a philosophical theoretical discussion we can be having about this while having caramels. Because “When you think about it, it’s just as arbitrary as drinking coffee.” See that’s the thing. I keep picturing us doing things together. It’s a good feeling too. And that’s why I wish I was home. So I can go through the whole process, getting nervous about asking you out, trying to figure out exactly what to say while we’re out, and not really having to say nothing really at all, but just you and me, just the two of us, just hanging out.


No. 3: Full responsibility

It's about a girl. It's always about a girl.

I owned that feeling. For however many minutes before the fucking squirrel came... I owned that feeling. It's hope, a fool's dream maybe, but wtf does it matter? Wtf does it matter now? it's a notion in the past... I know how i felt then... I know how I feel now. So how do I feel now?


No. 4: "Sorry, I had to go see about a girl"