I feel a wee bit withered. Last night my medieval princess jaunted off to her Californian Camelot to be with family and friends, and I retire to yet another cave today, albeit sunshiny and sprinkled with chocolate paraphernalia galore: my grandmother's house. We agreed that I identify with Disney's "Beast" and she identifies with Belle... so I suppose our destinations are perfectly apropos.
At any rate, I miss her... I began missing her when I parted from her doorstep Wednesday night... Sigh... Were I a better writer I could guise my goofball swooning/sighing in delicious prose, even poetry. As it is I can't muster more than ugh, meeeeeeeeeeh, ... oh, and siiiiiiiiiiigh. Me Cro-Magnon. Me bash computer. Go ape. Ooogah-boogah.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Word of the Day
I get a daily e-mail from Dictionary.com which occasionally proves phonetically/lexically fruitful... (i.e, just plain fun)...
Case in point:
Word of the Day for Sunday March 20, 2005
spoonerism \SPOO-nuh-riz-uhm\, noun:
The transposition of usually initial sounds in a pair of
words.
Some examples:
* We all know what it is to have a half-warmed fish
["half-formed wish"] inside us.
* The Lord is a shoving leopard ["loving shepherd"].
* It is kisstomary to cuss ["customary to kiss"] the bride.
* Is the bean dizzy ["dean busy"]?
* When the boys come back from France, we'll have the hags
flung out ["flags hung out"]!
* Let me sew you to your sheet ["show you to your seat"].
_____________________________________________________
Spoonerism comes from the name of the Rev. William
Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), a kindly but nervous
Anglican clergyman and educationalist. All the above
examples were committed by (or attributed to) him.
Dictionary.com Entry and Pronunciation
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=9&q=spoonerism
Case in point:
Word of the Day for Sunday March 20, 2005
spoonerism \SPOO-nuh-riz-uhm\, noun:
The transposition of usually initial sounds in a pair of
words.
Some examples:
* We all know what it is to have a half-warmed fish
["half-formed wish"] inside us.
* The Lord is a shoving leopard ["loving shepherd"].
* It is kisstomary to cuss ["customary to kiss"] the bride.
* Is the bean dizzy ["dean busy"]?
* When the boys come back from France, we'll have the hags
flung out ["flags hung out"]!
* Let me sew you to your sheet ["show you to your seat"].
_____________________________________________________
Spoonerism comes from the name of the Rev. William
Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), a kindly but nervous
Anglican clergyman and educationalist. All the above
examples were committed by (or attributed to) him.
Dictionary.com Entry and Pronunciation
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=9&q=spoonerism
Geek? Who me???
Going faster than a speeding bullet, being transformed into the world's fastest man via a chemical spill ---(usually when those happen there's serious cosmetic surgery to be had and then a hermit's life holed up in a middle-of-nowhere house; super powers are then only employed to bound over stacks of newspapers and last weekend's pizza leftovers... but I digress), etc.: a geeky guy's delight. Why? Why does an oppressed woman dig a female empowerment flick? Why does Donald Trump remain oblivious to his hairpiece? Expectations fulfilled, kids.
I want a world where at least one someone does what is right at all costs against all odds and mostly because it's right (and wearing clashing colors). Furthermore, in the traditional super-hero"verse" up and down are crystal clear. Even w/ my Gospel goggles on I detect a palpable void between what I know is right and wrong and the application of said understanding. (Proof positive that only God is fit to judge in the ultimate outcome...)
So, before I make any more grammatical errors (or have to puzzle about where I put the colon... haha! Nevermind)---I'll be signing off yet again, fellow adventurers.
Comments? Criticism? Koo-koo-ka-choo?
So I'm thinking that my BLOG banner looks creepy. Anyway I can make it happy, happy, joy-joy? Any suggestions?
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Hopped-up OR Begin a Rockin' Boogie
What sugary magic is there in romantic aspiration that makes even the most plain and mundane seem potent and lofty? I'm listening to sappy old love songs, which on their own are fantastic enough, and yet they begin a rockin' boogie on the inside. That's right. I said boogie. Boogie, boogie, boogie.
The experiential plusses of what otherwise I would leave lingering on the doorstep of my peripheral contemplation I find now carry me aloft on wings of newfound inspiration. I was listening to Gene Pitney's? "Only Love Can Break a Heart" (only love can mend it again) and felt myself lilting with each cutesy bob and tuck of the melody.
It's rare, I know, but I can say for once w/o any clausal back-door that I am happy, with all of the hopped-up idealism that entails. Whoooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! etc.
The experiential plusses of what otherwise I would leave lingering on the doorstep of my peripheral contemplation I find now carry me aloft on wings of newfound inspiration. I was listening to Gene Pitney's? "Only Love Can Break a Heart" (only love can mend it again) and felt myself lilting with each cutesy bob and tuck of the melody.
It's rare, I know, but I can say for once w/o any clausal back-door that I am happy, with all of the hopped-up idealism that entails. Whoooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! etc.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Muscle factor
It's odd how straightforward we want romance to be (or male-female relationships in general, for that matter), and likewise no surprise that our clear notions about what makes a man tick or a woman va-va-voom get halted. Our frail hope that the "secret" to the opposite sex is somehow buried in a dusty tome or outlined in geometric perfection in some trumped up self-help manual is continually frustrated by new feelings, recurring yet rudely refreshing epiphanies.
Some time ago I had deluded myself into thinking that all I needed was flowers and fudge to woo my would-be. (Some oversimplification inherent in the aforementioned.) True, there are those women who are easily snared by those fleeting tokens, but they're not the kind of woman anyone wants for long, at least not in my reckoning, if only because they're so cheaply won. My issue is that I honestly have a drought of character, of... whatever it is that makes a man seem manly. (Hence the need for a supplementary arsenal.) I'm not adventurous, nor courageous, not too smart, funny or charming... I don't have that muscle factor that though women suggest is not important still seems powerful enough to secure their affection anyway.
Is it wrong that I still want, nay demand that at some point a woman will swoon because of me??? Ugh. This tired "me" again... I should have left it chained and gagged in the archives. Poo.
Some time ago I had deluded myself into thinking that all I needed was flowers and fudge to woo my would-be. (Some oversimplification inherent in the aforementioned.) True, there are those women who are easily snared by those fleeting tokens, but they're not the kind of woman anyone wants for long, at least not in my reckoning, if only because they're so cheaply won. My issue is that I honestly have a drought of character, of... whatever it is that makes a man seem manly. (Hence the need for a supplementary arsenal.) I'm not adventurous, nor courageous, not too smart, funny or charming... I don't have that muscle factor that though women suggest is not important still seems powerful enough to secure their affection anyway.
Is it wrong that I still want, nay demand that at some point a woman will swoon because of me??? Ugh. This tired "me" again... I should have left it chained and gagged in the archives. Poo.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
A ghastly void...
A sugary free dozen donuts. That's how they got me.
Picture, if you will, a bleak, chilly Thursday night; workers at a Sandy, Utah Krispy Kreme are scurrying like worker ants around rolling carts upon carts chock full of the trademark treats and loading them onto trucks. One short, goateed recent hire is hefting boxes almost as big as he is onto a large dolly. In the midst of it all a rather lost, disconsolate spirit is hovering, already anxiously anticipating the end of the day's work.
The night yawned across intermittent instructions on how to fill out a day's report, how to unbuckle the menacing clasp securing the tall donut carts in the back of the truck, how not to drive all the way back to Sandy to pick up a neglected order/item. The supervisor training us, we'll call L, was a no-nonsense, rustic 26 year-old with child-support payments. He and "Goatee" seemed comfortable enough rolling around in the behemoth with the stock of fresh donuts in its belly. I could only look longingly out the windows at darkness.
If Utah in the daytime is boring (as some have insisted) then it's a ghastly void of sensory experience in the bleakest hours of night. Granted, I don't mind the night so much, but I can't imagine being alone in it with nothing more to do than to regularly hop in and out of the cab to open the back, pull out the loading "plank," roll out the cart, take it into a store, etc., etc., etc.
Granted, to some it may seem like just another job; to me it was a harrowing venture into the true meaning of "graveyard shift." (Try visiting Smith's at 3:30 a.m. and look for a beaming smile. Go on, I dare ya!)
At any rate, my apologies and condolences to you who may have been prematurely promised a bundle of donuts...
Picture, if you will, a bleak, chilly Thursday night; workers at a Sandy, Utah Krispy Kreme are scurrying like worker ants around rolling carts upon carts chock full of the trademark treats and loading them onto trucks. One short, goateed recent hire is hefting boxes almost as big as he is onto a large dolly. In the midst of it all a rather lost, disconsolate spirit is hovering, already anxiously anticipating the end of the day's work.
The night yawned across intermittent instructions on how to fill out a day's report, how to unbuckle the menacing clasp securing the tall donut carts in the back of the truck, how not to drive all the way back to Sandy to pick up a neglected order/item. The supervisor training us, we'll call L, was a no-nonsense, rustic 26 year-old with child-support payments. He and "Goatee" seemed comfortable enough rolling around in the behemoth with the stock of fresh donuts in its belly. I could only look longingly out the windows at darkness.
If Utah in the daytime is boring (as some have insisted) then it's a ghastly void of sensory experience in the bleakest hours of night. Granted, I don't mind the night so much, but I can't imagine being alone in it with nothing more to do than to regularly hop in and out of the cab to open the back, pull out the loading "plank," roll out the cart, take it into a store, etc., etc., etc.
Granted, to some it may seem like just another job; to me it was a harrowing venture into the true meaning of "graveyard shift." (Try visiting Smith's at 3:30 a.m. and look for a beaming smile. Go on, I dare ya!)
At any rate, my apologies and condolences to you who may have been prematurely promised a bundle of donuts...
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
PLUGGED IN...
So I figured since other bloggers do it, why shouldn't I? Just in case anyone had the same ambitions of collecting cool artwork should they ever be rich and famous, here's one of my favorite artists, whose work I first saw here at BYU! Top notch!
Edit: A weird link-shift-vortex-something-or-other happened above that led to www.thepage.com instead of Aaron Jasinski's website. Ah well... I changed it but maybe I'm not allowed to "hotlink" his site...
Edit: A weird link-shift-vortex-something-or-other happened above that led to www.thepage.com instead of Aaron Jasinski's website. Ah well... I changed it but maybe I'm not allowed to "hotlink" his site...
Somersaults and hopscotch
My vocabulary is school children playing: somersaults and hopscotch, so I can skip from seemingly erudite (oh the deception!) to utterly juvenile in one bounding leap of little feet or slide right down to the devilish and scrape my small behind on the scorching slope. And maybe my fluid imagination vexes me because it wants similarly to keep venturing on unknown roads, to spelunk mysterious caverns. With one hand I would stroke the heavens and with the other plumb the sinister bogs deep below me.
And were there a parental figure in the mix, I would no doubt have a gentle hand turning me around before I bounded in and out of trouble; I'm just no longer ignorant, and it irks me into an interminable tantrum. Now my forays into forbidden forests betray not only the wonders of discovery but the perils of awakening.
I'm amazed by the dichotomy of scripture, that we should walk the infinite by a narrow road.
And were there a parental figure in the mix, I would no doubt have a gentle hand turning me around before I bounded in and out of trouble; I'm just no longer ignorant, and it irks me into an interminable tantrum. Now my forays into forbidden forests betray not only the wonders of discovery but the perils of awakening.
I'm amazed by the dichotomy of scripture, that we should walk the infinite by a narrow road.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
FYI
So yay. I got the job. At the very least I'll have some "dough" to spread around...*yuk yuk*... just a little cream filling for everyday living, you might say.
Just FYI, specters of my mind... Yay for me!
Oh, and BTW, here is where most of my meager funds will be going...
...and that's just through August... MUuuuuuuuuuuauauaaAAaaaHAHAHA!
Just FYI, specters of my mind... Yay for me!
Oh, and BTW, here is where most of my meager funds will be going...
MOVIES! MOVIES! MOVIES!
March 11th- Hostage AND/OR Robots
- Melinda and Melinda OR Ice Princess???? (Meeeh.)
- D.E.B.S OR Miss Congeniality 2? OR Guess Who???
- Sin City***
- Sahara? OR Kung Fu Hustle
- Valiant?
- The Interpreter OR A Lot Like Love? OR King's Ransom?
- The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy*
- Kingdom of Heaven?
- Kicking and Screaming? OR Unleashed? OR The Beautiful Country* (if I can find it locally)
- Ep. 3 of Star Wars***
- The Longest Yard? OR Madagascar*
- Cinderella Man?
- Mr. and Mrs. Smith (eh?*) OR The Bad News Bears? (shoot me now)
- Batman Begins***
- The Dukes of Hazzard? (okay, you spared me before... SERIOUSLY, KILL ME NOW!) OR Herbie Fully Loaded... <--- I'm kind of intrigued...
- War of the Worlds***
- Fantastic Four*** AND Bewitched?
- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory*** AND Into the Blue?
- The Island OR The Perfect Man?
- Elizabethtown OR The Brothers Grimm OR Stealth? OR Sky High???
- Doom OR 3001 OR (a still as yet untitled remake of the Sons of Katie Elder starring Mark Wahlberg and directed by John Singleton)
- Aeon Flux** OR Everything is Illuminated (if I can find it)
- Romance and Cigarettes OR The Cave OR Zu Warriors
...and that's just through August... MUuuuuuuuuuuauauaaAAaaaHAHAHA!
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Traffic school tirades... and Galaxial Gayness
This morning at 10 a.m. I went to traffic school where a mountain of a cop bellowed out in precise "Police-ese" where we violators could stick it. Tomorrow I go to a job interview also at 10 a.m. at Krispy Kreme doughnuts... anyone see the cosmic tapestry unraveling? (Cue Twilight Zone track here)...
10 a.m. traffic school by 11 turned into a tournament of tirades. One woman in the back was prepared to keep some fifty people or thereabouts holed up in the city council chamber while she contested an apparently personal grievance with a traffic citation. "What if it's your word against the cop's?" Another woman previous to her felt that being ticketed for going 15 miles an hour over the posted speed limit was unthinkable because she was traveling downhill. Someone pleaded that there be better lighting on 800 or 700 North because they couldn't see the pedestrians well enough to avoid them.
I remained quiet. I routinely contemplated my legal pad already awash with notes from months ago. (It has become a pastiche of assorted miscellaneous doodles, poems or random lecture highlights of recent history---a personal cave of Lascaux. I was fascinated by how the disorder became a unique yellow cosmos as a botched love sonnet, a quick haiku, a smiley face and notes from a stake meeting collided and caroused lazily before me.) There was no such justification for me (as is often the case). I remember racing in wanton disregard toward the Provo Town Center to see a movie one Friday or Saturday morning, and once I'd breezily cleared a round-about the police officer cordially noted that I was going 17 miles an hour over the speed limit, but graciously knocked it down to 9. (The upside to wearing one's emotions on one's sleeve is being able to LOOK aghast when one feels that way---undoubtedly the officer recognized I was on the verge of sweating to death.)
That being said, I may have an additional arsenal if I'm driving around doughnuts: before a patrolman can issue a ticket, I'll reach into the back and pull out a New York Cheesecake or a Chocolate Iced Glazed Cruller... Eat that, pig! No... really. Eat it.
P.S. I was trying to find another word form for galaxy... like galaxial (which I don't think exists) and Dictionary.com referred me to this acronym. Go figure... :)
P.P.S. I realize "galactic" might be what I was looking for... but I like galaxial better. :)
10 a.m. traffic school by 11 turned into a tournament of tirades. One woman in the back was prepared to keep some fifty people or thereabouts holed up in the city council chamber while she contested an apparently personal grievance with a traffic citation. "What if it's your word against the cop's?" Another woman previous to her felt that being ticketed for going 15 miles an hour over the posted speed limit was unthinkable because she was traveling downhill. Someone pleaded that there be better lighting on 800 or 700 North because they couldn't see the pedestrians well enough to avoid them.
I remained quiet. I routinely contemplated my legal pad already awash with notes from months ago. (It has become a pastiche of assorted miscellaneous doodles, poems or random lecture highlights of recent history---a personal cave of Lascaux. I was fascinated by how the disorder became a unique yellow cosmos as a botched love sonnet, a quick haiku, a smiley face and notes from a stake meeting collided and caroused lazily before me.) There was no such justification for me (as is often the case). I remember racing in wanton disregard toward the Provo Town Center to see a movie one Friday or Saturday morning, and once I'd breezily cleared a round-about the police officer cordially noted that I was going 17 miles an hour over the speed limit, but graciously knocked it down to 9. (The upside to wearing one's emotions on one's sleeve is being able to LOOK aghast when one feels that way---undoubtedly the officer recognized I was on the verge of sweating to death.)
That being said, I may have an additional arsenal if I'm driving around doughnuts: before a patrolman can issue a ticket, I'll reach into the back and pull out a New York Cheesecake or a Chocolate Iced Glazed Cruller... Eat that, pig! No... really. Eat it.
P.S. I was trying to find another word form for galaxy... like galaxial (which I don't think exists) and Dictionary.com referred me to this acronym. Go figure... :)
P.P.S. I realize "galactic" might be what I was looking for... but I like galaxial better. :)
Monday, February 28, 2005
My indoorsmanship...
As I sit here, my eyeballs are being squeezed like bubble bath balls, and if it weren't for a coma-strength medication pulsating through me I'd have pulled them from their shrinking sockets twenty minutes ago. Allergies. What I get for staying indoors as a child. (Charles in Charge and the A-Team, amongst others, get the credit for that...) Of course, my indoorsmanship is most likely the lamentable cause of my ghastly pallor and an associated revulsion for sunlight as well. I should just give up now and get vampiric teeth surgically installed. Then I could walk around eerily cooing, "Blah, I want to suck your blood" or for the kids, "One vampire victim! *Muffled scream* Ha-ha-ha! Two vampire victims! Ha-ha-ha! *Choking/gurgling*..."
Or I could just commit myself to the local mental institute and save the psychoanalysts and a concerned community the trouble.
Or I could just commit myself to the local mental institute and save the psychoanalysts and a concerned community the trouble.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Verbal tussle
I just got in an argument of sorts (argument=me getting hot-headed, other party looking at me like I'm bonkers) with my roommate... Clearly I'm not going to be this servant of God I keep dreaming about... not if I can't help but get into a contentious verbal tussle with anyone who pushes my buttons or contests my opinions. Now I'm surfing the ocean tide of remorse and emotional toxicity that washes in whenever I manage to get out of line... At times spiritual clarity is a curse, if only because it hones the edge of reason and regret.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Fun with demons
So what can I say about Constantine, except wow, wow, and wow? "But it's special effects detritus," you say. "It stinks of convenient deus ex machina moments and other assorted plot devices," you protest. And I say, au contraire, my little cherubs. That's right. Considering my doubts about the movie just on the cusp of buying a ticket, I could have fried the $5 and served it w/ a nice Chianti. Maybe not having been to the movies in a month, being over-stressed about not getting a job, or poring over some mind-wrenching film genre text just minutes before the movie all contributed to my overall wonderment at the pulse-pounding, rip-roaring, and smartly executed occult thriller. So many "occult" films tend to spill over into a rarified mix of one-liner misfires, overdone action sequences, and spectacular and widespread demonic creatures shoddily churned out of Hollywood's CGI machine. Somehow all of the rank-and-file of disappointments like "End of Days" and "Spawn" seems to fall gingerly in place in this film, sprinkled with sardonic grumblings from Reeves's Constantine, constantly cradling a cigarette.
I don't know whether I'm surprised at the film or myself for relishing it, even to the point of getting goosebumps when an ambiguous female angel Gabriel unfolds a pair of ashen wings or being dazzled by the dark host of fallen rogues hanging out at a sort of voodoo/Catholic priest's lounge. Sadly, I left before the rumored extra scene after the credits... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarggh!
So anyway, if you're up for some fun w/ demons, this one gets my whole-hearted vote...
I don't know whether I'm surprised at the film or myself for relishing it, even to the point of getting goosebumps when an ambiguous female angel Gabriel unfolds a pair of ashen wings or being dazzled by the dark host of fallen rogues hanging out at a sort of voodoo/Catholic priest's lounge. Sadly, I left before the rumored extra scene after the credits... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarggh!
So anyway, if you're up for some fun w/ demons, this one gets my whole-hearted vote...
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Lil' Roundie
I was cruising Wal-Mart today w/ really no money. There are perhaps few levels of humiliation more agonizing than to wander half-starving through America's consumerist bane longingly eyeing the cheese section, a swarming pool of eager saliva just on the cusp of my tongue.
I did so while waiting for my passenger side front tire to be put in... I'm a little misty-eyed at the removal of the faithful doughnut spare that kept my car moving (albeit under 45 mph) for the interim. We grew very close, lil' Roundie and I.
I did so while waiting for my passenger side front tire to be put in... I'm a little misty-eyed at the removal of the faithful doughnut spare that kept my car moving (albeit under 45 mph) for the interim. We grew very close, lil' Roundie and I.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Oh my lord, I'm a liberal... almost
So last night I was thinking just how terrified I am of apocalyptic terror, and based on the news of some $200 billion dollars spent on the continuing conflict in Iraq, thrown into a spicy soup of post-apocalyptic imagery (the most recent and notable being that of a charred Washington, D.C. on USA's "The Dead Zone"---thank you, late night television!) I realized in one of my overwhelming mental torrents at around 2 this morning... I really don't trust George "W." This understanding isn't as shocking as the numerous emotional (and sometimes comedic) arguments I had (around the same time) against political conservatives' war-mongering...
I get the impression that some "W" crusaders think in a peripheral way that the U.S's mucking around in the Middle East is some kind of holy war; that in fact we're saving the world by stirring the hornet's nest or dancing in a pit of cranky cobras. That's right. Cranky cobras!
While I subscribe to the LDS ethos of submission to governmental authority---(we believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law) ---I don't believe that means exonerating/disregarding the obvious frailties and/or lack of "inspiration" in our secular leadership. Anyway, I can feel the level of bile surging inside me... I'd best let things lie until I can write a cogent (but scathing) letter to the President. :)
I get the impression that some "W" crusaders think in a peripheral way that the U.S's mucking around in the Middle East is some kind of holy war; that in fact we're saving the world by stirring the hornet's nest or dancing in a pit of cranky cobras. That's right. Cranky cobras!
While I subscribe to the LDS ethos of submission to governmental authority---(we believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law) ---I don't believe that means exonerating/disregarding the obvious frailties and/or lack of "inspiration" in our secular leadership. Anyway, I can feel the level of bile surging inside me... I'd best let things lie until I can write a cogent (but scathing) letter to the President. :)
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Just over the railroad tracks OR industrial pockets
Today I finished off a roll of "people" photos as per the assignment in my cinematography class, and again struck gold by finding an "ugly" industrial pocket of the Provo/Orem area. Last night, I went w/ someone kind enough (and available on short notice) to snap some shots along Center Street and fortuitously, in a gated area left open to the caprices of a novice photographer next to Provo Power. There were giant spools of electric cable, some aged wood and others pale aqua with rust-colored edges. Unusual, rugged, almost urban: a delightful backdrop for a fresh face, a fragile hand, brown eyes brightening boredom.
So it was this morning that upon venturing just over the railroad tracks and down a stretch another kind helper and my camera chanced upon the mangled ruins of a semi-truck and several trailers stacked atop one another like some monumental post-apocalyptic relic. The scenery alone assured some very unique photography.
It's fascinating just how the "ugly" of things man-made can still be made beautiful if cast in a sunny light, warmed by a smile, or made more intriguing by a probing pair of eyes.
I'll no doubt have to scan a few slides of the best shots, that is, w/ the permission of both occupants...
So it was this morning that upon venturing just over the railroad tracks and down a stretch another kind helper and my camera chanced upon the mangled ruins of a semi-truck and several trailers stacked atop one another like some monumental post-apocalyptic relic. The scenery alone assured some very unique photography.
It's fascinating just how the "ugly" of things man-made can still be made beautiful if cast in a sunny light, warmed by a smile, or made more intriguing by a probing pair of eyes.
I'll no doubt have to scan a few slides of the best shots, that is, w/ the permission of both occupants...
Friday, February 18, 2005
RIMA XI
Rima XI
by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer
translated by Howard A. Landman
- Yo soy ardiente, yo soy morena,
yo soy el símbolo de la pasión;
de ansia de goces mi alma está llena;
¿a mí me buscas? -No es a ti; no
- Mi frente es pálida; mis trenzas de oro
puedo brindarte dichas sin fin;
yo de ternura guardo un tesoro;
¿a mí me llamas? -No; no es a ti.
- Yo soy un sueño, un imposible,
vano fantasma de niebla y luz;
soy incorpórea, soy intangible;
no puedo amarte. -¡Oh, ven; ven tú!
--------------------------------------------------------------
- I am burning, I am brown,
I am the very symbol of passion;
my soul is full of yearnings for pleasure;
you look for me? - It is not for you; no
- My brow is pale; my gold braids
can offer endless delight;
I guard a treasure of tenderness;
you call for me? - No; it is not for you.
- I am a dream, an impossible,
unreal ghost of fog and light;
I am incorporeal, I am intangible;
I cannot love you. - Oh, come; come now!
by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer
translated by Howard A. Landman
- Yo soy ardiente, yo soy morena,
yo soy el símbolo de la pasión;
de ansia de goces mi alma está llena;
¿a mí me buscas? -No es a ti; no
- Mi frente es pálida; mis trenzas de oro
puedo brindarte dichas sin fin;
yo de ternura guardo un tesoro;
¿a mí me llamas? -No; no es a ti.
- Yo soy un sueño, un imposible,
vano fantasma de niebla y luz;
soy incorpórea, soy intangible;
no puedo amarte. -¡Oh, ven; ven tú!
--------------------------------------------------------------
- I am burning, I am brown,
I am the very symbol of passion;
my soul is full of yearnings for pleasure;
you look for me? - It is not for you; no
- My brow is pale; my gold braids
can offer endless delight;
I guard a treasure of tenderness;
you call for me? - No; it is not for you.
- I am a dream, an impossible,
unreal ghost of fog and light;
I am incorporeal, I am intangible;
I cannot love you. - Oh, come; come now!
Monday, February 07, 2005
Bisson barber
Perchance the hair-cutting experience is different for a dame. (That's right, I said dame because I'm feeling like Sinatra.) I've just found that it's just a hair's breadth---hehe---away from the agony of the dentist, sitting in that leather chair upholstered with metal buttons. It's more like a medieval instrument of torture than a hair styling implement. "Yes sir, would you like the draw and quarter or a shampoo today?"
Today, when I was buzzed Gomer Pyle instead of Brad Pitt, I felt more like a sheep than a sado-masochistic experiment gone horribly wrong. My problem? I can't decide which is more harrowing. There I sat, tufts of my salt and pepper locks whipping around me, forlornly parted from my crown and drifting down the slope of my slippery dark-olive smock, almost waving farewell. Meanwhile, I'm trying nervously to keep from catching my hairdo in an open eyeball and simultaneously maintaining my head in a planar rectitude so that I don't have a lopsided flat-top come the end of the shearing. Throughout these complex and subtle manuevers I'm finding myself hypnotized by the stylist's? (is barber PC anymore?) frantic pace so that come the end of the shearing I really don't recall what happened. In fact, the only signal I have that the nightmare is over is a mirror w/ a neon lavender handle being thrust in my hand. This is the portion of horror films where the audience either yells or whispers to themselves "Don't open that door! Don't go in the room! Don't take your clothes off!" Fortunately in this instance the haircut manages to mask the oblong thrust of my melon toward the back and also avoids the mushroom-cloud formation. Kudos! So I gave the lady a $2 tip. Yay.
Someday I'll have to share the story of my experience with the Von Curtis Academy and the student with a bloody eye. We'll call her One-eye Wanda. She runs a chicken joint and a voodoo lounge.
Today, when I was buzzed Gomer Pyle instead of Brad Pitt, I felt more like a sheep than a sado-masochistic experiment gone horribly wrong. My problem? I can't decide which is more harrowing. There I sat, tufts of my salt and pepper locks whipping around me, forlornly parted from my crown and drifting down the slope of my slippery dark-olive smock, almost waving farewell. Meanwhile, I'm trying nervously to keep from catching my hairdo in an open eyeball and simultaneously maintaining my head in a planar rectitude so that I don't have a lopsided flat-top come the end of the shearing. Throughout these complex and subtle manuevers I'm finding myself hypnotized by the stylist's? (is barber PC anymore?) frantic pace so that come the end of the shearing I really don't recall what happened. In fact, the only signal I have that the nightmare is over is a mirror w/ a neon lavender handle being thrust in my hand. This is the portion of horror films where the audience either yells or whispers to themselves "Don't open that door! Don't go in the room! Don't take your clothes off!" Fortunately in this instance the haircut manages to mask the oblong thrust of my melon toward the back and also avoids the mushroom-cloud formation. Kudos! So I gave the lady a $2 tip. Yay.
Someday I'll have to share the story of my experience with the Von Curtis Academy and the student with a bloody eye. We'll call her One-eye Wanda. She runs a chicken joint and a voodoo lounge.
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