October 13, 2005

Jobs

 

There are days that my job just sucks. To explain in full detail I would need a novel not simply a blog entry, all you need to know is that the grades for my course are not factored into the final grade point average for students. In addition to this atrocity, we are not required to write comments on the students’ performance like other teachers, we do not need to fill out the skill evaluation, and we are not even required to send our grades for the quarter report. It bears to reason that after these series of enlightening pieces of information any one that has the academic integrity of an ant would be appalled. And I am. But most of time I can look passed the pure ridiculous nature of this situation and believe that there is some use for my role as educator within the contexts of this institution. It would also be fair to say that it is an easy gig, most of the time.

 

Today my day dream is to return to the days working at Kash n’ Karry. Sure, I would have to wear an unattractive smock and stand for 8 hours at a time, but it was worth it. It was worth not having to think. My greatest goal was how fast I could scan an order, so at the end of the night the statistics would appear on my daily record. Once I made it to the big time, which meant that I worked in the office, I would run the lotto machine and sell legal stimulants to adults. At the end of the day, I would be done. There wasn’t any part of K n’ K that I took home with me. Happy days filled with effortless work and nights of glee with no worries. It was a good honest living and I gave it all up for what? For this?

October 9, 2005

Piñatas?

 

There is nothing in this world that I despise more than the smell of burnt popcorn. It is simply wretched. It makes every fiber of my body cringe with disgust almost to the verge of feeling the urge to vomit. As these lines find their way on to this stark white page I am reminded of a good friend telling me today that I have been a bit extreme as of late. Usually I am a little bit more even keel, a true working Buddha and somehow I have forsaken my middle way tendencies. This observation is actually right on target, unfortunately I was unable to sit and process his remark because the 5 hours of tutoring in my near future were soon going to be running on a very late schedule if I did not depart immediately.

 

On my drive towards my appointments I attempted to think through what possibly could be contributing to my intense surges of emotions, in this very moment I glanced to my left to see an old station wagon filled with piñatas driven my a teeny tiny older Mexican man that could have only look more ethnic if he was wearing a sombrero.  We made eye contact and there could not have been more pure glee in this individuals glance. It was clear that he was enjoying transporting a car full of piñatas and really, who wouldn’t be? But it made me think as I sped passed him, that in the last couple of weeks of my life have been moving too fast.

 

Faster than the speed of light, faster than a locomotive it’s not superman, it’s me! Sadly my greed or better yet, my need to be out of debt has driven me to the point of not enjoying everyday to its absolute fullest. The one “lesson” that I have learned in my life is that life is short. That no matter how educated you are or financially plush you may be the grim reaper could knock on your door at any moment. Everyday should be lived.  I must become a piñata delivery person! Probably not it.

There must be a way to get out of the hole and enjoy my days and slow days down enough to do so…hmmm there may be only one way to accomplish all these goals…yes you guessed it! The answer: the tender sweet herbal pleasure that makes every pizza tastier and your mouth quenching for water…what could it be?

September 26, 2005

detention

 

Live from detention duty! A crew of misfits sits in absolute silence paying penance for their misdoings. Staring forward, shifting in their seats, making faces at one another, attempting to stay awake, some have already gone to sleep while others are tap tap tapping every part of their body on the desk before them. It makes me want to grab the purposeless yellow plastic cube and throw it at their precious adolescent heads.

 

It is true that our students are the cream of the crop. Boy oh boy! When complete and utter boredom hits they draw funny faces on their fingers and use them as puppets to entertain their neighbor. Rock, paper, scissors with the kid next to you is a good one. There is the great ol’ staring contest and you guessed it: make the freshman fart. All oldies but goodies.

 

What is it about the adolescent mind that makes it impossible for them to just sit still? Whatever. At this point I only have another 15 minutes and we will all be free from the chains of this institution, at least for this evening,

 

 From the moment that I woke this morning I have felt a little off.  I am not in a terrible mood but I am in a mood. I just feel like I need to go home, turn up the stereo and lie in bed. Thoughts could flow in and out of me in the same way the music does through the speakers without any censor. Sometimes it is painful to think. It is certainly the kind of day where one just needs to hide. Everything that I say gets misconstrued and everything that I think is just not okay.

September 25, 2005

The exhale.

 

In the practice of yoga the exhale allows you to strive for balance. Controlling one’s exhalation allows for both sides of the heart to work evenly, correctly, symbiotically.  Most often than not, we inhale at a slower pace than we exhale. This is most evident when we exert a lot of energy, for example when running. As one becomes a better athlete the panting subsides and the exhalation returns to normalcy. But when one controls the exhalation in hopes of making it longer than the inhale breath, you are cleansing. You are beginning anew; refreshing every inch of your body from the mental to a molecular.

 

The exhale can often be mistaken as a huff or a sigh but it sometimes just serves as a release. Getting out the crap that suffocates thoughts and ties up lives. As rational beings we spend endless amounts of time thinking and when this becomes unbearable we poison ourselves with food, alcohol, cigarettes, the nearest intoxicant will do. The exhale sometimes signals defeat or perhaps even worse, compliancy.  The lack of ambition to seek a life that could very well fill that retched emptiness within you. It very well may be possible that life is not so dark, that there is freshness to be had if one so choose, even the smallest of choices. It does not have to be a revolution or present itself as foreshadowing to an ambitious transformation. Matter of fact, it could just be letting go. Make the choice that the very next exhale will let go of things that make your chest tight.

 

The process of breathing so your own breath can replenish your body takes practice. In this practice does not perfect make. To further the concept in yoga, once you can create or accept a sense of balance with yourself, you are then to connect your breath with that of the universe, creating a sense of wholeness. The temptation is to believe that the universe would be in need of your exhalation in order to be, but in truth, the universe is whether you are or not. It is important not to loose sight of our role.

 

It has become clear to me that there is plenty that I am unable to breathe out and I am in desperate need of doing so. I am holding on without promise of contentment. It’s time.

 

I drink diet coke out of wine glasses not because I am fancy or I am trying to quit some wine drinking habit, rather the reason is that I can’t reach the top shelf.

September 9, 2005

Why and the exciting Chilito

 

To be honest I am not sure why I am attempting to write. There must be something to this process that has seemed less appealing as of late. Perhaps I could blame the hiatus on getting back in the grove of things at school or working a million extra hours. But that’s really not it.  Maybe it has been difficult to find the words to discuss the devastation in New Orleans and the embarrassing response from the federal government. The series of disturbing images that could have been alleviated if anyone in any position of power would have had the balls or the brains to step up and take some preventative measures. As much as I would love to say it was really that reason, its not. It’s possible that the lack of writing may be attributed to the amount of extra curricular drinking that has become a habitual event through summer vacation with the other members of the Bilmar Bunch. In those precious few daylight hours that should be filled with sobriety and I could be writing, normally I am sleeping off the Bass. But that seems like an excuse of yesteryear. My cat ate my computer? I went to camp? Whatever. No real reason, other then the actual truth: sloth. There you have it. It has been uncovered. The truth. I am lazy. Shocking.

  

The only precious miracle that has entered my life is the discovery that there may be a Taco Bell in Tampa that still carries the Chili Cheese Burrito. This item was my first at the Bell. It always made a drunken college night better. It cheered me up when I was down and filled me up when I was empty. The Chilito, as we call it, was a community icon that was praised for years until the day those bastards at Taco Bell ripped it from our hands. Like the ripping of a band-aide on your arm the sting is still very real. There have been rumors of the return but to no avail there has been nothing. We have been left only with our mourning. So the news that the Chilito could have been resurrected in our own backyard is incredible, unbelievable and hands down the best thing that has happen all of September. My girls and I will make our pilgrimage soon.

 

At this moment I felt a bit guilty for neglecting the site do I took the time to spruce it up a bit.

August 20, 2005

Georgie’s

 

Last night was a dance night. I knew it from the moment that I woke up that I had to go, so I spoke with my dancing comrade, who is also my old college roommate and very good friend, Tre. I met her at a bar where she was commiserating with colleagues to have a couple of drinks before heading towards salsa. Happily we were finally on our way; we arrived at the location that had been so boldly promoting salsa night only to find a live reggae band. After two more tries that were quickly extinguished, we were beginning to believe that we were in a time warp that dragged us back into those nights in high school where you just drive around with no plans and can never find anything worthwhile to do. Just as this daunting feeling of doom was penetrating us, Tre thought of a lovely idea: Georgie’s.

 

Georgie’s is a gay and lesbian bar that is located precariously between a somewhat commercial area and the border of the not so fantastic side of town. Tre has been there only once before with a gay friend of hers and I had never been there at all, but our drinking tour of St. Petersburg needed to come to a dancing end and that was the last good shot. Let me not keep you in suspense too long: it was so fucking fun!

 

First of all, a gay and lesbian bar is filled with individuals of all different ethnicities, ages and sizes. There are men walking around that are dancers for the establishment wearing practically nothing have males, females and anything in between dancing on them to gently slip dollars down what tiny garment is covering the king’s jewels. The dance floor was packed but for the first time in my life there was no guard up against the slimy guys, the guys were all over the other guys. Women are a bit less aggressive in these scenarios, although within the first few minutes I was there a lady did pat my butt a couple of times.

 

We danced. We dance all over the place. We danced silly. We danced slutty. We danced. An attractive girl with short blonde hair, not really my type but I know an Egyptologist that would have been all over it, pulled me up on stage. I pulled Tre on stage and we danced some more. A gay man jumped on stage and he and I danced even more. Sexuality is not necessarily black or white, gay or straight but there is quite a bit of grey that exists. At Georgie’s you can experience that very truth as lesbian life partners grind on a gay man while his partner goes to fix his pantyhose.

 

The word courage kept creeping into my mind. The location of this bar is itself dangerous and since it is a gay and lesbian bar positioned in this part of town it is even more likely to be attacked. But there was no hesitation from anyone to show public displays of affection in the middle of the street or the parking lot or the dance floor. No worries; love that. This community is truly the happiest people to dance with ever! There was a sense of liberation dancing to music that varied from techno to booty to Abba in a place where everyone can just be themselves or at least try to figure out what that is. In my drunk dancing experiences, this is one makes the top five.