There are so many things in this world that never get noticed. And I don’t mean people. I don’t mean those quiet, weird people that sniff or cough a lot and never wash their hands. I mean the books in high school libraries; I mean the stained white tee shirt in the lost and found. Things. Things no one wants or cares for or even acknowledges. I was at a coffee shop, drinking coffee - which was pissing me off in the first place, because it was just another reminder of the lack of originality in this world – when I noticed a tip jar. The loneliest thing in the whole place. Lonelier than the old man in the corner on his lap top, with no ring on his finger, and no hair on his head. Probably lonelier than me, even, which was saying a lot. Someone had taped an index card to the glass jar and written in a bold black marker, probably Sharpie, TIPS. At first, I thought, maybe, it was a donation jar for some kind of organization. Maybe… Totalitarianism in Perfect Synchronization? Or The Irate Persons of Syphilis? Or Typical Interest in Pirating your Salary? The last one seemed more likely. I’ve always been wary of giving my money away to organizations because I saw this documentary once about a Satanist cult that posed as an organization for sick puppies or kids or something. Not that it matters that it was a Satanist cult; it’s just the fact that you never know where your money is going. Your five dollars could have been intended for a dying cocker spaniel and instead it’s funding the construction of an Anton LaVey memorial.
And I must have sat there for three cups of coffee – because eventually everyone will tell time by how much they’ve consumed –before I realized it was a tip jar. I was an idiot for not realizing TIPS was literal, not some secret organization pining for my cash, but merely working individuals of the establishment pining for my cash. Which wasn’t any less worse, really.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Another good book to read: EAT, PRAY, LOVE
This book was all about making the reader want to do something in live, no matter how crazy the idea is. The book focuses on the author's trip around three different countries of the world after she discovers that her life is just miserable and chaotic. During her visit to all the countries she meets new people that helps her grow as a person and become someone better. In every place she visited she learned something new about her self. We as humans normally focus on doing everything in a certain way, or not eating certain things (because we can gain weight), we stress out about small things that really do not matter; this book shows us how we need to live life to its fullest, because we only live once, even when we feel that life is falling apart. During her year of traveling her main focus is to find peace in herself by praying, eating and loving. It is an awesome book and I would recommend it to anyone.
Santa Rita
If you’re fan of Mexican food and don’t intend on spending a lot of money Santa Rita Tex-Mex Cantina might just be the place for you. With two locations, one downtown and one in south Austin, it is hard to say that the restaurant is difficult to find. Glorified in the Austin Chronicle multiple times and even a mention every now and then in other media show that this Mexican food style restaurant isn’t quite a hidden gem. Although the prices are a little above that of an average Mexican restaurant, Santa Rita provides an atmosphere and customer service that is top notch in its part of its industry.
With great happy hour prices it is easy to see why margaritas are popular there but Santa Rita often receives praise for its beef and chicken fajitas. Another popular item is their enchiladas with several different fillings and sauces all around for $10. In a recent visit I decided to order an American Style meal and wasn’t quite satisfied which leads me to believe that if I’m eating at a Mexican Restaurant I should probably stick with Mexican food. When I visit the restaurant with friends or family I always recommend getting queso which is apparently made fresh daily. Walking into either restaurant the customer sees multi-diverse decorations as well as paintings that really give both locations color. The lights might be dim but the color of the walls alone brings the restaurants to life. Bright, fluorescent colors become inviting and the customer can’t help but develop a sense of comfort.
This restaurant is quite popular with the locals and its two locations allow customers to visit each of them and discover their different atmospheres. I would recommend this establishment to anyone who is looking for decent food at a decent price. Although it isn’t quite a fancy restaurant it is impressive when it comes to taking care of the customer. Let it also be known that Santa Rita thrives on its “regulars” and that the restaurants tend to do plenty of promotions to keep people coming back.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Pull the World
This is a poem I started from some of the exercises in class, I based it off of a rather frightening dream I had once.
I changed it around a bit to make it a statement about the violence happening on the Mex-Am border.
“Pull the word, pull the world”
The Girl in White smiles and plays
The red follows closely behind;
Tied to her wrist, a forced friend
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White has a cloud of hair
She lets little bugs bite
And little birds bathe
“Pull the world, pull the world”
Blue pours into her open skin;
Her happy mouth, her laughing sigh
Her red friend floats
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White falls;
Feathers crust, cripple in cracking clay
Mud on knees, on chin, on pale neck
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Red Balloon bursts;
Red rain drops, dotting crimson
The smell, the smell, the familiar smell
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White cries creamy and thick
And her friend drowns in its redness
As the pool forms, hot, around her bare feet
I changed it around a bit to make it a statement about the violence happening on the Mex-Am border.
“Pull the word, pull the world”
The Girl in White smiles and plays
The red follows closely behind;
Tied to her wrist, a forced friend
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White has a cloud of hair
She lets little bugs bite
And little birds bathe
“Pull the world, pull the world”
Blue pours into her open skin;
Her happy mouth, her laughing sigh
Her red friend floats
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White falls;
Feathers crust, cripple in cracking clay
Mud on knees, on chin, on pale neck
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Red Balloon bursts;
Red rain drops, dotting crimson
The smell, the smell, the familiar smell
“Pull the world, pull the world”
The Girl in White cries creamy and thick
And her friend drowns in its redness
As the pool forms, hot, around her bare feet
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Firelfies
In a cold dorm room, I focus on sounds.
Someone's laughing as another tells a story in the hallway; the pipes hiding in my walls, creating crowns around my head, gurgle and hiss as someone, somewhere, showers; keys are jangling as someone fusses to get into their room.
Amoungst it all, I hear my roommate's breathing and how it doesn't match with my own.
I inhale as she exhales.
I exhale as she inhales.
I hold my breath, my heart fights me with tiny, red fists of defiance, and then I exhale as my roommate does.
And, suddenly, our breathing pattern is synchronized. For several seconds we are living in exactly the same way.
Somewhere in the world, a wife and a husband breathe each other as they sleep. Their children breathe like their parents, swollen with the life they've been given, and safe in dreams of summer.
In the afternoon the children will run through amber fields, soft textures swiping over their smiles, and creating whispers hard to hear over their laughing and yelling. They will hide in weeds, not a worry in their heads about bugs, snakes, or any other small monsters that could threaten their good-time. They will go on playing, with stomachs they do not realize are empty.
In the evening, the children will catch fireflies. They'll put the bugs of light in a big mason jar and gaze with large eyes at the wonder they've captured. Their noses will touch and their fingers will stain the glass. They will feel like gods and guardians, watching over the world they've made a possibility. They'll giggle and tease as their parents drink wine under an oak tree. And when they ask for a sip their faces wil sour and their lips will frown, and they will vow never to drink again.
In high school, the children won't catch fireflies. They won't enjoy running barefoot as they used to. They will buy shoes. Shoes that commercials tell them to buy; shoes that their friends tell them to wear; shoes that they feel project a corrupted idea of who they are as a person to the world that exists outside of themselves. Their souls will feel like the fireflies, trapped in glass jars. Their faces will always be sour and so drinking adult beverages won't make any difference to them.
And their parents will ask about the fireflies, and wonder when time had caught up with them. They will remember high school and they will laugh. They will remember high school and they will still find themselves crying.
Saturday nights will be spent in an empty house, talking until the early morning, asking, "Remember when...?", and, "Do you still love me?"
The day will come when their children have children, and the wife will be happy and the husband will be worried. They will develop the prideful features of grandparents. They will have soft wrinkles, and careful hands. Their fireplace mantle will be cluttered with photographs of their children and their children's children. Picture frames that they had kept in a drawer, will see daylight. Photographs will find their home. Frames will find their meaning in life.
Their adult-children will drink coffee on the porch with their father late at night. And they will tell the stories of their grown-up life, and they will ask for guidance, and they will be granted forgiveness.
The grandchildren will have ball-playing-hands and bubble-gum breath. They will spend their days outside, running through the amber fields, re-tracing the steps their parents left behind long ago.
And in the evening, they will catch fireflies. They will be proud of their findings and thrust the jars into their grandparents' laps for recognition. And, sometimes, the little ones will feel guilty of their findings, and ask the grandfather to twist open the cap so the fireflies can be free once again.
The day will come when the grandparents die.
They will be in their bed on a warm summer night, with a window open, and pale curtains creating whispers as the wind tangles itself into them. Their room will be painted in blue as the full moon looks down upon a world it will never touch. They will sleep, unaware of their breathing in unison.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...
Exhale.
And as their breath releases, fireflies would float from the caves of their mouths, slowly to the ceiling, and, free once again, out the window.
Someone's laughing as another tells a story in the hallway; the pipes hiding in my walls, creating crowns around my head, gurgle and hiss as someone, somewhere, showers; keys are jangling as someone fusses to get into their room.
Amoungst it all, I hear my roommate's breathing and how it doesn't match with my own.
I inhale as she exhales.
I exhale as she inhales.
I hold my breath, my heart fights me with tiny, red fists of defiance, and then I exhale as my roommate does.
And, suddenly, our breathing pattern is synchronized. For several seconds we are living in exactly the same way.
Somewhere in the world, a wife and a husband breathe each other as they sleep. Their children breathe like their parents, swollen with the life they've been given, and safe in dreams of summer.
In the afternoon the children will run through amber fields, soft textures swiping over their smiles, and creating whispers hard to hear over their laughing and yelling. They will hide in weeds, not a worry in their heads about bugs, snakes, or any other small monsters that could threaten their good-time. They will go on playing, with stomachs they do not realize are empty.
In the evening, the children will catch fireflies. They'll put the bugs of light in a big mason jar and gaze with large eyes at the wonder they've captured. Their noses will touch and their fingers will stain the glass. They will feel like gods and guardians, watching over the world they've made a possibility. They'll giggle and tease as their parents drink wine under an oak tree. And when they ask for a sip their faces wil sour and their lips will frown, and they will vow never to drink again.
In high school, the children won't catch fireflies. They won't enjoy running barefoot as they used to. They will buy shoes. Shoes that commercials tell them to buy; shoes that their friends tell them to wear; shoes that they feel project a corrupted idea of who they are as a person to the world that exists outside of themselves. Their souls will feel like the fireflies, trapped in glass jars. Their faces will always be sour and so drinking adult beverages won't make any difference to them.
And their parents will ask about the fireflies, and wonder when time had caught up with them. They will remember high school and they will laugh. They will remember high school and they will still find themselves crying.
Saturday nights will be spent in an empty house, talking until the early morning, asking, "Remember when...?", and, "Do you still love me?"
The day will come when their children have children, and the wife will be happy and the husband will be worried. They will develop the prideful features of grandparents. They will have soft wrinkles, and careful hands. Their fireplace mantle will be cluttered with photographs of their children and their children's children. Picture frames that they had kept in a drawer, will see daylight. Photographs will find their home. Frames will find their meaning in life.
Their adult-children will drink coffee on the porch with their father late at night. And they will tell the stories of their grown-up life, and they will ask for guidance, and they will be granted forgiveness.
The grandchildren will have ball-playing-hands and bubble-gum breath. They will spend their days outside, running through the amber fields, re-tracing the steps their parents left behind long ago.
And in the evening, they will catch fireflies. They will be proud of their findings and thrust the jars into their grandparents' laps for recognition. And, sometimes, the little ones will feel guilty of their findings, and ask the grandfather to twist open the cap so the fireflies can be free once again.
The day will come when the grandparents die.
They will be in their bed on a warm summer night, with a window open, and pale curtains creating whispers as the wind tangles itself into them. Their room will be painted in blue as the full moon looks down upon a world it will never touch. They will sleep, unaware of their breathing in unison.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...
Exhale.
And as their breath releases, fireflies would float from the caves of their mouths, slowly to the ceiling, and, free once again, out the window.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Until the day that Rainbows fly
Rainbows seem to disappear,
A soul is once more gone.
Fear and anger makes its place;
A nation is in shock.
Youth and dreams are taken;
From those who need them most.
Through the years they were cast out,
Made fun of and let down.
The fear of being who they were,
Drove them to the worst.
Six young angels now take their spot,
Amongst the sea of clouds.
But what will we a nation do
To change our nasty views?
Until the day that rainbows fly,
The angels will begin to sing.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Thats all she wrote!
The Baseball season for 2010 is in the books. The ending to this baseball year was truly a year for the underdogs. the underdogs had came out on top, the San Francisco Giants had won the World Series. they had defied all odds and beat them all, they are the best in the world! The Giants were not even predicted to be in the playoffs because they were down a few games to the first place San Diego Padres when the postseason was drawing near. yet, they went on a heat streak and took it all the way to the end. Give credit to the Texas Rangers as well because they too were the underdogs of the American League. Yet, they prevailed as well by knocking off the two top teams, Tampa Bay Rays and the New York Yankees. However, its the Giants who are the World Series Champions.
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