I was surprised to find that the antonym of music is silence. Yet, how appropriate. Often the thoughts of our minds find themselves trapped there in the silence of our brains. No room for an affirming word or a criticizing one. Music--whether it is performed or listened to--allows the floodgates of our emotions to release the encumbrance of our minds. The understanding of another human through song allows us a temporary sensory hegira that is, elsewhere, rather difficult to attain.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Outlet
It seems that in life, everybody looks for an emotional outlet. Something that they can plug themselves into and feel like they're doing useful or at least having some of their feelings validated. For some people it's music. For others it's a journal. Others still, it's a blog like this. I've not found out what my outlet is yet. I've been looking lately. I long for somewhere where I can carefully let loose the deepest fears and desires of my heart with the simplest thoughts grandest of ideas from my mind.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Jell-O Fight.
Ever since I can remember, my extended family on my dad's side has held a big family reunion every couple years. The earliest one I can think of occurred when I was about four or five years old. On the second day of the reunion I was involved in one of the most magical events to grace this planet: A Jell-O fight. It is just what it sounds like. Imagine Braveheart meets Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 10 or 15 of the most glee-filled minutes you will ever experience.
Let's take a few steps back. The extravaganza begins with several hours of sticky preparation during which our favorite colorful snack is mixed and poured into sandwich-size baggies then strategically stacked in any available refrigerators within five square miles of the hosting hacienda.
The rules are as follows:
1. Each participant is allowed to be in possession of only one gelatin-filled baggie at a time and may, under no circumstances, have any extra baggies.
2. Recycling previously flung Jell-O (depending on amount of attached grass clippings) is worth 1000 bonus points.
3. Come in clothing that you don't mind becoming tie-dyed.
4. Hose off before you get in the pool. (Eyelids becoming eyelid, is inevitable)
5. Consuming bonus point Jell-O is discouraged.
6. Rules are for sissies.
*Should any member of the family feel obligated to bring their recently acquired boyfriend to said palooza, the rest of the family will feel obligated to tackle him and shove orange and green Jell-O up said boyfriend's nose.
Cheerio.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Malad City, Idaho
Been a while.
Just across the Northern border, past Portage and the rest area lies the Utah gamblers oasis. The name of said oasis, as you may have guessed is Malad.
Just off exit 13 there are two gas stations; one is a Phillips 66 (where the locals fill up), and the Chevron/filthy Burger King (where the yuppy Powerball/MegaMillions lotto players fill up). Although each has an easily recognizable demographic to which it caters, both live off the lotto.
Malad is the type of town where everybody knows just about everybody. And if you don't, i can point you in the direction of somebody who does: Enter Carlos. Carlos is one of the hands on the S-S Ranch where we board our horses. He is absolutely hilarious. He calls my dad Cabeza de papa. If you know my dad and you speak spanish, you should appreciate that.
Anywho, back to Malad.
I love small towns.
Just across the Northern border, past Portage and the rest area lies the Utah gamblers oasis. The name of said oasis, as you may have guessed is Malad.
Just off exit 13 there are two gas stations; one is a Phillips 66 (where the locals fill up), and the Chevron/filthy Burger King (where the yuppy Powerball/MegaMillions lotto players fill up). Although each has an easily recognizable demographic to which it caters, both live off the lotto.
- Fact: Phillips 66, which is the smaller of the two, sells about 40 million dollars worth of lotto tickets of which they get 5 cents on the dollar. For those of you who, like myself, are less inclined to do that math, I have a calculator. 2 million smackaroons. Not bad for a service station that hasn't cleaned its toilets in about 8 months.
Malad is the type of town where everybody knows just about everybody. And if you don't, i can point you in the direction of somebody who does: Enter Carlos. Carlos is one of the hands on the S-S Ranch where we board our horses. He is absolutely hilarious. He calls my dad Cabeza de papa. If you know my dad and you speak spanish, you should appreciate that.
Anywho, back to Malad.
I love small towns.
- Wherever you are in town, people wave at you as they drive by.
- If you've got the time, you can carry on a conversation with a total stranger for hours. Easily.
- Bad news is that in about a week you'll run out of people to talk to. I guess that's the good news too.
- When we were leaving our property the other day, I put the radio on scan to see what they had to offer. 4 stations. All country.
- On the road, tractors and fourwheelers are about as common as cars.
- Spero's. Me and Lou's (home to the Ultimate)
Man, more to come about Malad another day. I'm beat.
Cheerio.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Reasons i love my sister today
Reason #1
Ever since i was a little kid, my sister and i have made it a tradition to, on the first snow of the season, lean backwards out of our sliding glass door with mouths open wide in hopes of catching a a snowflake on our outstretched tongue.
Today at school i received a text from said dearly beloved sister, riley. It read,
'Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to hng out the back door and catch a snowflake on your tongue. This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds.'
She is 23. I am 18. Will still do it every year.
Reason #2
Tonight Ri came over for dinner, (which is weird for me to say because she just barely moved out), and after we had washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen we were chatting and indulging in some Honey Crisp apples. Once finished i walked past my sister and, while lifting the leg closest to her, flatulated. She turned to glare at me and then in response belched. 'Touche,' I said. We laughed.
Cheerio.
Ever since i was a little kid, my sister and i have made it a tradition to, on the first snow of the season, lean backwards out of our sliding glass door with mouths open wide in hopes of catching a a snowflake on our outstretched tongue.
Today at school i received a text from said dearly beloved sister, riley. It read,
'Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to hng out the back door and catch a snowflake on your tongue. This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds.'
She is 23. I am 18. Will still do it every year.
Reason #2
Tonight Ri came over for dinner, (which is weird for me to say because she just barely moved out), and after we had washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen we were chatting and indulging in some Honey Crisp apples. Once finished i walked past my sister and, while lifting the leg closest to her, flatulated. She turned to glare at me and then in response belched. 'Touche,' I said. We laughed.
Cheerio.
Costco ninja.
Yesterday my dear mother asked me if i would be so kind as to join her in her shopping escapades at Costco. I, being the star that i am, of course, agreed. (ulterior motive: samples) Little did i know that at the end of that wholesale extravaganza i would be saved by the Costco ninja.
By the time we had picked out sunday dinner fixings, honey crisp apples (look into it), and enough candy to satisfy a small army of trick-or-treaters, our cart was becoming precariously full and it was all i could do to keep the Swiffer dry cloths and two and a half pounds of beef from toppling to the cement below. Having successfully reached the front of the store it was only another 10 feet to the shortest line at the checkout. As i made my way over with our heavily burdened silver buffalo, my mom hurried ahead to save us a spot in line. As i looked to my right to see the path of least resistance for my boatfull of bulk-priced goods, it happened.
There was the sound of sliding shrink wrap
i looked to my cart to survey the damage
suddenly, a flash of light, i jumped
when i opened my eyes i saw two hands firmly grasped around a variety pack of candy bars. i looked up to see who the chocolate's savior was and there he stood: Kevin, the Costco Ninja.
The small Asian shift manager slid the box back into place, smiled and disappeared almost as fast as a child eyeing the sample table.
Now don't all of you run out to Costco in search of the blue-vested wonder. The Costco Ninja is far too stealthy to show himself when circumstances are such that the aid of his less speedy, savvy, and stealthy colleagues will suffice. But the next time you find yourself with a flat of stewed tomatoes cascading off your cart and into oblivion, have no fear the Costco Ninja will be near.
Cheerio.
By the time we had picked out sunday dinner fixings, honey crisp apples (look into it), and enough candy to satisfy a small army of trick-or-treaters, our cart was becoming precariously full and it was all i could do to keep the Swiffer dry cloths and two and a half pounds of beef from toppling to the cement below. Having successfully reached the front of the store it was only another 10 feet to the shortest line at the checkout. As i made my way over with our heavily burdened silver buffalo, my mom hurried ahead to save us a spot in line. As i looked to my right to see the path of least resistance for my boatfull of bulk-priced goods, it happened.
There was the sound of sliding shrink wrap
i looked to my cart to survey the damage
suddenly, a flash of light, i jumped
when i opened my eyes i saw two hands firmly grasped around a variety pack of candy bars. i looked up to see who the chocolate's savior was and there he stood: Kevin, the Costco Ninja.
The small Asian shift manager slid the box back into place, smiled and disappeared almost as fast as a child eyeing the sample table.
Now don't all of you run out to Costco in search of the blue-vested wonder. The Costco Ninja is far too stealthy to show himself when circumstances are such that the aid of his less speedy, savvy, and stealthy colleagues will suffice. But the next time you find yourself with a flat of stewed tomatoes cascading off your cart and into oblivion, have no fear the Costco Ninja will be near.
Cheerio.
Monday, October 5, 2009
If you have not yet heard.
On the evening of Friday October 2nd, i checked into Boulder Community Hospital in Boulder Colorado after sustaining a severe concussion while playing in a rugby game against CU.
That game went a little something like this.
While in the second half i tackled somebody or ran into them or something, i don't reallly remember. After running into them my head hurt and i began developing i blue haze in the lower half of my field of vision. I had experienced a phenomena similar to this a few years prior so i thought nothing of it. Unfortunately for me, after a while, instead of just remaining a blue haze and a headache like it had done in the past, it turned into more like a blue screen over about 2/3 of my vision. Then another surprise. I went to tackle an opponent carrying the ball, dove out and, expecting to hit body, was surprised to feel nothing but my opponents jersey in my fingertips. I was about six feet away from him when i dove. It turns out that my depth perception had gone into a bit of lapse. I couldnt tell how close or far objects or people were--not good in a game involving both flying balls and people moving at high velocity. The game ended with out anymore incident and i politely asked one of my teammates to help me over to the sideline (by that i mean i sort of fell into his arms-no homo). After sitting with the trainers and answering questions like "where are you?" "how old are you?" "whens your birthday" and "can you recite the days of the week in reverse order?" I remembered asking for a blessing then promptly throwing up on the ground next to that upon which i was sitting. The next bits of memory are a bit jumbled to say the least. I remember being in the car on the way to the hospital but i dont remember getting into the car or who was driving. I have a vague memory of trying to cuddle with one of the team trainers but i am unable to confirm nor deny the truthfulness of said memory. I then remember trying to get out of the car but don't remember actually doing it. The next three hours were spent in the emergency room and of which i have no recollection whatsoever. I was told that it was rather horrific and i am thus very greatful that i do not remember any of it. After my happy time in the ER i was given 5mg of morphine, calmed down and quielty fell asleep. Two of my uncles--Lee and Bill-- then gave me a blessing. There were several points during these late night and early morning hours that i remember seeing glimpses of my aunts and uncles, team trainers, team mom, and nurses. At around 2:30 am i came to a more complete state of consciousness only to go into more pain, receive more morphine and go back into a drug-induced sleep. When i came to again at about an hour later i sat and chatted with my dear aunt brenda, called my parents (who had been driving since they heard about the incident about 830 the night before), urinated in a bottle resembling a milk carton with a large hole in the top, then, at the mercy of yet another injection of morphine, i fell asleep. Upon waking i found that my family had arrived. It was about 5 am. When the PA finally got around to me i had been injected with 10 mg of morphine and i still had a headache. He decided to give me Vicadin instead to see if it would work. It did. From then on the story gets less and less exciting. Met with an occupational therapist, a speech therapist, a physical therapist, all of which said i was in ship shape. Ate, drank and showered for the first time in 24 hours. Checked out of the hospital and into the Best Western in preparation for my drive home on sunday.
Cheerio
That game went a little something like this.
While in the second half i tackled somebody or ran into them or something, i don't reallly remember. After running into them my head hurt and i began developing i blue haze in the lower half of my field of vision. I had experienced a phenomena similar to this a few years prior so i thought nothing of it. Unfortunately for me, after a while, instead of just remaining a blue haze and a headache like it had done in the past, it turned into more like a blue screen over about 2/3 of my vision. Then another surprise. I went to tackle an opponent carrying the ball, dove out and, expecting to hit body, was surprised to feel nothing but my opponents jersey in my fingertips. I was about six feet away from him when i dove. It turns out that my depth perception had gone into a bit of lapse. I couldnt tell how close or far objects or people were--not good in a game involving both flying balls and people moving at high velocity. The game ended with out anymore incident and i politely asked one of my teammates to help me over to the sideline (by that i mean i sort of fell into his arms-no homo). After sitting with the trainers and answering questions like "where are you?" "how old are you?" "whens your birthday" and "can you recite the days of the week in reverse order?" I remembered asking for a blessing then promptly throwing up on the ground next to that upon which i was sitting. The next bits of memory are a bit jumbled to say the least. I remember being in the car on the way to the hospital but i dont remember getting into the car or who was driving. I have a vague memory of trying to cuddle with one of the team trainers but i am unable to confirm nor deny the truthfulness of said memory. I then remember trying to get out of the car but don't remember actually doing it. The next three hours were spent in the emergency room and of which i have no recollection whatsoever. I was told that it was rather horrific and i am thus very greatful that i do not remember any of it. After my happy time in the ER i was given 5mg of morphine, calmed down and quielty fell asleep. Two of my uncles--Lee and Bill-- then gave me a blessing. There were several points during these late night and early morning hours that i remember seeing glimpses of my aunts and uncles, team trainers, team mom, and nurses. At around 2:30 am i came to a more complete state of consciousness only to go into more pain, receive more morphine and go back into a drug-induced sleep. When i came to again at about an hour later i sat and chatted with my dear aunt brenda, called my parents (who had been driving since they heard about the incident about 830 the night before), urinated in a bottle resembling a milk carton with a large hole in the top, then, at the mercy of yet another injection of morphine, i fell asleep. Upon waking i found that my family had arrived. It was about 5 am. When the PA finally got around to me i had been injected with 10 mg of morphine and i still had a headache. He decided to give me Vicadin instead to see if it would work. It did. From then on the story gets less and less exciting. Met with an occupational therapist, a speech therapist, a physical therapist, all of which said i was in ship shape. Ate, drank and showered for the first time in 24 hours. Checked out of the hospital and into the Best Western in preparation for my drive home on sunday.
Cheerio
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
