The Giving Tree

Of all the fond memories I have of college (yes, I retained memories because I didn’t spend my undergrad years in a drunken stupor, half-naked and sleeping in the study lounge 30 minutes prior to a Statistics exam), the one that never fails to bring on a smile is…

Busy afternoon.  Students swarming frantically from class to class to class.  A group wandering around aimlessly – tourists or shufflers, don’t know, don’t care.  Legs hurt from pumping the short suckers as fast as they would go.  It’s my last year.  Love college, but damn ready to leave.  I have a two-hour break, but I’m so used to running that I rush to relax.  Dash to the bookstore.  Speed to the coffee house.  Zip to the Commons.  But somewhere along the way, I realize it’s bright outside.  Sun is shining…everywhere.  Not a cloud in sight.  And I slow down.  And head towards the grassy knoll.  Where there’s a tree.  Don’t care if you stare, don’t care if you speak.  I just lie down under the tree, and watch in absolute amazement as dappled sunlight streams through the leaves, sparkling across my hand.  Divine jewelry, better than Tiffany’s, gratis es muy bueno.  So I lay there, music from my player floating softly into my ears.  Time slows down.  I feel suspended.  And it’s an exquisite joy.  I never did this before – all four years of college, and I never once enjoyed this tree, this shadow, this quiet peace.  And I fall in love.

I did it one more time in Australia, in the Victoria Gardens.  Seven years later.  To recapture that moment of bliss, that calm, I laid down under a tree with my fiancé, plugged his ear with one of my earphones, and played the softest music I owned.  Everything spiraled down to that moment, taking me back to the mottled shadows, the brilliant light, the cool shade, and the feeling that your soul went a little free and wild.

I think that’s the closest you can feel to walking with God. 

I wanted to share this because it’s the weekend.  Life is hectic, frantic, and desperate.  But at some point, you have to stop moving so fast.  You have to breathe.  And if there’s a tree whose shade will give you relief, lie under it…and let yourself enjoy.  Life.

Happy weekend.

Landmark Decision

Tortured thoughts, hungry tummy

“I think I need a break.  It’s not you…it’s me.  I just…it’s been…I need time to think, to figure things out.  No, don’t cry.  Wipe your tear away.  I will be back someday.  I just need room.”

To fill my belly.

Cuz I am tired of dieting.

I mean, what’s wrong with a little love handle here or there?  What’s wrong with a little jiggle to brighten up your day?  Sure, I can’t wear skinny jeans with love-me boots and a tube top…but I’m a prude, so does it really matter? 

Yes, yes, summertime is upon us.  I live in Los Angeles, so the beach is a hop, skip, and smog-ridden traffic commute away.  Do I not want to wear the yellow-polka-dot-itty-bitty bikini that’ll look so frigging cute with my cutesy flip flops and flirty Thai sarong?  Well……………..Bikini Schmikini!  An 1890’s frock will serve me just fine.  Besides, the more covered I am, the less risk of cancer!  *grumble*

Look you.  I’ve had it with salads and tomato snacks and Splenda and counting calories and stupid Fit Jared Subway sandwiches.  I want steak.  Slap that cow onto my plate and leamme alone so I can grub!  Hawaiian spam sushi??  Bring it on.  Seafood risotto with spicy tomato sauce?  Heck yeah!  Fried chicken and waffles?!?!  Oh wait, ugh.  That’s a bit too heavy.  Blech.

I just need a weekend fling.  Just a wee taste of the good life.  So I’m going to take a break from my diet.  Well, I already did this past weekend with some spicy, speecy Thai food.  But I’m going to take an extended break!  And when I return to the almighty Grilled Chicken Salad on my hands and knees, begging for forgiveness, I will be humbled and grateful for the opportunity to suffer for the sake of my vanity–er, health, once more.  Yeah, that’s my justification.  No, it’s not lame.  I’ll cut you.

Till then…screw you, skinny bikini-wearing bizzes!  Screw you, people who run marathons and feel PUMPED UP from all that freaking activity.  Screw you, people who can wake up all perky without coffee!  And screw you, vegetarians who have no dependency on meat whatsoever so it’s SOOOOO easy for you to eat salad all day long!  I’M GOING ON A DATE WITH A BURGER TONIGHT!

The Weekend Is Upon Us!

And here are my Friday, coffee-induced thoughts:

Harold & Kumar?  Watch the movie, support the boys!  I knew Kumar back in the day – he was the RA for my dorm floor in college.  He was heeerarious!  And yes, I have pictures of “Kumar” doing the Vogue… in a skirt…while singing Karaoke songs.  Good times.

3,369 songs in my iPod?  You bet your lily-livered arse!  Loola just came on after Duke Ellington after Deep Purple after the Beastie Boys after LCD Soundsystem after The Pogues after Kenny Loggins (got a prob with "House At Pooh Corner"?  I'll kick your a$$) after A Tribe Called Quest...  Hurrah for shuffle!

Obama with no flag pin on his lapel?  Pristine!  Get over it. 

Lawyers yelling left and right in the adjoining offices, saying “Eff you, pay me” and “That’s not the law!  My smackdown is the law!”???  Heck yeah!  Man, I totally got into the right profession.  I’m going to use that in court if I ever transition into litigation:  “Your Honor, I urge you to dismiss this utterly frivolous case.  Why?  Because my smackdown is the law!  Badabing Badaboom!” 

Drug cartel wars in Juarez?  Puts things into perspective.  Be grateful for your life in the States.  We don’t live in a perfect, uncorrupted society…but in general, we still have our dang-blasted rights (‘sup Guantanamo Bay), protection by the police (‘sup Rodney King), and the freedom to wander about in broad daylight without the fear of being kidnapped or gunned down in a drug war crossfire (‘sup East Los Angeles).  Generally.

It’s Friday.  Listen to the Proclaimers, take time to enjoy the sun, don’t think about our impending economic collapse (at least you’re not in Iceland?), and walk your dog so he can pee on someone else’s lawn.  Happy weekend, ya’ll!

Eunuchs and slaves?

After a cup of coffee and some monkey work, I’m ready for a new posting.  Thanks for all your comments on my previous post, by the way.  I'm pretty much wallpaper, and becoming spotlight is a bit scary.  But it was good times reading all of your comments!

So, my friend and I were jokingly discussing the merits of capital punishment.  My friend proposed forced manual labor.  Have the car jackers build our highways, the rapists build abused women shelters, the murderers dig graves… A twisted but balanced form of justice, non?

I went a little caffeine-high crazy and proposed castration for extreme crimes (child rape, gruesome premeditated murders, etc.), particularly if it’s a repeat offender, in lieu of lifetime imprisonment.  Why?  Because lifetime imprisonment is: 1.) a horrible life behind bars, but not a very effective deterrence since we currently seem to have plenty o’ life-timers in prison, 2.) a crazy burden on taxpayers who may not want to pay for someone who kidnapped, raped, and killed the child next door, and 3.) a badge of honor among the ruffians.  When I was in high school, I knew two groups of people.  Those who said, “Holy Bat Crap, Pinky went to jail?  Like OMG!” and those who said, “Did y’hear that Pinky went to jail?  That’s my esse.  Fo’ life, cuzz, fo’ life.” 

Now, don't get your flavor-of-the-month in a twist:  Yes, we were only talking about punishment for men, not women.  Yes, it was a light convo that was gender specific.  So sue me. And before all those Olympic-torch-putter-outters detour their way to L.A. to extinguish my flame, I have to repeat that we were joking.  If you think that everyone must be hypersensitive, (always) politically correct, and love mayonnaise, get the hell outta my blog.  You’re ruining my fun and my sandwich. 

I obviously would never lobby for prisoner-castration.  Well, never say never…   Anyway, aside from it violating the hallowed Constitution of our beautiful, may-freedom-ring country, it’s also quite grotesque.  I’m not that bloodthirsty or inhumane.  And what would you do with all those fancy-free appendages afterwards?  Not too eco-friendly. 

Plus, it may be an effective deterrent against future crimes, but what would that make us…?  Moral dilemma, moral dilemma.  Also, what would be the long-term consequences?  It’s all well and good that child rapists wouldn’t be able to breed anymore, but what would it do psychologically to them, to us?  What kind of backlash would occur?  Would the "eunuchs" become more violent?  Would the general public become accepting of this form of violence and ultimately go the way of Roman Colliseums and bloody spectacles? 

Then my mind twisted.  I thought, “Well, it’s unacceptable because I live in our paradigm of justice.  We help grandmas across the street, don’t blow ourselves up to get a point across (for the most part), and feed our prisoners.  Hell, we dig sushi and have freaking dog spas (don’t’ get me started).  Would I find it so unacceptable if I lived in a more violent, bare-knuckled society?  If my sense of justice shifted slightly to the left, would I consider castration a violation of humanity and civilized society?  Or would it just be…fair?”    Scaaary.

Your thoughts...?