Old Math

Old Math

photo shoot with Adam

Wine of Wrath Chapter One

The uhaul slammed shut. Dad locked it, walked around to the bed of his truck and made sure all the ropes were secure. It wasn't a Model 'T' like was so common in the 30's when this place was being settled, it wasn't even a Ford, but the truck, a full size GMC, had an eerily familiar feel to it. If there was a mattress stacked on the top we'd be "Okies" again. Dad came up to the lawn to say good-bye. The heat of Bakersfield was starting to rear it's ugly head. It was only Febuary and already the afternoon heat was becomming more opressive by the day. Eighty five degrees and steadily climbing by the week. We shared hugs and kisses, tears fell and promises were made. I'll never know what they said to each other that day, but it had become more and more obvious that Mom and Dad were growing apart. Although too young to understand, I noticed an observible difference in their interactions. We were all upset, but this wasn't a somber occasion. A new life was only a few months away. By next fall I'd be starting highschool in a new town, in a new state. The life I knew in Bakersfield would be no more. A new world, a new journey, a new exsistance was waiting, all we had to do was cross the Rockies.


(work in progress)

Drunk by Nine Part Deux

Twenty bucks and two beers later I was drunk. Seven Eleven had come through, making it the best pay off in Vegas so far. Our shopping list was simple; styrofoam cooler, case of beer, sun block, chips, and condoms. We were like warpped boyscouts; Las Vegas troop 666. Ready for anything that could happen that day. We hit in the shade on the east side of the pool. The sun, still rising, was blocked on that side by a wing of the Palace Station. The AAPR crowd was awake. They were leaving their coffee pots looking for winning slots. A few of the retirees, not inclined to gamble found their way to the pool, presumably looking for an excape from the overindulgence inside the casino. Was in too early to seriously commit oneself to gambling? Was it too early to start drinking heavily? It didn't matter, we had already decided. Commitment we had, it was common since, sobriety, and reason we lacked.

The old ladies that had the hutzpa to join us by the pool settled on the west part of the deck. Their modest bathing outfits exposed leathery skin. No doubt these women had been bathing beauties, sun kissed goddesses in their day. I wondered what stories they could tell, what crazy things had they done? Absent mindedly I sipped my beer and put a chip in my mouth. The crunching of cheesy Doritos disrupped my day dreaming and bits of the converstions around me penetrated my conciousness. Schad, the Reverend, and Corazon were back. They hadn't gone anywhere but lack of sleep had supressed their true colors. We had all been on auto pilot for a bit. As their sobriety wained their more endeering traites established their prominance. The four of us are some mouthy fuckin kids. Quick to judge, quick to speak, and quick to insult. Not qualities most would look for in close friends, but drafting a drinking team is different. As long as you don't get into fights with randoms, and /or as long as you've got a big guy like Schad on your team, these are the ideal qualities to look for.

Laying by the pool, the over stimulation of most Las Vegas attractions was muted, we were the most exciting thing outside. Attention focused on why we came. To celebrate finishing those god damned spanish classes, and of course Ryans M-CATS, the reason we pushed the trip back a week. Spanish, the worst 9 weeks of class we've ever had to take. The irony of course being that w/o that torture, the four of us wouldn't have met. Four guys, all involved in greek organizations, all persuing bachlors degrees, all in different class levels. It's amazing that we had not met prior, and yet it's even more amazing that we ever came together.

School was the reason to have this trip, but fun was the agenda.

(unfinished, more to come)

Missed connection vs. Casual encounter

Ok, I'm fessing up. Although most people peg me for an Exhibitionist, and out wardly I have that appearance, I have a voyeuristic steak a mile long. Nothing that would be contrived as illegal or obscene, well maybe obscene, but totally on the level. I like to people watch. Everywhere I go, I love just being a fly on the wall. Quietly observing human behavior. Taking notes of posture, hair style, make-up, facial expression, etc. Maybe it's just me, maybe it's an "artist" thing, maybe it's human nature, I don't know, all I know is that people are the most interesting subject I can think of at almost any given moment. I use my obsevations in dance, in my acting, in a variety of other situations. That brings me to my current obcession. Craigslist. I've been surffing it for some time now, and I usually find exciting buys, or free stuff, or jobs, lots and lots of random 'things'. My favorite though, is the personals. Specifically the "Casual Encounter" and "Missed connection" sub sections of them. Although they appear opposite, I feel the connection between the two is where the magic happens.
Hope. Hoping that somewhere, someone would like to have sex with you. It's brilliant. The C.E. is blantant, vulgar, raw. These are the people that are willing to admit what they want in life. Some ass. The M.C. portion is more subtle, but it's even more emotionally jarring than the grotesque overtly sexual nature of the C.E.

Those that write in the Missed Connections are also those that rent "She's all that," "Sleepless in Seattle," or "Waiting to Exhale." These people have consumed too many romantic comedys, too many trashy romance novels and too much Ben and Jerry's. They are not going to find what they want because they are shy, or because they are unwilling to be proactive. You need to talk to the people you want to date. You have to approach people, get their numbers etc. The odds of someone actually finding you on the Missed connections page is rediculous.

To be fair I shouldn't be so judgemental. I'm self aware enough to know that I hold out some shred of hope when I read these things. Not only do they make me feel better about myself, but I do have the deep seeded, hopeless romantic fueled desire for someone to have a missed connection with me. Someday I'll get on my computer and there will be prose about me. Something along the lines of:

"You were standing in front of me in line at Starbucks. Your long hair was pulled back with a blue hair tie. You ordered a venti vanilla latte and I asked you if it was good. You told me it was your 'usual' and that I'd enjoy it. I did. While you sleepily scanned the paper waiting for you coffee I secretly desired to rip your clothes off and do you on the floor of Starbucks. I hope you noticed me, I was the blond hair blue eyed one, I had a white top on. Can I buy you your regular next time?"

Ah hope, as they say, it floats, like the foam on my latte.