A New Day.

As the first post to kick off the new year, I wanted to share something I came across, a story of miraculous transformation and rebirth. A testament to the enduring human spirit and the redeeming and ever compassionate universe, this man's story has me giddy with delight. AMAZING things DO HAPPEN. Everyday.

Paralleling my own exploration into the new year as I shed the old, tethered skins of yesteryear, letting go in my wake all the pains, mistakes and regrets, instead realizing a more resilient, kind and beautiful me, this story is just another reminder. A glimpse of hope, a lesson learned, and proof that with God, anything is possible. That in all our humanness, there is something glorious and divine and undeniably invincible. Now that's what being human is really all about, isn't it?

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yeah, yeah, wut, wut?

in the quaint, familiar fashion of an update, i provide a quick recap of some of the latest events/revelatory smackdowns to recently surface, provided i am aware and coherent enough upon discovery to make the stuff actually stick.

1) i've discovered a really cool new shampoo that comes in a tube. and it's by L'Oreal. Voila.
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2) I shaved my legs after like two months of major vibrissa. How's that for an aphrodisiac, uh!
3) I'm dreading holiday travel like it's the Bubonic plague- the thought of me walking through one more airport checkpoint makes me want to play voluntary Russian Roulette.
4) Turns out that salmon in vacuum tight sealed bags stays fresh waaay beyond the cited expiration date.

5) Note to self: I may have to stop watching The Biggest Loser with a behemoth burrito in my lap.
6) Turns out I have 34 unused, prepaid personal training sessions left-over from a health & workout stint from last year's heyday.
7) I realize i've got to get off my @$$ if i'm going to put them to use.

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ohhhhhh, yeah, bay-bay

8) Documentaries on netflix are my new mojo. North Korea, check. Man on Wire, check. The Case for Faith, in proceedings.

9) I hate holiday melodrama. Shopping makes me sick [although I manage to peruse the endless bevvy of online holiday shops. Latest faves: westelm.com, for home decor. asos.com, for the kinda stuff only the fashioney brits can dream up, and findgifts.com, for uncoventional whats-its that make your mouth go agape at pure brilliance in a click of a button (you mean i can link up a USB drink warmer/chiller to my COMPUTER!!???)].

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10) i'm on a facebook strike. besides the loss of general appeal, i've decided not to occupy an alternate cyber-reality. hyperbole and argument aside, it feels good to idle my attention away on other things that really matter. like netflix, of course. ;)

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conundrum conundrum, oh what is your function?

i'm trying to approach this blog like a journalist, when inspiration is lacking. the kind of journalist who's on an endless siege for truth and a damn good story. the truth is, i love blogging and the sweet comfort it brings.. knowing and seeing the own stirrings of your imagination, what unfolds and spills onto a page... even as i write this now, i can never predict the next line, the next thought... there's something so unfettered in it, a wild lotus that just spawns from a crack in the sidewalk, untamed, unpredicted yet ever bold and beautiful...

random things capture my fancy these days... funny things that happen at work, like the way the tongues go lolly-gagging when MJ comes on the radio, these pre-pubescent little people already showing the signs of the old cronies to come, in all their raunchy glory. if i gave you a nickel for every time i saw the kids thrusting their pelvis [in the lunch-line, during playworks, in time to their morning practice of their ABC's- "U is the tugboat, uh (thrust in), yoo (thrust out), uh (thrust in) yoo (thrust out)!"], you'd have the next lotto winner beat. that, and the crazy happenstances of a day. kids fake barfing to get out of math class, the list of 'crazies' who go streaking down hallways just to post a scene and all the other not-easily forgotten meltdowns... you've gotta love the Raheems who leave you tangible souvenirs like the mitt sized bruises on your ribs (nothing says "i've done my job" like a true battle scar, albeit left behind by a swarthy, pint-sized adolescent) and the Ja'Rons, who go a'scavenging on voracious food hunts through people's backpacks, only to throw up the the box of applejacks he consumed earlier that morning all over your linoleum floor.

such moments make life ever so fun. and interesting. although, admittedly, we want to wrang our necks on nooses or plot ways of jabbing said perpetrator in the gut while claiming full innocence- "Oh, [insert name] I didn't mean to pummel you in the gut right there. Why dear, you've got to stop thrashing so!" They (the wise greats, to be exact) didn't say it'd be easy... but they sure as hell meant it when they said it would be WORTH IT. :)

Watched the film adaptation of Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being and am still breathing hard, letting the contents unfold within me... The story chronicles the Soviet military occupation of Prague during the 1960's and the lives of the philandering surgeon Tomas and his ingenuous wife, Tereza, whose meek docility unravels throughout the film as she must stand up to a love which carries a burden as heavy as the airiness it permeates. Their lives ever increasingly endangered by the afflictions of war and a deadening fear looming still throughout Czechoslovakia, the couple must navigate the fragile waters of their relationship amidst a politically turblent climate and a string of sordid affairs with Tomas' ever increasing bounty of lovers.
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The film is at once beautiful as it is terrible, calamitous and conversely, tender, with Tereza's wide-eyed innocence surrendering a deeper and quieter strength as she beseeches Tomas, "How can one make love without being in love?" To Tereza, there is nothing "light" about love or its sexual expression. Despite the staunchness of her sentiments, her inordinate earthiness carries the film and lends an ironic lightness and quickness of feeling- she is the redeemer, the light in the darkness. The fleeting quality of the film echoes Kundera's explorations of life, most in its vaporous brevity as life passes so swiftly, without a second return. How can one afford to attribute any meaning or weight to life if they live it only once, unable to reflect on its passage or return to take a different path? Without the ability to compare lives, Kundera argues, we cannot find meaning, finding in its place only an unbearable weightlessness.

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While the book and it's accompanying film incite penetrating philosophical thought and contemplation, more so, the movie sheds light on life's host of multitudinal paths, each governed by the irrevocable choices and fortuitous events, "a world in which everything occurs but once, existence seems to lose its substance, its weight." Happiness can only come about with repetition; the Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering." So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return, says Kundera.

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Kundera writes ever poignantly (and truthfully):

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The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness? — Milan Kundera

high tides.

boooy, watch me as i touch the bow of my lips to the S of your neck, memorizing the lines of your elegant countenance...letting the tips of my fingers trace pirouetting swirls down your torso as i inhale the scent of post-game glory sweat and taste the vapour of your oceany-salt skin.. wait for me to pull your head back and brush my lips to the underside of your throat, lingering upwards towards the soft patch of undiscovered smoothness behind your right ear...pressing into you as i lean into your retreat, infused in your essence, finally greeting your parted lips with contained delirium, the perfect dichtomy of rough and tender, slow and fast as the music in me swells and billows over like white sails on a cobalt blue sea, only to find myself catapulted somewhere among the stars...ohhhh yeaahhhh.

Do I dare? Do I dare disturb the Universe?

evidence of life lived.

the reason for which i sometimes get on the blog can and update the seminal events of my so-called life. momentary lapses of fear that i'll be swallowed in abbreviated mortality, corpse splayed on table like the primordial insect sprawled on a pin of t.s. elliott's love song of j. alfred prufrock, engulfed by life's unceasing flow... tragic the thought... and therefore i write, in my morbid hopes that my writings and idle musings will evidence a life lived, a human writ large onto the cosmos' grand stage, transient between multi-universes yet as real as the virtual copy paper i transpose my thoughts upon..

times comes and goes with feverish regularity. and yet, as the moments tick by, i am ever so acutely aware of my state, seemingly fixed and frozen, the moment before me looming large and wondrous in my tiny human imagination. life has a way of magnifying all monstrosities and present realities, condensing and compacting our existences into tiny, neat little campbell soup cans. we forget the meaning in the gestalt light of things, so taken by the minutia detail of our intricate lives that we suspend, mid-air like in the thing of things, forgetting all too briefly our existential dilemma.. ohh yeah, that.

been drowning in hairy dreams as of late, inception like, the real-likeness of my dreams reigning sovereign to the conscious life version. hmmm... fascinating how lucid our sleepy docility may appear. woken, we are sleep-walking zombies. in slumber, we face our truest realities.

for now i'll just let it sit like a hazy blanket on a cool summer's night. til the smoke rises from the pipes of my imagination, malingering like the dust that rises at dusk...

the art of grilling, and then some.

i just purchased a george foreman grill today and i can't get over how much i love it. i could just pore over the manual that comes with the package for hours. i have this peculiar interest in meat- cuts of meat, temperatures to cook it at, different grains and marbled contents; its composition, texture and coloring. it's weird, i know. but i get uber excited at the thought of cooking, 1) in my slowcooker and 2) in my newly acquired handy-dandy little portable grill!

been transitioning to school and the kids- i'm starting to develop that rhythm, getting a feel for the little ones and the way their brains work. it's been really challenging, taking on this job, especially in such a high caliber school, but i know it's taking me places and developing the characteristics in me that i need, for the now and beyond. i'm also learning to develop a heart of patience, understanding and compassion for the little ones who are so behind.

my one kid, donvan, the one who usually gets super hyper and excited broke down in tears today because the work was so challenging. to me, what seemed like a simple activity of sorting initial consonant pictures of S and R had donvan's brow furrowed up in such distress, he was reduced to tears. i'm learning, as my kids are.... how to love, how to give, how to not give up on them, as tempting it seems at times. this job has not only shown me my talents and successes; it has, admittedly, revealed some of my greatest flaws and deficiences... it is a work in progress.

i have found that the nature of my job is rather unforgiving and oftentimes, blearing of major oversights when it comes to the work we pour in, day to day. thank goodness, for 3 day weekends and friday celebrations and cute sticky note pads, which makes the title 'teacher' oh so worth it. and oh, yeah, for little donvans, who sometimes teach you life's most teachable lessons. <3

Gaga, ooh la la..

ive been a mystified critic for too long, of gaga's fantastical eccentricities and over- theatrical displays. i am, however, a convert. her creativity is brilliant; while this video featuring ms. B-b-beyonce is clearly more gaga's vision than sasha fierce's, i give credit to the dynamic duo for pulling off an outrageously colorful and in-your-face sexually charged performance that has us panting for more p*ssy wagon-esque antics(props and spiked louis included) and punchy gun-metal expletives.

NEW ORLEANS RISE.

grasping, feigning, groping, understanding, tryna come to grips with this blood spill thang, echoes of the sirens and the ear-shattering gun bangs. why our youth's lost the truth, is there hope? seems to be the only resounding battle cry... i try, with all my might, to fight the ig-norance, take up fight with what's right and yet my cries are silenced, like a revolver, i'm getting cold, shit's getting old, my shoulders are weary and my eyes teary... how can we try, to define the power struggle, our hands binded, mouth muzzled as we deal with all this trouble, the grime and the street stuggle, i'm so puzzled. what to do, where to turn, how to deal when all i feel is anger and disappointment inside, to the point where i'm sittin here just tongue-tied..

I have to say that one of the things that's awesome about living in new orleans are these fantastic rainstorms we get. buckets and sheets of rain, pouring over the roofs, slapping against the windowpaines with newfound easy familiarity. granted, we've witnessed our fair share of devastation in these parts due to atomic caliber hurricaines, but nothing beats the sound of murderous thunder in the sky as i sit, tucked away in my cozy southern digs, buried beneath a mountain of pillows and a stack of books perched precariously on my side. Perfection.

the place has charm, i'll have to post some pix. hardwood floors, french doors, tall ceilings. an adorable screened little balcony. the house is a delicious flamingo pink with major new orleans classic throwback appeal. the bathroom features a claw tub and a black and white checkered floor. my room is floor to ceiling windows, letting in so much natural light i could just pinch myself.

ive decided to sort of abandon the editing process in my writing and just write what comes to mind. it's interesting; i viewed another friend's blog and decided i liked her ramble musings so much i thought that some soul out there might feel the same way. people's lives are interesting, even in their placid ordineriness. for instance, in my younger days, i used to get oodles and noodles of delight in falling into the lives of the characters of Laura Ingall's Wilder's Little House on the Prairie series. God knows those days are a far cry from the technological-gadget filled, modernized world we currently occupy, but there was so much imagination! A peppermint stick would elicit cries of delight and something as seeminly benign as a gentle kiss on a woman's cheek would have all the girls' hearts cooing and fluttering with exultation. i lost myself in that era, feeling just as dainty and fine as the young ladies skipping about in their muslin and calico petticoats and fur trimmed collars. And school! Oh, how school seemed so interesting and fun. I may even dare say I attribute my teacherly aspirations to Wilder's descriptive pages by I so routinely got lost in.

The nostalgia of those times fills me with a sweet reverie. While I didn't choose to be born in this century, something about life on the homefront transports me to a time and place where things didn't matter as much as people mattered. where importance was placed on virtues or character traits. where blizzards brought people together around a warm family hearth, stories spun with animation and plumes of delicious color. Fast forward to the present: I guess storms have a way of harkening back to simpler times, when a cozy kettle and a warm quilt (let's not forget a good book) were some of life's sweetest indulgences. For now though, I have imagination...and imagination I shall readily use...