Reading Voodoo on Office Time, Are We?
Hello my Lovelies! I just wanted to point out a new link for you...It's on the left hand side, and it's called 'OH SHIT THE BOSS IS COMING!"
Get your Voodoo on, and should that evil dude come up and mess up your flow, just click and voila, Excel in the house. This wouldn't necessarily work if you have other things you're responsible to watch on your monitor, like prisoners, but it will help those of us who are chained to their desks and chairs. Good luck, and may the Voodoo be with you.
V.
Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!
Friday, June 29, 2001
Thursday, June 28, 2001
I Can See the Fear in Your Eyes, Mom
Today is one of those happiest days in the year for all first year students: the Early Advising and Registration for New Students at the University. It's also one of the most feared days for one special group: Mom and Dad.
I had the opportunity to meet with students this morning and help them take their placement tests. Most of them were giggling little tykes who were happy to be on campus, ready to take the opportunity to enjoy their newfound freedom and mom and dad's pursestrings. They were buzzing with energy, and I had to settle them all down to take their placement tests, and for the next four hours, I got to sit over them while they tried to remember their writing skills and their algebra that they probably lost in some drunken haze after prom.
Later on in the day, I had to do a presentation to the parents. It was pretty interesting, and I could look at all of them and they were ready to jump out of their seats and ask, "What the hell are you going to do to make sure my kid doesn't turn into a freak?"
I have a new respect for parents ever since my old job wound up making me a stand-in parent for much of my day. It's not easy to let your spawn go and do his/her thing while you worry if everything is okay. You worry about the little things: are they getting along well with others, are they getting along with others a little too well? Someone asked me today, "Is there a problem with promiscuity on this campus?"
What do you say?
Honestly, a lot of my students don't exactly disclose if they're knockin' the boots with others, but I do know that the students here aren't that obsessed with getting their mack on left and right, although it does happen, I'm sure of it. But it's not like they show it on TV..Well, maybe. But honestly, it's a big concern, I had some parents call me left and right to make sure their daughters don't get involved with the wrong boys. Okay. Let me attach this leash to them.
I could see that in their eyes, they were ready to freak out. I asked them to come up with some solutions on how to best support their students, and they came up with some good things: discuss expectations, be supportive of the things that are important to them, realize that their role is going to change, and use clear lines of communication with them, etc. Those are some good starting points, but more often than not, it is important to make sure that students and parents talk. Period. That's the most crucial thing. I gave an example of a child calling home and saying, "I dyed my hair pink!" They laughed nervously, then one parent said, "That's great honey, now what shade pink are we talking about and does go well with your clothes?"
Cute. Never underestimate parents' sense of humor.
It went on for about an hour, dialoguing with parents, talking to them about their concerns, and their fears. It was nice to listen to their side of the story, and to ensure them that their students are missing them even though they may not say so. It was hard, as a 30 year old to talk to parents about how to be good parents, but I can appreciate even more their roles in the lives of students, and hopefully they can walk away with a sense that things will be all right.
Peace,
Voodoo
Today is one of those happiest days in the year for all first year students: the Early Advising and Registration for New Students at the University. It's also one of the most feared days for one special group: Mom and Dad.
I had the opportunity to meet with students this morning and help them take their placement tests. Most of them were giggling little tykes who were happy to be on campus, ready to take the opportunity to enjoy their newfound freedom and mom and dad's pursestrings. They were buzzing with energy, and I had to settle them all down to take their placement tests, and for the next four hours, I got to sit over them while they tried to remember their writing skills and their algebra that they probably lost in some drunken haze after prom.
Later on in the day, I had to do a presentation to the parents. It was pretty interesting, and I could look at all of them and they were ready to jump out of their seats and ask, "What the hell are you going to do to make sure my kid doesn't turn into a freak?"
I have a new respect for parents ever since my old job wound up making me a stand-in parent for much of my day. It's not easy to let your spawn go and do his/her thing while you worry if everything is okay. You worry about the little things: are they getting along well with others, are they getting along with others a little too well? Someone asked me today, "Is there a problem with promiscuity on this campus?"
What do you say?
Honestly, a lot of my students don't exactly disclose if they're knockin' the boots with others, but I do know that the students here aren't that obsessed with getting their mack on left and right, although it does happen, I'm sure of it. But it's not like they show it on TV..Well, maybe. But honestly, it's a big concern, I had some parents call me left and right to make sure their daughters don't get involved with the wrong boys. Okay. Let me attach this leash to them.
I could see that in their eyes, they were ready to freak out. I asked them to come up with some solutions on how to best support their students, and they came up with some good things: discuss expectations, be supportive of the things that are important to them, realize that their role is going to change, and use clear lines of communication with them, etc. Those are some good starting points, but more often than not, it is important to make sure that students and parents talk. Period. That's the most crucial thing. I gave an example of a child calling home and saying, "I dyed my hair pink!" They laughed nervously, then one parent said, "That's great honey, now what shade pink are we talking about and does go well with your clothes?"
Cute. Never underestimate parents' sense of humor.
It went on for about an hour, dialoguing with parents, talking to them about their concerns, and their fears. It was nice to listen to their side of the story, and to ensure them that their students are missing them even though they may not say so. It was hard, as a 30 year old to talk to parents about how to be good parents, but I can appreciate even more their roles in the lives of students, and hopefully they can walk away with a sense that things will be all right.
Peace,
Voodoo
Wednesday, June 27, 2001
Braking and Entering
Okay babies, so I go get my brakes changed, and for some of you who know me, that's a bit later than I had anticipated, so guess what, it just cost me $284. Yes, that's right, THAT'S A WHOLE LOTTA SHOPPIN' that I just missed out on.
I would rather watch automechanics than pretend to be one, and when I finally get around to it, guess what, grindage of the rotors. Life freakin' just isn't right. I'm in serious drama over this whole bit, and I think I'm going to resort to tears in a bit, but that's life, isn't it?
At least I'll be able to stop properly, and that's a good thing when rollin' down the steep hills of San Francisco. If you haven't experienced it, just imagine being in a roller coaster, except you're in control of it. Scary huh. Yah, the way some of you drive, and i've been in your cars before you slackers.
At any rate, resistance (see definition under psychology)doesn't pay off all that well in those cases. Now I know.
And knowing is half the battle, as well as half my damn wallet.
Voodoo
Okay babies, so I go get my brakes changed, and for some of you who know me, that's a bit later than I had anticipated, so guess what, it just cost me $284. Yes, that's right, THAT'S A WHOLE LOTTA SHOPPIN' that I just missed out on.
I would rather watch automechanics than pretend to be one, and when I finally get around to it, guess what, grindage of the rotors. Life freakin' just isn't right. I'm in serious drama over this whole bit, and I think I'm going to resort to tears in a bit, but that's life, isn't it?
At least I'll be able to stop properly, and that's a good thing when rollin' down the steep hills of San Francisco. If you haven't experienced it, just imagine being in a roller coaster, except you're in control of it. Scary huh. Yah, the way some of you drive, and i've been in your cars before you slackers.
At any rate, resistance (see definition under psychology)doesn't pay off all that well in those cases. Now I know.
And knowing is half the battle, as well as half my damn wallet.
Voodoo
Beat L.A.
If you are a Dodger fan, you will stop reading here because this is a Giants' Fan who is going to go off.
As a matter of fact, if you are a Dodger fan, you probably can't read this, you shmuck. No, I don't mind Dodger fans, they amuse me.
I mentioned before how much of a rabid baseball fan I am. I might not know all the stats, and I might not know all the players right off the bat (excuse the pun), but I love me some baseball. I can watch a baseball game and be so completely absorbed that my cell phone can fall out of my pocket and hit the ground ten feet below (yes, that did happen this very might). It broke into pieces, but it was put back together by Little T, so it's all bueno. Call me to see if it works.
I went to the Giants vs. Dodgers game tonight, and went with two other colleagues and another friend. We lost, and it wasn't pretty. But we were having too much fun just cheesin' other folks, yelling at Dodger fans, and admiring the girth of some baseball bellies. You know what I mean. Baseball just does it for me, and I was in garlic fries heaven.
Do they have garlic fries in other parks? I don't know, kids, someone enlighten me.
The fervor of some fans who just hate Dodger Blue is quite strange. From where does this hate originate? Maybe it is from birth, where we were coddled at our mother's breast (or for those of you who were raised by wolves, teats), but there is something eveeeeeeel about the Dodgers. Maybe Tommy Lasorda is the antiChrist, now he's just the general manager, but it's not as fun booing the Dodgers unless he comes out of the dugout to yank yet another pitcher. Maybe because the Dodgers represent all that Northern California hates about Southern California: Smog, serious issues about fakeness, traffic, shallowness. Who knows, but there's some drama going on there. And we just don't like it.
I like to listen to people chant "Beat L.A." as if their lives depended on it. It bonds total strangers against an enemy. It also brings us to our feet even though we're totally in the hole, 14-8. We tried to come back, yes we did, but right now, only a touchdown and extra point will save us. And we all know that season is only two months away. Or do you...hmm.
At any rate, time for me to settle in to bed. You all enjoy the day, I'm off to enjoy mine. Loss or not, baseball is good like that.
Voodoo
If you are a Dodger fan, you will stop reading here because this is a Giants' Fan who is going to go off.
As a matter of fact, if you are a Dodger fan, you probably can't read this, you shmuck. No, I don't mind Dodger fans, they amuse me.
I mentioned before how much of a rabid baseball fan I am. I might not know all the stats, and I might not know all the players right off the bat (excuse the pun), but I love me some baseball. I can watch a baseball game and be so completely absorbed that my cell phone can fall out of my pocket and hit the ground ten feet below (yes, that did happen this very might). It broke into pieces, but it was put back together by Little T, so it's all bueno. Call me to see if it works.
I went to the Giants vs. Dodgers game tonight, and went with two other colleagues and another friend. We lost, and it wasn't pretty. But we were having too much fun just cheesin' other folks, yelling at Dodger fans, and admiring the girth of some baseball bellies. You know what I mean. Baseball just does it for me, and I was in garlic fries heaven.
Do they have garlic fries in other parks? I don't know, kids, someone enlighten me.
The fervor of some fans who just hate Dodger Blue is quite strange. From where does this hate originate? Maybe it is from birth, where we were coddled at our mother's breast (or for those of you who were raised by wolves, teats), but there is something eveeeeeeel about the Dodgers. Maybe Tommy Lasorda is the antiChrist, now he's just the general manager, but it's not as fun booing the Dodgers unless he comes out of the dugout to yank yet another pitcher. Maybe because the Dodgers represent all that Northern California hates about Southern California: Smog, serious issues about fakeness, traffic, shallowness. Who knows, but there's some drama going on there. And we just don't like it.
I like to listen to people chant "Beat L.A." as if their lives depended on it. It bonds total strangers against an enemy. It also brings us to our feet even though we're totally in the hole, 14-8. We tried to come back, yes we did, but right now, only a touchdown and extra point will save us. And we all know that season is only two months away. Or do you...hmm.
At any rate, time for me to settle in to bed. You all enjoy the day, I'm off to enjoy mine. Loss or not, baseball is good like that.
Voodoo
Monday, June 25, 2001
Do they speak English in Dumbass?
I have been away and out of town for the last two days assisting a colleague with her dissertation. As you already know, I'm done, and just have to turn the damn thing in, but some of my friends are waiting til the last minute. So be it. But that's not what this title is all about, it's for other reasons.
Maybe it's a quirk of mine, but what is literacy? Defined simply as the ability to read, write and understand, but I propose it also contains the ability to think critically about what the item you are reading is really saying, where the point of view is coming from, and what the subtext is. But we all know that, don't we? By calling someone illiterate means:
Pretty intense, isn't it.
I've been vexed, Voodoo Babies, about the amount of incoming garbage that life throws you, and while it's easy to throw said things away, it has caused me to think about what this is really about. Input/output thrown aside, we are bombarded with messages and it's difficult to sift, especially when the messages tend to be negative and devalue the things that make up our consciousness and our values. Considering the source can be taxing work, as is all critical thinking and exploration, yet this work is always vital to do to ensure that we are getting this thing right, ya heard.
So what's this all about? It's about discerning the truth from the lies. It's not always easy to do, because some people make such a compelling argument, yet what they're trying to say is false. Don't ge taken under, kids, and that's the truth. Even the things you read here, I don't expect you to hold them to any standard, and certainly don't think word is bond.
To whoever deemed it necessary to tell me that my blogs are boring (and I know who you are):
Forgive me if this is boring, maybe in your reactionary world you like to devise solutions that are based on violence and curses, both of which are benchmarks for those who do not have the energy or the creativity to do otherwise.
You should LEARN how to discern what is the difference between intellect and stupidity. In other words, check yourself before you throw stones, because this house has a foundation, unlike yours, built on the sands of disinformation and ignorance.
Oh yah, and if my page is so boring, why do you keep coming back to read it?
The Voodoo has spoken, or do they not speak English in Dumbass?
V
I have been away and out of town for the last two days assisting a colleague with her dissertation. As you already know, I'm done, and just have to turn the damn thing in, but some of my friends are waiting til the last minute. So be it. But that's not what this title is all about, it's for other reasons.
Maybe it's a quirk of mine, but what is literacy? Defined simply as the ability to read, write and understand, but I propose it also contains the ability to think critically about what the item you are reading is really saying, where the point of view is coming from, and what the subtext is. But we all know that, don't we? By calling someone illiterate means:
il·lit·er·ate (-ltr-t)
adj.
Unable to read and write.
Having little or no formal education.
Marked by inferiority to an expected standard of familiarity with language and literature.
Violating prescribed standards of speech or writing.
Ignorant of the fundamentals of a given art or branch of knowledge: musically illiterate.
Pretty intense, isn't it.
I've been vexed, Voodoo Babies, about the amount of incoming garbage that life throws you, and while it's easy to throw said things away, it has caused me to think about what this is really about. Input/output thrown aside, we are bombarded with messages and it's difficult to sift, especially when the messages tend to be negative and devalue the things that make up our consciousness and our values. Considering the source can be taxing work, as is all critical thinking and exploration, yet this work is always vital to do to ensure that we are getting this thing right, ya heard.
So what's this all about? It's about discerning the truth from the lies. It's not always easy to do, because some people make such a compelling argument, yet what they're trying to say is false. Don't ge taken under, kids, and that's the truth. Even the things you read here, I don't expect you to hold them to any standard, and certainly don't think word is bond.
To whoever deemed it necessary to tell me that my blogs are boring (and I know who you are):
Forgive me if this is boring, maybe in your reactionary world you like to devise solutions that are based on violence and curses, both of which are benchmarks for those who do not have the energy or the creativity to do otherwise.
You should LEARN how to discern what is the difference between intellect and stupidity. In other words, check yourself before you throw stones, because this house has a foundation, unlike yours, built on the sands of disinformation and ignorance.
Oh yah, and if my page is so boring, why do you keep coming back to read it?
The Voodoo has spoken, or do they not speak English in Dumbass?
V
Friday, June 22, 2001
Did you say $82.00?
What's next? square tomatoes? Oh we got those already.
Japanese technology kicks ass!
Voodoo
What's next? square tomatoes? Oh we got those already.
Japanese technology kicks ass!
Voodoo
The latest Voodoo search term
It's getting wackier, kids, and I have no idea how this is happening:
bengay football tv ads
WHAT? When did I ever use those as search terms to find me? Lord have mercy, I think it's funny, but kinda scary.
Vudu
It's getting wackier, kids, and I have no idea how this is happening:
bengay football tv ads
WHAT? When did I ever use those as search terms to find me? Lord have mercy, I think it's funny, but kinda scary.
Vudu
Attack with a Deadly Dog
Maybe you've heard a lot in the news lately about dogs and their attacks on people. First a woman gets attacked by two large dogs in her apartment complex, gets chomped and dies. Earlier, a man whose SUV was rear-ended got "bitten" by the dog's owner when he confronted her then he chucked the dog into traffic (he lied). Not too long ago, a little boy was severely mauled by three pit bulls and sustained catastrophic injuries. They're surprised he's still alive. But he might not make it.
It's more and more in the news, but in the City, there has been a drop in dog attacks on people.
But the ferocity of the attacks make it seem like dogs are just out to get people. Could it be, hm. They're fed up with how we've been treating them over the years, and this is a kind of uprising against their masters? Hm. Could it be, maybe, dog food just doesn't quite taste that good, so they're kinda pissed? Maybe it's my meat perfume. I'm making light of a serious situation, but some dog owners just beat their pups up so much that they don't know what to do with themselves when faced with newcomers. All that pent up angst unleashes (forgive the pun) itself upon an innocent.
I feel bad for the dogs, but likewise, I feel for the victims.
At any rate, blame the dogs for their rage, but their owners for not raising them right. But could we make that same argument with children and parents? If children act out are their parents ultimately responsible? Fight with me on this one, some just are bad seeds from the start, and some were taught by bigger badder seeds by the name of mommy and daddy.
Just a thought. Be nice to your pets. And most definitely to the kids.
Voodoo
Maybe you've heard a lot in the news lately about dogs and their attacks on people. First a woman gets attacked by two large dogs in her apartment complex, gets chomped and dies. Earlier, a man whose SUV was rear-ended got "bitten" by the dog's owner when he confronted her then he chucked the dog into traffic (he lied). Not too long ago, a little boy was severely mauled by three pit bulls and sustained catastrophic injuries. They're surprised he's still alive. But he might not make it.
It's more and more in the news, but in the City, there has been a drop in dog attacks on people.
But the ferocity of the attacks make it seem like dogs are just out to get people. Could it be, hm. They're fed up with how we've been treating them over the years, and this is a kind of uprising against their masters? Hm. Could it be, maybe, dog food just doesn't quite taste that good, so they're kinda pissed? Maybe it's my meat perfume. I'm making light of a serious situation, but some dog owners just beat their pups up so much that they don't know what to do with themselves when faced with newcomers. All that pent up angst unleashes (forgive the pun) itself upon an innocent.
I feel bad for the dogs, but likewise, I feel for the victims.
At any rate, blame the dogs for their rage, but their owners for not raising them right. But could we make that same argument with children and parents? If children act out are their parents ultimately responsible? Fight with me on this one, some just are bad seeds from the start, and some were taught by bigger badder seeds by the name of mommy and daddy.
Just a thought. Be nice to your pets. And most definitely to the kids.
Voodoo
Thursday, June 21, 2001
Insanity, Thy Name is Voodoo
Such a shame I managed to skip a whole day of writing. I have to admit that it's a little hectic around these parts.
Let me tell you a little bit about College Life...from the other side. You all know that I work for a MAJOR university...Go figure out which one...but right now it's summer, the supposed downtime for all university workers. There are no students, the administrators are all kind of laid back, skipping out early, etc.
That's a big fat lie.
Honestly though, at another university that shall not be named, summers were spent mad chillin', but here I'm working my butt off doing the things that make my job look relatively effortless. When I made the big move to my new job at a bigger better and sassier university, they actually make you work! ;-) All of this for a 25 % pay raise. I'm not complaining, at least I'm not bored.
The truth is, behind the scenes of any university is a haven of worker bees (much like your Voodoo) that work like mad to get your stuff done. There is also a lot of talk about students (yes, at a small private school your reputation DOES get around), and it's amazing how catty it can get. Your reputation can either get you things or get you roadblocked. And the funny thing is, we know who's who. The power that certain administrators have over things is incredible. Sometimes it does go to their head, and leave it to smart ass Voodoo to throw a wrench into that game.
The gossip flies here like blue bottle flies around a fresh piece of doody. I know who's kinky, who's got issues, who's got freaky nicknames, and who is doing who. My jaw is on the floor at some of these revelations. I'm shocked, and then I get over it. Then I smirk when I pass by. You like to do WHAT?
In summer, planning goes on constantly for programs, projects, etc. There is a lot of finagling of funds, jockeying for positions that can get downright ugly, and you might not know it, but your head is literally on the chopping block. Machinations of Machiavellian construct are at work, and while you're in class, daydreaming about that last piece of ass you wish you had, people are infighting over whether or not we get to spend this money for that, and who should get fired next.
It's a crazy world here, kids, and I know politics of all kinds exist at any organization, but seeing it from this end, and to see what kind of high powered shenanigans are ripping through offices is INTENSE to say the least. Learning to play the game is one thing, but suriving it is another.
More on that later...look busy, the boss is coming.
Voodoo
Such a shame I managed to skip a whole day of writing. I have to admit that it's a little hectic around these parts.
Let me tell you a little bit about College Life...from the other side. You all know that I work for a MAJOR university...Go figure out which one...but right now it's summer, the supposed downtime for all university workers. There are no students, the administrators are all kind of laid back, skipping out early, etc.
That's a big fat lie.
Honestly though, at another university that shall not be named, summers were spent mad chillin', but here I'm working my butt off doing the things that make my job look relatively effortless. When I made the big move to my new job at a bigger better and sassier university, they actually make you work! ;-) All of this for a 25 % pay raise. I'm not complaining, at least I'm not bored.
The truth is, behind the scenes of any university is a haven of worker bees (much like your Voodoo) that work like mad to get your stuff done. There is also a lot of talk about students (yes, at a small private school your reputation DOES get around), and it's amazing how catty it can get. Your reputation can either get you things or get you roadblocked. And the funny thing is, we know who's who. The power that certain administrators have over things is incredible. Sometimes it does go to their head, and leave it to smart ass Voodoo to throw a wrench into that game.
The gossip flies here like blue bottle flies around a fresh piece of doody. I know who's kinky, who's got issues, who's got freaky nicknames, and who is doing who. My jaw is on the floor at some of these revelations. I'm shocked, and then I get over it. Then I smirk when I pass by. You like to do WHAT?
In summer, planning goes on constantly for programs, projects, etc. There is a lot of finagling of funds, jockeying for positions that can get downright ugly, and you might not know it, but your head is literally on the chopping block. Machinations of Machiavellian construct are at work, and while you're in class, daydreaming about that last piece of ass you wish you had, people are infighting over whether or not we get to spend this money for that, and who should get fired next.
It's a crazy world here, kids, and I know politics of all kinds exist at any organization, but seeing it from this end, and to see what kind of high powered shenanigans are ripping through offices is INTENSE to say the least. Learning to play the game is one thing, but suriving it is another.
More on that later...look busy, the boss is coming.
Voodoo
Tuesday, June 19, 2001
Voodoo Kitty
No, not that kind, for heaven's sake!!!
A friend and I were sitting in friend's truck waiting to leave Voodoo Central, and I spied with my little eye, a stray cat jammin' across the street. I noticed that it had maybe something big in its mouf, and I watched it go. I got out of the truck and looked for it, as it did scamper away from me and into another neighboring yard. I was amazed that it would lug it something so big, so I figured it was one of its kittens. Lo, it scampered again in front of the truck and I stared at it, and...
It was a rat.
2/3 the size of the cat.
Then I started screaming, which got louder as said cat went towards my house. Yes, it went for the front door, and since I was across the street, I was convinced that I had left the front door open and it was going to bring Voodoo Child a little Voodoo Treat. I had to calm myself down, and friend, who was also spooked said that my Voodoo Central was now blessed by a gift. Gag me with a spoon, so the saying goes.
A few days later, I noticed Voodoo Kitty again coming from across the street towards Voodoo Central. I was terrified that it was harboring rat carcasses under my house, and I peered under the house to see if it was still there. No gaps, no rats. A sigh of relief. So where was it going? Apparently it was going between my house and the neighbor's house. The one with the three dogs, and I never heard them utter a woof in Voodoo Kitty's direction. I pondered and went on with my day. Then I went to my backyard and spied, with my Voodoo Eye, kittens in my backyard, with yes, Voodoo Kitty. She had kittens in my backyard, and it caused me somewhat of a stir because I didn't realize there was a gap inbetween our houses that she could fit there. As I stared from the stairs (note the alliteration) at the cat, she kind of glared at me as I believe I interrupted her quality time with her kittens. I brought down a dish of water for the Voodoo Kitty and family, and only one kitten remained behind as the others ran for safety in the houses' crack. I think it has to be the pathetic runt of the group since it just looks too "Man, I'm tired of this runnin' away shit" tired.
After work I went to check in on my brood and found that they were still there, hiding in the tall grasses, and the water was gone. Somewhat happy at the fact that someone or something benefited from my liquid donation, I refilled it for good measure. The sickly kitty stared at me and tried to scamper away, but instead just kinda hobbled a few feet then watched me from the safety of some tall weeds.
Last night, I could hear them mewing for something, but I wasn't sure what. I fell asleep to the sound of dogs barking, as they always do next door, and intermittent mewing. It was a little comforting to know that I'm not really alone.
I don't know what else to do, since I'm afraid of making them too comfy since I'm about to leave Voodoo Central for more humble digs, but I'll keep you posted on Voodoo Kitty and the Kittens. Who knows, I might have to make them apostles soon too.
Voodoo Mommy
No, not that kind, for heaven's sake!!!
A friend and I were sitting in friend's truck waiting to leave Voodoo Central, and I spied with my little eye, a stray cat jammin' across the street. I noticed that it had maybe something big in its mouf, and I watched it go. I got out of the truck and looked for it, as it did scamper away from me and into another neighboring yard. I was amazed that it would lug it something so big, so I figured it was one of its kittens. Lo, it scampered again in front of the truck and I stared at it, and...
It was a rat.
2/3 the size of the cat.
Then I started screaming, which got louder as said cat went towards my house. Yes, it went for the front door, and since I was across the street, I was convinced that I had left the front door open and it was going to bring Voodoo Child a little Voodoo Treat. I had to calm myself down, and friend, who was also spooked said that my Voodoo Central was now blessed by a gift. Gag me with a spoon, so the saying goes.
A few days later, I noticed Voodoo Kitty again coming from across the street towards Voodoo Central. I was terrified that it was harboring rat carcasses under my house, and I peered under the house to see if it was still there. No gaps, no rats. A sigh of relief. So where was it going? Apparently it was going between my house and the neighbor's house. The one with the three dogs, and I never heard them utter a woof in Voodoo Kitty's direction. I pondered and went on with my day. Then I went to my backyard and spied, with my Voodoo Eye, kittens in my backyard, with yes, Voodoo Kitty. She had kittens in my backyard, and it caused me somewhat of a stir because I didn't realize there was a gap inbetween our houses that she could fit there. As I stared from the stairs (note the alliteration) at the cat, she kind of glared at me as I believe I interrupted her quality time with her kittens. I brought down a dish of water for the Voodoo Kitty and family, and only one kitten remained behind as the others ran for safety in the houses' crack. I think it has to be the pathetic runt of the group since it just looks too "Man, I'm tired of this runnin' away shit" tired.
After work I went to check in on my brood and found that they were still there, hiding in the tall grasses, and the water was gone. Somewhat happy at the fact that someone or something benefited from my liquid donation, I refilled it for good measure. The sickly kitty stared at me and tried to scamper away, but instead just kinda hobbled a few feet then watched me from the safety of some tall weeds.
Last night, I could hear them mewing for something, but I wasn't sure what. I fell asleep to the sound of dogs barking, as they always do next door, and intermittent mewing. It was a little comforting to know that I'm not really alone.
I don't know what else to do, since I'm afraid of making them too comfy since I'm about to leave Voodoo Central for more humble digs, but I'll keep you posted on Voodoo Kitty and the Kittens. Who knows, I might have to make them apostles soon too.
Voodoo Mommy
Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Another Apostle is Made
I would like to announce the making of yet another apostle, and that would be The Wolf. I have known the Wolf since he was a cub, bright eyed and innocent. Now he has grown some fangs and some mighty paws, thus he becomes The Wolf. No longer innocent, he has been known to prey upon the hapless with a line or two. Shiver yer timbers, The Wolf joins the original Apostle (The Sexy Geek), Mista J, and Heavy Jumbo. Congratulations, The Wolf, now you can add that title to your business card.
I would also like to direct your attention to the Guest Book which is in dire need of some attention, so get your mouse and click, Children, and make it be known. Amuse me, for heaven's sake, I amuse you every freakin' day! j/k Every other.
Voodoo
I would like to announce the making of yet another apostle, and that would be The Wolf. I have known the Wolf since he was a cub, bright eyed and innocent. Now he has grown some fangs and some mighty paws, thus he becomes The Wolf. No longer innocent, he has been known to prey upon the hapless with a line or two. Shiver yer timbers, The Wolf joins the original Apostle (The Sexy Geek), Mista J, and Heavy Jumbo. Congratulations, The Wolf, now you can add that title to your business card.
I would also like to direct your attention to the Guest Book which is in dire need of some attention, so get your mouse and click, Children, and make it be known. Amuse me, for heaven's sake, I amuse you every freakin' day! j/k Every other.
Voodoo
I Find the Voodoo "Sensuous and Fake"
Before you get your pitchforks and flaming torches out, Children, above are the following terms used to seek out the Voodoo Child's blogspot...yes, I have been sought out by some interesting people. Here are a smattering of terms used to find me:
women are property, their masters
essay: What does getting and education mean
Palma Sutra
sensuous blog
identify prada fake
I am a Sensuous Blog.
Ya DIG?
Voodoo
Before you get your pitchforks and flaming torches out, Children, above are the following terms used to seek out the Voodoo Child's blogspot...yes, I have been sought out by some interesting people. Here are a smattering of terms used to find me:
women are property, their masters
essay: What does getting and education mean
Palma Sutra
sensuous blog
identify prada fake
I am a Sensuous Blog.
Ya DIG?
Voodoo
Monday, June 18, 2001
This one time...on a stranded desert island...
Ever since I graduated, it seems that my time and my energy have chilled out a little. Going to bed way earlier, not stressing so much, waking up in the morning feelin' aight. Oh yah, and watching TV. It seems that my TV viewing has declined considerably with the introduction of a dissertation and DVD player.
I watched Castaway last night with la Voodoo Familia. I love Tom Hanks. I am obsessed with him. Fat, skinny, afro or short, dude got it goin' on. I love his acting style, and his ice blue eyeballs, but enough of the delicacies.
I was recommended to watch this movie most recently by Husky Boy, the movie man that he is.When it came out the first time around, I was just too into my thang to pick up my head and see it. Such is life. I didn't know what to expect, other than I knew this dude had to get off the island. All movies end happily, don't they? Well, unless you watch Russian movies where you cry great big tears just because you're totally lost, but that's just me. At any rate, I settled in on the family couch and watched...
So, they didn't have to write too much dialogue now, did they.
I liked the movie a lot. It's the kind of flick that you carry around with you for the rest of your life and you wonder about the choices that you'll make, how they'll inevitably change the path you were once travelling. It's very cosmic that way. I was waiting for Wilson to snipe out a remark or two...I couldn't handle it, then me and Buff Bagwell went around making up dialogue throughout the movie. (when Wilson was thrown out and floating around, "Hey, bitch, I'm right here, I hope you drown!") I was surprised that when he got back he wasn't more of a mess, I mean four years of isolation, you're bound to not want to be around people anymore. Is there anything else that changed about him when he was there? He didn't go the least amount crazy? He didn't come back and see a volleyball game and just break into tears? He didn't opt to move to some small island to get away from it all?
The world is a loud, scary, annoying place. There are rules, codices, problems, too many things to name that pound away at our senses and our sanity. I couldn't imagine being alone all that time and then dealing with the noise of society. I would grab a volleyball and then find another volleyball so Wilson won't get lonely.So I'd have someone else to talk to. Some people, when they encounter a traumatic situation, are usually hard pressed to become normal again, whatever that may be. They come away with flashbacks, memories, pains, shattered expectations. The world does not stop for you, my dear, nor shall it for me. This is sometimes referred to as post-traumatic stress disorder. Many men and women commit suicide over it because the transition was too much, the change between the two too intense. Can you imagine if the life you live now changed 180 degrees and you came back, how fucked you would be?
I have learned thus: that we live moment to moment, not living fully in that moment to appreciate it. I tried to explain this to Secret Asian Man, but he didn't understand, but the true treasure of our existence is in our details, our minutae, and hold on to them for the moment, and then let it go. Holding onto things keeps us in one place too long, and you spend your life looking back and behind you. The future never comes, or it comes too late.
I would be a dead Albert Miller right now, with no shoes on, cause I don't know JACK about starting a fire, much less, feeding myself. Sorry, Chuck Noland, I would have eaten Coconut meat on DAY ONE. But that's just me.
I think I would have gone crazy without the ability to communicate my thoughts in writing. Had I not had a Wilson, or in my case, I'd probably have a Dildo as a talking partner, I'd probably go similarly crazy myself.
As always, random thoughts, ramblings and a mind, busy at work.
Appreciate this, for this will come, and it will go. And when it goes, something new will take its place.
To be appreciated, to be accepted, and to be let go.
The pain is NOT in what we have lost, but it is in the inability we have to let go.
Like the penguin in Fight Club says, "Slide."
Voodoo
Ever since I graduated, it seems that my time and my energy have chilled out a little. Going to bed way earlier, not stressing so much, waking up in the morning feelin' aight. Oh yah, and watching TV. It seems that my TV viewing has declined considerably with the introduction of a dissertation and DVD player.
I watched Castaway last night with la Voodoo Familia. I love Tom Hanks. I am obsessed with him. Fat, skinny, afro or short, dude got it goin' on. I love his acting style, and his ice blue eyeballs, but enough of the delicacies.
I was recommended to watch this movie most recently by Husky Boy, the movie man that he is.When it came out the first time around, I was just too into my thang to pick up my head and see it. Such is life. I didn't know what to expect, other than I knew this dude had to get off the island. All movies end happily, don't they? Well, unless you watch Russian movies where you cry great big tears just because you're totally lost, but that's just me. At any rate, I settled in on the family couch and watched...
So, they didn't have to write too much dialogue now, did they.
I liked the movie a lot. It's the kind of flick that you carry around with you for the rest of your life and you wonder about the choices that you'll make, how they'll inevitably change the path you were once travelling. It's very cosmic that way. I was waiting for Wilson to snipe out a remark or two...I couldn't handle it, then me and Buff Bagwell went around making up dialogue throughout the movie. (when Wilson was thrown out and floating around, "Hey, bitch, I'm right here, I hope you drown!") I was surprised that when he got back he wasn't more of a mess, I mean four years of isolation, you're bound to not want to be around people anymore. Is there anything else that changed about him when he was there? He didn't go the least amount crazy? He didn't come back and see a volleyball game and just break into tears? He didn't opt to move to some small island to get away from it all?
The world is a loud, scary, annoying place. There are rules, codices, problems, too many things to name that pound away at our senses and our sanity. I couldn't imagine being alone all that time and then dealing with the noise of society. I would grab a volleyball and then find another volleyball so Wilson won't get lonely.So I'd have someone else to talk to. Some people, when they encounter a traumatic situation, are usually hard pressed to become normal again, whatever that may be. They come away with flashbacks, memories, pains, shattered expectations. The world does not stop for you, my dear, nor shall it for me. This is sometimes referred to as post-traumatic stress disorder. Many men and women commit suicide over it because the transition was too much, the change between the two too intense. Can you imagine if the life you live now changed 180 degrees and you came back, how fucked you would be?
I have learned thus: that we live moment to moment, not living fully in that moment to appreciate it. I tried to explain this to Secret Asian Man, but he didn't understand, but the true treasure of our existence is in our details, our minutae, and hold on to them for the moment, and then let it go. Holding onto things keeps us in one place too long, and you spend your life looking back and behind you. The future never comes, or it comes too late.
I would be a dead Albert Miller right now, with no shoes on, cause I don't know JACK about starting a fire, much less, feeding myself. Sorry, Chuck Noland, I would have eaten Coconut meat on DAY ONE. But that's just me.
I think I would have gone crazy without the ability to communicate my thoughts in writing. Had I not had a Wilson, or in my case, I'd probably have a Dildo as a talking partner, I'd probably go similarly crazy myself.
As always, random thoughts, ramblings and a mind, busy at work.
Appreciate this, for this will come, and it will go. And when it goes, something new will take its place.
To be appreciated, to be accepted, and to be let go.
The pain is NOT in what we have lost, but it is in the inability we have to let go.
Like the penguin in Fight Club says, "Slide."
Voodoo
Sunday, June 17, 2001
Sunday AM
I usually don't blog on Sundays, and you know the reason...I'm pretty comatose and don't care much for talking to anyone, much less blog this early in the day. At any rate, I'm at work and I have to do some checking in with the LSATs that are going on here. Only two students, so it's not a big deal, but one of them is a bit challenging, shall we say, so you know how that is.
Today being Father's Day, I have acquired presents for Voodoo Dad, and he's going to be rockin' da house with his new karaoke machine. Buff Bagwell and I collaborated and got some dope CDs for him to drop some rhymes to. Filipino karaoke too, so knock your old white athletic socks off, pops, you deserve it. I think Buff Bagwell will be droppin' tunes too when no one's home. I'll have to come over and surprise him one day.
To all Fathers around the Voodoo Globe, thank you for all the hard work that you put into keepin' yo' chirrens clothed, fed and happy. It's not easy being a pops in a world that just doesn't honor parenthood in the first place, but I have a lot of respect for men who pull their weight with their kids. Whether or not you're living with your baby's mama or your other baby's mama, props to you. Handle your business like a man, cause any man can make a kid, but it takes a real man to be a Father. Even if you're taking care of someone else's kid, even more love to you. Today is a day that might bring you ugly ties, tacky gifts or drama with your baby's mama, it's the one day out of the year that Voodoo Babies and Mamas can say thanks.
Now go wash the car.
Love to the Fathers and the Mamas,
Voodoo
I usually don't blog on Sundays, and you know the reason...I'm pretty comatose and don't care much for talking to anyone, much less blog this early in the day. At any rate, I'm at work and I have to do some checking in with the LSATs that are going on here. Only two students, so it's not a big deal, but one of them is a bit challenging, shall we say, so you know how that is.
Today being Father's Day, I have acquired presents for Voodoo Dad, and he's going to be rockin' da house with his new karaoke machine. Buff Bagwell and I collaborated and got some dope CDs for him to drop some rhymes to. Filipino karaoke too, so knock your old white athletic socks off, pops, you deserve it. I think Buff Bagwell will be droppin' tunes too when no one's home. I'll have to come over and surprise him one day.
To all Fathers around the Voodoo Globe, thank you for all the hard work that you put into keepin' yo' chirrens clothed, fed and happy. It's not easy being a pops in a world that just doesn't honor parenthood in the first place, but I have a lot of respect for men who pull their weight with their kids. Whether or not you're living with your baby's mama or your other baby's mama, props to you. Handle your business like a man, cause any man can make a kid, but it takes a real man to be a Father. Even if you're taking care of someone else's kid, even more love to you. Today is a day that might bring you ugly ties, tacky gifts or drama with your baby's mama, it's the one day out of the year that Voodoo Babies and Mamas can say thanks.
Now go wash the car.
Love to the Fathers and the Mamas,
Voodoo
Saturday, June 16, 2001
Spanning the Globe.
Did any of you watch the 6th game of the...oh wait, who cares.
Baseball: some of you hate it, and some of you love it (like me). I was born and raised on baseball. I went to my first game when I was in the 3rd grade, accompanied by my music teacher and the rest of my class. Sr. Martha. Man, she was a GIANTs FAN's Fan. She knew players, got props regularly on TV and hooked us up with pen pals. Mine was John Montefusco. Ain't life grand? So I continue to go to games til today, and I haven't been able to go much because I moved away from the park and the park moved away from me. That sucks, but I'll take a day at the park anyday. Especially if anyday involves work.
Football: So Jerry Rice went to the Raiders. I like the Raiders' gumption and their fans are semi-psychotic. I say, let the brother play, he's been wanting some time for a while now, but we all know his knee ain't 100%, but he's got skills. The story goes a little like this: Jerry Rice would lead most to believe that he was a perfect kid, since he seems the perfect guy in this time of life. Of course, there never seems to be the "perfect" child. Back in tenth grade, Jerry did something we all did once in our lives. He played hooky. And he did it often. He hid behind the school and always got away with skipping school, until one day the principal was going on a campus sweep when he caught Jerry behind the building. Jerry was startled at the nearing footsteps of the principal, and the little tenth grader ran as fast as he could. He got away from the principal that day, running so fast that only a blur could be seen. Jerry's next school day was not so good. He got a trip to the principal's office and a whipping. He also got a mandate to join the school's football team, because the principal never saw such a kid run so fast (Rice and Silver 23). This incident started Jerry's whole career in football. You interested in this? Read more here. Props to anyone who can write a full essay on Jerry Rice.
Soccer: I didn't appreciate soccer until I had a talk with someone who we called "Jello." He sat me down, and explained the wings, the goalie, the mid-fielders. Now I am not 100% soccer crazy, but I love watching games, and I spent some time in Spain watching soccer. Did I mention soccer dudes are kinda hot? No? Well they are.
Golf: Okay, Husky Boy, when you going to take me out to hit a few balls? I like golf only because I find it amusing. I once had lunch at Lincoln Park and watched some regular schmoes struggle with keeping the ball on the green. I admire the pros who can do it in 3 strokes, but I think watching normal guys play is the best.
Tennis: Not much of a fan ever since I figured I can't get rid of my baseball swing.
Wrestling: I keep watching to see if these actors slip up their lines, and to my surprise, they have yet to do it live.
Other sports? They're out there. But since I lost my ESPN, I'm quite distressed.
I remain,
Voodoo
Did any of you watch the 6th game of the...oh wait, who cares.
Baseball: some of you hate it, and some of you love it (like me). I was born and raised on baseball. I went to my first game when I was in the 3rd grade, accompanied by my music teacher and the rest of my class. Sr. Martha. Man, she was a GIANTs FAN's Fan. She knew players, got props regularly on TV and hooked us up with pen pals. Mine was John Montefusco. Ain't life grand? So I continue to go to games til today, and I haven't been able to go much because I moved away from the park and the park moved away from me. That sucks, but I'll take a day at the park anyday. Especially if anyday involves work.
Football: So Jerry Rice went to the Raiders. I like the Raiders' gumption and their fans are semi-psychotic. I say, let the brother play, he's been wanting some time for a while now, but we all know his knee ain't 100%, but he's got skills. The story goes a little like this: Jerry Rice would lead most to believe that he was a perfect kid, since he seems the perfect guy in this time of life. Of course, there never seems to be the "perfect" child. Back in tenth grade, Jerry did something we all did once in our lives. He played hooky. And he did it often. He hid behind the school and always got away with skipping school, until one day the principal was going on a campus sweep when he caught Jerry behind the building. Jerry was startled at the nearing footsteps of the principal, and the little tenth grader ran as fast as he could. He got away from the principal that day, running so fast that only a blur could be seen. Jerry's next school day was not so good. He got a trip to the principal's office and a whipping. He also got a mandate to join the school's football team, because the principal never saw such a kid run so fast (Rice and Silver 23). This incident started Jerry's whole career in football. You interested in this? Read more here. Props to anyone who can write a full essay on Jerry Rice.
Soccer: I didn't appreciate soccer until I had a talk with someone who we called "Jello." He sat me down, and explained the wings, the goalie, the mid-fielders. Now I am not 100% soccer crazy, but I love watching games, and I spent some time in Spain watching soccer. Did I mention soccer dudes are kinda hot? No? Well they are.
Golf: Okay, Husky Boy, when you going to take me out to hit a few balls? I like golf only because I find it amusing. I once had lunch at Lincoln Park and watched some regular schmoes struggle with keeping the ball on the green. I admire the pros who can do it in 3 strokes, but I think watching normal guys play is the best.
Tennis: Not much of a fan ever since I figured I can't get rid of my baseball swing.
Wrestling: I keep watching to see if these actors slip up their lines, and to my surprise, they have yet to do it live.
Other sports? They're out there. But since I lost my ESPN, I'm quite distressed.
I remain,
Voodoo
Friday, June 15, 2001
San Francisco Spring With NO Fog!
One of the best things about San Francisco is its beautiful weather...when there is no fog. Mind you, there are hardly any days when it gets 90 degrees sweltery, it doesn't snow, and it usually hovers around 55-68 degrees throughout the year. You never know what you're going to get, so layer, layer, layer.
My office has no window. It has no ventilation.
Sometimes I will not go outside all day. Hence my chalky appearance.
I am Island Child, must...have...sun.
I took care of that today. The beach, as promised, was beautiful. Not too crowded, but there was a school there, and the kids were screamin' and hollerin' splashin' around in the water. I moved away from that group so as to avoid drama. A few of them ran past me later on in the day, and then they started saying, "ooh, that's gross," "No way!" Etc. Sad to say, I'm pretty used to hearing those things directed to me, but this time, it wasn't for me, it was for THE NAKED MAN.
I went to Baker Beach, and the beach is naturalist-friendly (that's a new agey world for people who like to flop around). Sure enough, I sat up and looked to my right and there was the man, who most people who walked in his general direction, was referred to as "the Naked Man." Tall, scrawny, very orangy-tanned, receding hairline, and ugly. Why is it that we always don't mind nudity, but the nudity we get are people like The Naked Man. Ew. Saggy balls.
Returning to more brownness, I brought a book called Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. This guy likes to say Cunt, Pussy and Fuck. It's a good book, actually, and it's quite hilarious, but nothing you want to leave around, because it is one of those racy erotic books that might raise eyebrows. Got about halfway through. Three hours in the sun will do that to you. Other than that, things went really well, lots of good sun, lots of cute guys, enough of a breeze to even out the heat (it was around 75 degrees) and every now and then some spray would hit you like a sneeze in the wind.
But my bikini was on kinda crooked. My tan line isn't quite, shall we say symmetrical. One twin is more brown than the other. Tsk tsk. I had a hard time with my bikini top, and I wound up adjusting it over and over. Then I realized that I hardly ever lay out on the beach in SF. This is one of just handful of times that I've done so. Thinking about it, the last time I was at a beach to get some sun was just last month in Barcelona. And the time before that? France. How luxurious does that sound? Well, that's about once a year for two years. And both of those times, I didn't even wear a top. Hrm. SF is not really a sun town, and when it is, I'm trapped in my windowless, airless box of an office. When I get out, I have a crooked tan. Gr-freakin'-eat.
It should last for about a week, this weather, then, like clockwork, the fog that creeps in on tiny cat feet will once again shroud the City in its embrace. Not that I don't like it, but the sun is something else to behold.
Down for the brown,
Voodoo
One of the best things about San Francisco is its beautiful weather...when there is no fog. Mind you, there are hardly any days when it gets 90 degrees sweltery, it doesn't snow, and it usually hovers around 55-68 degrees throughout the year. You never know what you're going to get, so layer, layer, layer.
My office has no window. It has no ventilation.
Sometimes I will not go outside all day. Hence my chalky appearance.
I am Island Child, must...have...sun.
I took care of that today. The beach, as promised, was beautiful. Not too crowded, but there was a school there, and the kids were screamin' and hollerin' splashin' around in the water. I moved away from that group so as to avoid drama. A few of them ran past me later on in the day, and then they started saying, "ooh, that's gross," "No way!" Etc. Sad to say, I'm pretty used to hearing those things directed to me, but this time, it wasn't for me, it was for THE NAKED MAN.
I went to Baker Beach, and the beach is naturalist-friendly (that's a new agey world for people who like to flop around). Sure enough, I sat up and looked to my right and there was the man, who most people who walked in his general direction, was referred to as "the Naked Man." Tall, scrawny, very orangy-tanned, receding hairline, and ugly. Why is it that we always don't mind nudity, but the nudity we get are people like The Naked Man. Ew. Saggy balls.
Returning to more brownness, I brought a book called Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. This guy likes to say Cunt, Pussy and Fuck. It's a good book, actually, and it's quite hilarious, but nothing you want to leave around, because it is one of those racy erotic books that might raise eyebrows. Got about halfway through. Three hours in the sun will do that to you. Other than that, things went really well, lots of good sun, lots of cute guys, enough of a breeze to even out the heat (it was around 75 degrees) and every now and then some spray would hit you like a sneeze in the wind.
But my bikini was on kinda crooked. My tan line isn't quite, shall we say symmetrical. One twin is more brown than the other. Tsk tsk. I had a hard time with my bikini top, and I wound up adjusting it over and over. Then I realized that I hardly ever lay out on the beach in SF. This is one of just handful of times that I've done so. Thinking about it, the last time I was at a beach to get some sun was just last month in Barcelona. And the time before that? France. How luxurious does that sound? Well, that's about once a year for two years. And both of those times, I didn't even wear a top. Hrm. SF is not really a sun town, and when it is, I'm trapped in my windowless, airless box of an office. When I get out, I have a crooked tan. Gr-freakin'-eat.
It should last for about a week, this weather, then, like clockwork, the fog that creeps in on tiny cat feet will once again shroud the City in its embrace. Not that I don't like it, but the sun is something else to behold.
Down for the brown,
Voodoo
I AM
Saying "I Am" is a very powerful statement. Not only is it a declaration of what we are, it is creation of the self and utterance of the highest order as we call ourselves into being. At its simplest form, "I Am" is an affirmation of our existence, and the purest sense of self-definition, lacking the need for labeling and the rigid confines that are imposed by the larger society and our own beliefs of what our limitations are.
For our Beings are infinite in their possibilities and potential
They surpass even our wildest dreams
And reality.
Simply stated,
I Am,
Ako,
Soy,
Je suis,
Ich bin,
Sum,
Estic,
Jas sum,
Is all that you need to know.
5000,
Voodoo to the playa.
Saying "I Am" is a very powerful statement. Not only is it a declaration of what we are, it is creation of the self and utterance of the highest order as we call ourselves into being. At its simplest form, "I Am" is an affirmation of our existence, and the purest sense of self-definition, lacking the need for labeling and the rigid confines that are imposed by the larger society and our own beliefs of what our limitations are.
For our Beings are infinite in their possibilities and potential
They surpass even our wildest dreams
And reality.
Simply stated,
I Am,
Ako,
Soy,
Je suis,
Ich bin,
Sum,
Estic,
Jas sum,
Is all that you need to know.
5000,
Voodoo to the playa.
How to make Voodoo happy
I got into work this morning, and there were three guys outside my door waiting to get in to do some work. I was going to come in late today, but luckily I got up for my 5AM ritual and here I am. Cute guys. I'm so fresh and so clean clean, fresh from the gym. Luckily I look decent.
I put on some music for them to do their thang, and happily they enjoyed what I chose, and they were chillin' particularly when I dropped some Tupac for them. I smiled as they rapped away and changed the bulbs in the Center. It's a beautiful day outside, no one is on campus, and I'm about to call it a day at 9:30AM.
My bikini, towel and other good things are in the trunk of my car. I think I'm going to go to the beach, god willing that we keep our 77 degrees predicted for today.
Enjoy your weekend, childrens, and take care,
Voodoo
I got into work this morning, and there were three guys outside my door waiting to get in to do some work. I was going to come in late today, but luckily I got up for my 5AM ritual and here I am. Cute guys. I'm so fresh and so clean clean, fresh from the gym. Luckily I look decent.
I put on some music for them to do their thang, and happily they enjoyed what I chose, and they were chillin' particularly when I dropped some Tupac for them. I smiled as they rapped away and changed the bulbs in the Center. It's a beautiful day outside, no one is on campus, and I'm about to call it a day at 9:30AM.
My bikini, towel and other good things are in the trunk of my car. I think I'm going to go to the beach, god willing that we keep our 77 degrees predicted for today.
Enjoy your weekend, childrens, and take care,
Voodoo
Thursday, June 14, 2001
Creativity
I got in trouble as a child a lot. I know it's hard to believe, but this righteous woman has always learned to test boundaries where they were most uncomfortable. This is what earned me the title of "creative." I wasn't able to do many of the things in a rote kind of way, instead, I was also seeking the new and improved way to do it, and if it failed, it was because it was time to try something else, and more often than not, I did. Yes it did cause some difficult moments where I had to call my parents and tell them what trouble I was in today or detention for fighting, that kind of thing.
It is the spirit of creativity and thinking differently that has gotten many other people in trouble. Thinking out of the box is nothing that is readily accepted in many cultures, including American culture, but it is this very thinking that needs to be a part of the educational system. Multiculturalism, or the acknowledgment of other cultures in their contribution to our way of being today, is something that has encountered much opposition from educators and politicos alike because it asks that you look at the multiplicities of the world around us. We cannot assume that everyone else sees the world just like we do, nor can we assume that we are right. We, that large pronoun, are hardly ever right in its absolute.
So I challenge you today to peep some things going on, question its source, question the reasons behind what you are peeping and check your own values and how they tint the way we see things.
Think of your values and experiences as a pair of glasses, and then ask how it affects our way of seeing the world. Creativity, or seeing the world differently, exists everyday and in every way is the reason why the world is not such a terrible place.
Voodoo
I got in trouble as a child a lot. I know it's hard to believe, but this righteous woman has always learned to test boundaries where they were most uncomfortable. This is what earned me the title of "creative." I wasn't able to do many of the things in a rote kind of way, instead, I was also seeking the new and improved way to do it, and if it failed, it was because it was time to try something else, and more often than not, I did. Yes it did cause some difficult moments where I had to call my parents and tell them what trouble I was in today or detention for fighting, that kind of thing.
It is the spirit of creativity and thinking differently that has gotten many other people in trouble. Thinking out of the box is nothing that is readily accepted in many cultures, including American culture, but it is this very thinking that needs to be a part of the educational system. Multiculturalism, or the acknowledgment of other cultures in their contribution to our way of being today, is something that has encountered much opposition from educators and politicos alike because it asks that you look at the multiplicities of the world around us. We cannot assume that everyone else sees the world just like we do, nor can we assume that we are right. We, that large pronoun, are hardly ever right in its absolute.
So I challenge you today to peep some things going on, question its source, question the reasons behind what you are peeping and check your own values and how they tint the way we see things.
Think of your values and experiences as a pair of glasses, and then ask how it affects our way of seeing the world. Creativity, or seeing the world differently, exists everyday and in every way is the reason why the world is not such a terrible place.
Voodoo
Wednesday, June 13, 2001
And the LIE is.....
Okay okay, I've been fielding IM's all day regarding the Lie...I totally forgot to reveal the answer, but that's life, I'm very forgetful that way.
#1 was actually real. I went to a party a while ago and met a man who just had to have my boots kicking his uvula. Not my kinda action, but he made sure to give me his number just in case I changed my mind.
#3 happened to me just last year. Earlier that year, another student asked me how trees had sex. Don't ask.
#2 is the LIE. Well, the truth is, my friends, he didn't wake up and beg me to not tell anyone. He never knew I spied with my little eye something that starts with the letter JACKOFF. It was quite embarassing, and never told anyone about it until now. I doubt he reads my page (if he does, oh boy, I am in trouble). So yah, it was a truth slash lie, and that's how the game is played, my precious little Voodoo Babies.
I would like to welcome to my sidebar THE BOY WONDER. He just started his blog, and I'm quite proud of the little bugger. Stop in and check in on a brother, will you?
I would also like to welcome my NY, MA, D. of C., and VA readers, and also my .edu readers. Yes, my children, allow me to infiltrate your young fertile minds and turn you into Voodoo Babies. Click and be saved, little ones. Okay, back to the Laker/Sixer game....
GO SIXERS,
Voodoo
Okay okay, I've been fielding IM's all day regarding the Lie...I totally forgot to reveal the answer, but that's life, I'm very forgetful that way.
#1 was actually real. I went to a party a while ago and met a man who just had to have my boots kicking his uvula. Not my kinda action, but he made sure to give me his number just in case I changed my mind.
#3 happened to me just last year. Earlier that year, another student asked me how trees had sex. Don't ask.
#2 is the LIE. Well, the truth is, my friends, he didn't wake up and beg me to not tell anyone. He never knew I spied with my little eye something that starts with the letter JACKOFF. It was quite embarassing, and never told anyone about it until now. I doubt he reads my page (if he does, oh boy, I am in trouble). So yah, it was a truth slash lie, and that's how the game is played, my precious little Voodoo Babies.
I would like to welcome to my sidebar THE BOY WONDER. He just started his blog, and I'm quite proud of the little bugger.
I would also like to welcome my NY, MA, D. of C., and VA readers, and also my .edu readers. Yes, my children, allow me to infiltrate your young fertile minds and turn you into Voodoo Babies. Click and be saved, little ones. Okay, back to the Laker/Sixer game....
GO SIXERS,
Voodoo
Heavy Jumbo Has Too Much TIME on His Hands
God love you, Mista H.J., but I don't need a how to guide!
For those who aspire to whoredom, read on...
Voodoo
God love you, Mista H.J., but I don't need a how to guide!
For those who aspire to whoredom, read on...
Voodoo
So technical....Point of Clarification for 2 Truths and 1 Lie...
Enjoy.
Voodoo
- These things did NOT happen recently, but may have accurred in the recent past.
- He was not up and wacking off, he was under a blanket.
- I will NOT tell you who was wacking off, who needed tampon directions or who wanted to lick my boots.
- Names are withheld because I like my webpage and don't want to get sued.
- Bribes are accepted for finding out what the real answers are.
- Bribes will also get you the phone number of the sweaty man, the jackin' off bro, or the tampon girl. j/k
Enjoy.
Voodoo
Tuesday, June 12, 2001
2 Truths and a Lie
You've played this game before, now it's made it's way onto Voodoo Land...I think I'm going to make this a regular feature online...Shall we begin? Don't forget to vote for your choice...
Lick my boots, ya hairy fat man. I went to a party that was heavily populated with S&M types. There were some people in the corner doing a scene, which basically meant that someone was whipping the shit outta someone else. People weren't gathered around, more like they kinda looked up from their drinks and then moved on. It's an S&M party, so go figure that no one really thinks it's outta place. A man comes up to me, and admires my foot gear. And what person couldn't? I'm so impeccably dressed these days...He asks me if I would do the honor of walking on his back with my heels on. And then after I was done, I was to put on my boots, and he would lick them clean. Now, you haven't seen my boots in those days, these were my club boots, and they get pretty dirty, and I thought about it...Entertaining, for sure! It didn't happen. The follow through, but he did beg (cause I told him to) like a little puppy until I finally kicked him away. Literally.
Take off your pants and jacket. I walked in on a friend, who shall remain nameless, jacking off. Okay, maybe he wasn't jacking off, but he was definitely strokin' da meatus. He was covered by a blanket, but you could detect an up and down motion under the blankie. It was a sleepover kinda thing with friends, and I was awake early, padding around in my sockfeets, and I encountered said friend. I stopped in my tracks, started to laugh, but his eyes were closed, and I wasn't sure if he would wake up and I didn't want to make a scene, cause you know me.;-) Plus I didn't want to break on his flow, you know how that is, fellas. I tiptoed back, and started cracking the fuck UP and then he woke up and saw me. He panicked and then begged me to never mention it to any of my friends who were asleep not too far away from where he was. I felt bad for him and his masturbatory fetish. This incident repeated itself more recently with someone who shall remain unnamed. Guys, watch what you do in your sleep, will ya? If you're dreaming about me, it's all good. Fire away.
And this is where you PUT the tampon. I have a lot of students who are first in their family to go to college, and many of those students are immigrants, having come to the US when they were Jrs or Srs in high school. One day, one of my students came up to me and asked me if I had any feminine products. Boys, if you have to ask me what that is, go ask your girlfriends. Anyways, I produced the standard two inch thick cotton PAD from hell. She looked at it like I was crazy. I offered her a tampon. How about one of these? She was puzzled. I figured that she didn't know how to use one. I had to show her how to open, insert and then really insert the tampon. Open legs, blah blah blah. It was kind of embarassing for her, but she thanked me and then asked for a new tampon. No, I didn't SHOW HER, SHOW HER. Jesus H. Christ!
Now vote for the one that is a lie, and state why you think it's a lie...
The Lie will be revealed tomorrow at 4:30PM PST....Come on, show me how SMART you are.
Voodoo
You've played this game before, now it's made it's way onto Voodoo Land...I think I'm going to make this a regular feature online...Shall we begin? Don't forget to vote for your choice...
Lick my boots, ya hairy fat man. I went to a party that was heavily populated with S&M types. There were some people in the corner doing a scene, which basically meant that someone was whipping the shit outta someone else. People weren't gathered around, more like they kinda looked up from their drinks and then moved on. It's an S&M party, so go figure that no one really thinks it's outta place. A man comes up to me, and admires my foot gear. And what person couldn't? I'm so impeccably dressed these days...He asks me if I would do the honor of walking on his back with my heels on. And then after I was done, I was to put on my boots, and he would lick them clean. Now, you haven't seen my boots in those days, these were my club boots, and they get pretty dirty, and I thought about it...Entertaining, for sure! It didn't happen. The follow through, but he did beg (cause I told him to) like a little puppy until I finally kicked him away. Literally.
Take off your pants and jacket. I walked in on a friend, who shall remain nameless, jacking off. Okay, maybe he wasn't jacking off, but he was definitely strokin' da meatus. He was covered by a blanket, but you could detect an up and down motion under the blankie. It was a sleepover kinda thing with friends, and I was awake early, padding around in my sockfeets, and I encountered said friend. I stopped in my tracks, started to laugh, but his eyes were closed, and I wasn't sure if he would wake up and I didn't want to make a scene, cause you know me.;-) Plus I didn't want to break on his flow, you know how that is, fellas. I tiptoed back, and started cracking the fuck UP and then he woke up and saw me. He panicked and then begged me to never mention it to any of my friends who were asleep not too far away from where he was. I felt bad for him and his masturbatory fetish. This incident repeated itself more recently with someone who shall remain unnamed. Guys, watch what you do in your sleep, will ya? If you're dreaming about me, it's all good. Fire away.
And this is where you PUT the tampon. I have a lot of students who are first in their family to go to college, and many of those students are immigrants, having come to the US when they were Jrs or Srs in high school. One day, one of my students came up to me and asked me if I had any feminine products. Boys, if you have to ask me what that is, go ask your girlfriends. Anyways, I produced the standard two inch thick cotton PAD from hell. She looked at it like I was crazy. I offered her a tampon. How about one of these? She was puzzled. I figured that she didn't know how to use one. I had to show her how to open, insert and then really insert the tampon. Open legs, blah blah blah. It was kind of embarassing for her, but she thanked me and then asked for a new tampon. No, I didn't SHOW HER, SHOW HER. Jesus H. Christ!
Now vote for the one that is a lie, and state why you think it's a lie...
The Lie will be revealed tomorrow at 4:30PM PST....Come on, show me how SMART you are.
Voodoo
Voodoo SUPAAAAAAAAAAAASTAR
Okay, this will be brief, so hold your applause until later, my children. I, your Voodoo Mistress of the Dark and Sometimes with the Lights On Because I Like the Way You Scrunch Your Face, will be one of the featured authors in a textbook that is coming out within the next year. I will have some of my design work and literacy work featured in a text that will be used with teachers around the world.
I'm freakin' baaaaaaaad. I don't stand to make any money from it, but I'll just take the applause. You would think that I could share this with someone, but as life would have it, I'm telling YOU. And that's all that matters.
But while we're on the topic, I had an interesting conversations with the Doctors this weekend. At our Weekend Summit of Beautiful Women held at the Mansion, we discussed our reasons for not telling the men we were attempting it spawn with about our degrees. Not that I have attempted to spawn, I've just about given up, but in our encounters with certain people, we don't tell them. Some men have been somewhat intimidated ("Oh, wow, I just finished eighth grade", "Well, you're only 14, dear.") Some men have been nervous ("Um, you're smarter than me, so I better keep my mouth shut." [note: someone actually said that to me. Eric, you ass, you're so busted.] "Well, it's probably for the best.").
YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, GOODBYE!
At any rate, childrens, would we, the Doctors, in fact, be disempowering ourselves by not allowing that our successes be revealed? What do you think...I could contend yes. I try to let everyone within two feet know. Hey you, homeless guy, I'm a doctor. No, I won't look at your sores. But I can write about it. I don't normally quote biblical parables unless I'm drunk and on top of a bar, but hiding your light under a bushel is denying the gifts that God/Goddess/Buddha/Allah/VoodooChild gave you. So who are you serving?
It's sad that some of us have chosen to hide that part of us, and humility can be a factor. But why hide it for fear of hurting someone else? Why hide it for fear of denying ourselves of love? I would not want someone in my life who would feel threatened by such a degree. When we wake up in bed after a wild night of..oh wait, I get carried away sometimes, it's just me, nothing more, nothing less, degree or no degree, it's nothing special. It is special, but not something that I feel I have to hide. Not something that I ever will.
So I would caution you to do the same. There are secrets we choose to keep from others, but our matters of pride we can share, not boastful or loudly. I recently found out a colleague of mine claiming that he received his doctorate and put it on an application. Well, buddy, not according to my records...Earn your shit, then claim your shit.
Cause the Voodoo said so.
Peas kids...
Okay, this will be brief, so hold your applause until later, my children. I, your Voodoo Mistress of the Dark and Sometimes with the Lights On Because I Like the Way You Scrunch Your Face, will be one of the featured authors in a textbook that is coming out within the next year. I will have some of my design work and literacy work featured in a text that will be used with teachers around the world.
I'm freakin' baaaaaaaad. I don't stand to make any money from it, but I'll just take the applause. You would think that I could share this with someone, but as life would have it, I'm telling YOU. And that's all that matters.
But while we're on the topic, I had an interesting conversations with the Doctors this weekend. At our Weekend Summit of Beautiful Women held at the Mansion, we discussed our reasons for not telling the men we were attempting it spawn with about our degrees. Not that I have attempted to spawn, I've just about given up, but in our encounters with certain people, we don't tell them. Some men have been somewhat intimidated ("Oh, wow, I just finished eighth grade", "Well, you're only 14, dear.") Some men have been nervous ("Um, you're smarter than me, so I better keep my mouth shut." [note: someone actually said that to me. Eric, you ass, you're so busted.] "Well, it's probably for the best.").
YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, GOODBYE!
At any rate, childrens, would we, the Doctors, in fact, be disempowering ourselves by not allowing that our successes be revealed? What do you think...I could contend yes. I try to let everyone within two feet know. Hey you, homeless guy, I'm a doctor. No, I won't look at your sores. But I can write about it. I don't normally quote biblical parables unless I'm drunk and on top of a bar, but hiding your light under a bushel is denying the gifts that God/Goddess/Buddha/Allah/VoodooChild gave you. So who are you serving?
It's sad that some of us have chosen to hide that part of us, and humility can be a factor. But why hide it for fear of hurting someone else? Why hide it for fear of denying ourselves of love? I would not want someone in my life who would feel threatened by such a degree. When we wake up in bed after a wild night of..oh wait, I get carried away sometimes, it's just me, nothing more, nothing less, degree or no degree, it's nothing special. It is special, but not something that I feel I have to hide. Not something that I ever will.
So I would caution you to do the same. There are secrets we choose to keep from others, but our matters of pride we can share, not boastful or loudly. I recently found out a colleague of mine claiming that he received his doctorate and put it on an application. Well, buddy, not according to my records...Earn your shit, then claim your shit.
Cause the Voodoo said so.
Peas kids...
Future Lawyers Shudder Under My Thumb
First of all, I want to thank all of the Voodoo Babies who've come out to support me. I've hired on quite a few of you Childrens to get my back during the Law Schools Admissions Test administration to actually do the tests, lay the smack down, and as my homie El Rey de Salsa told me, swing the Homie Be Good stick.
The future lawyers of America can be some testy little weasels, my friends, and I honestly have had some very funkdafied experiences supervising tests. It's not easy work, but it can be easy...Depends on who you get. People break down into tears. People get up and walk out of the test after cancelling scores because they can't do it. After one section. People panic. Write too loud. Think out loud. It's hot. It's cold.
So sue me.
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY AND TAKE THE FREAKIN' TEST!
Ahem. There are five minutes remaining.
I've always liked giving the tests because you can work and get paid for doing close to nothing. You can kick back for a few hours and get your ends together. Study, read magazines, write letters, masturbate. Who knows, it's up to you. Everyone's so stressed out, sometimes you get to ease their pains by having fun with them, making light of a situation and laugh a little with them. Most of my administrations have been painless, but sometimes there's that ONE person you just want to AXE with a 15 inch rubber dildo.
The test lasts for about 4.5 hours, depends on how fast you can get through the text, and how fast your homies can bubble in the sheets. I've looked at their tests, it's hard. It's not fun. They won't be bubblin' all that fast. Then there's the writing sample. It's usually some inocuous question that, rumor has it, the law schools don't even read. Now how fun is that. "Write this. Like WE CARE!" You can kick ass on your essay, like it matters. Tsk Tsk. Bad LSAT.
The incredible amount of power that is given to supervisors is kinda funny. You can't really deviate from the script, but you can if it's appropriate. But you can literally take away someone's law school dreams like THAT. If someone is actin' up. VERBAL WARNING. Put your pencils down, you snot. Still keeps writing. Write them up. Like an LSAT ticket. Yes officer, I was writing past the limit. Tsk Tsk. Next warning, give 'em a boot. It all gets reported to your law school, tykes. Kiss my shoe.
Fun ain't it. The next one isn't for a few months, and each LSAT crew is different. I had a good group this time around, hopefully they'll come back, but you kno--IS THAT A BEEPING WATCH? GIVE THAT TO ME!!!
Voodoo
First of all, I want to thank all of the Voodoo Babies who've come out to support me. I've hired on quite a few of you Childrens to get my back during the Law Schools Admissions Test administration to actually do the tests, lay the smack down, and as my homie El Rey de Salsa told me, swing the Homie Be Good stick.
The future lawyers of America can be some testy little weasels, my friends, and I honestly have had some very funkdafied experiences supervising tests. It's not easy work, but it can be easy...Depends on who you get. People break down into tears. People get up and walk out of the test after cancelling scores because they can't do it. After one section. People panic. Write too loud. Think out loud. It's hot. It's cold.
So sue me.
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY AND TAKE THE FREAKIN' TEST!
Ahem. There are five minutes remaining.
I've always liked giving the tests because you can work and get paid for doing close to nothing. You can kick back for a few hours and get your ends together. Study, read magazines, write letters, masturbate. Who knows, it's up to you. Everyone's so stressed out, sometimes you get to ease their pains by having fun with them, making light of a situation and laugh a little with them. Most of my administrations have been painless, but sometimes there's that ONE person you just want to AXE with a 15 inch rubber dildo.
The test lasts for about 4.5 hours, depends on how fast you can get through the text, and how fast your homies can bubble in the sheets. I've looked at their tests, it's hard. It's not fun. They won't be bubblin' all that fast. Then there's the writing sample. It's usually some inocuous question that, rumor has it, the law schools don't even read. Now how fun is that. "Write this. Like WE CARE!" You can kick ass on your essay, like it matters. Tsk Tsk. Bad LSAT.
The incredible amount of power that is given to supervisors is kinda funny. You can't really deviate from the script, but you can if it's appropriate. But you can literally take away someone's law school dreams like THAT. If someone is actin' up. VERBAL WARNING. Put your pencils down, you snot. Still keeps writing. Write them up. Like an LSAT ticket. Yes officer, I was writing past the limit. Tsk Tsk. Next warning, give 'em a boot. It all gets reported to your law school, tykes. Kiss my shoe.
Fun ain't it. The next one isn't for a few months, and each LSAT crew is different. I had a good group this time around, hopefully they'll come back, but you kno--IS THAT A BEEPING WATCH? GIVE THAT TO ME!!!
Voodoo
Monday, June 11, 2001
Voodoo Babies Need Not Apply
Hey, I saw your mom the other day...
How funny is this? It's funny how they ask you to put your OWN picture online. Now really, folks, would you submit your picture online to something called "uglypeople.com"? I think not.
Better not see you there. I hope!
Voodoo
Hey, I saw your mom the other day...
How funny is this? It's funny how they ask you to put your OWN picture online. Now really, folks, would you submit your picture online to something called "uglypeople.com"? I think not.
Better not see you there. I hope!
Voodoo
Notes from the Weekend
Allo, mes amis. The Voodoo has had quite a busy weekend. The Voodoo Doctors got together for a summit at the mansion. Four single women, all chillin' in the crib. How cool is that. We got together on Friday with the intent on doing some work, but hell, we did other kinda work, just mackin' and hangin', ya heard. We had to talk about some pressing issues in our lives, and I can't tell you any of that because I would have to kill you. (Men, balancing professional life and personal life, good books, meditation, what to do with our free time, and prepare to die).
And one of the things we talked about were soulmates.
Many people think of soulmates as a person you spend the rest of your life with. The soulmate is your Significant Other, you know, Babies, the one who you're destined to meet at any point of the globe, at any given day and time. It's like a cosmic get together, the bells go off, the birds start singing and the earth shakes (if you're in San Francisco, this happens every single day, so don't get thrilled, Frisco Babies). It's deeper than Love, deeper than the deep blue sea, which at times IS deeper than Love, the way it's going.
The Soulmate of your dreams and your reality may be anyone. You never know, an anonymous face that crosses your path could be The One. But let's make one thing clear, Childrens. The idea of Soulmates has taken on an feel of the romantic. I contend that Soulmates aren't necessarily romantic involvements, they may be friends. Eros, as it would seem, doesn't necessarily have to be the thing. Romance clouds. It's sweeter if it's a romantic attachment, but that's not a prerequisite.
I'm sure you have met someone you feel is your Soulmate. And then you change your mind later on. You meet someone new. New Soulmate. That happens, we're fickle people like that. But True Soulmates don't change overtime, they are as they are. Multiple Soulmates, too. I bet that's a big surprise. You know, it's ideal that we all have one, but there are more than one if you want to consider that Soulmates are not really romantic involvements, they can also be friends.
What is a Soulmate? Someone who knows you for what you are, good and bad. Someone who likes you nonetheless. Someone who knows your truths. Someone who understands you, and tells you about yourself, good and bad. Oh yah, and all of that happens before you've even met. I know for a fact who mine are. Remember the reincarnation stuff we talked about the other day? We are surrounded by people throughout our lives, the reincarnated ones. Each one of us meet the same people over and over. Those are your Soulmates. Back and forth we go, meeting the same people over and over. Imagine the possibilities.
I know who mine are, and I look forward to seeing you again real soon.
oodoo it's da Voodoo
Allo, mes amis. The Voodoo has had quite a busy weekend. The Voodoo Doctors got together for a summit at the mansion. Four single women, all chillin' in the crib. How cool is that. We got together on Friday with the intent on doing some work, but hell, we did other kinda work, just mackin' and hangin', ya heard. We had to talk about some pressing issues in our lives, and I can't tell you any of that because I would have to kill you. (Men, balancing professional life and personal life, good books, meditation, what to do with our free time, and prepare to die).
And one of the things we talked about were soulmates.
Many people think of soulmates as a person you spend the rest of your life with. The soulmate is your Significant Other, you know, Babies, the one who you're destined to meet at any point of the globe, at any given day and time. It's like a cosmic get together, the bells go off, the birds start singing and the earth shakes (if you're in San Francisco, this happens every single day, so don't get thrilled, Frisco Babies). It's deeper than Love, deeper than the deep blue sea, which at times IS deeper than Love, the way it's going.
The Soulmate of your dreams and your reality may be anyone. You never know, an anonymous face that crosses your path could be The One. But let's make one thing clear, Childrens. The idea of Soulmates has taken on an feel of the romantic. I contend that Soulmates aren't necessarily romantic involvements, they may be friends. Eros, as it would seem, doesn't necessarily have to be the thing. Romance clouds. It's sweeter if it's a romantic attachment, but that's not a prerequisite.
I'm sure you have met someone you feel is your Soulmate. And then you change your mind later on. You meet someone new. New Soulmate. That happens, we're fickle people like that. But True Soulmates don't change overtime, they are as they are. Multiple Soulmates, too. I bet that's a big surprise. You know, it's ideal that we all have one, but there are more than one if you want to consider that Soulmates are not really romantic involvements, they can also be friends.
What is a Soulmate? Someone who knows you for what you are, good and bad. Someone who likes you nonetheless. Someone who knows your truths. Someone who understands you, and tells you about yourself, good and bad. Oh yah, and all of that happens before you've even met. I know for a fact who mine are. Remember the reincarnation stuff we talked about the other day? We are surrounded by people throughout our lives, the reincarnated ones. Each one of us meet the same people over and over. Those are your Soulmates. Back and forth we go, meeting the same people over and over. Imagine the possibilities.
I know who mine are, and I look forward to seeing you again real soon.
oodoo it's da Voodoo
Thursday, June 07, 2001
The Voodoo Theory on Insectae.
Now, Voodoo Babies, I know you've read enough of my sober and clear thinking sort of writing. You're wondering, where is that crunk kinda humor that made me a Voodoofied Baby in the first place? Well, here we are. I'm about to drop some knowledge on you.
Insects. Flies. Mosquitos. Gnats. They swirl about in the warm evening air, drifting lazily with the breeze, and somehow, they always seem to bother you. You know what I mean, come on now. The drift a little too lazily over your food, and just might deposit some vital bacteria on your food/face/beloved's cheek. Visualize with me. Ommmmmm. THERE'S A FLY IN MY SOUP. I bet there is.
There are some philosophers or religious types who go about with the popular belief that we return in the form of the animal/person/object that we truly deserve to return in the form of. You with me so far. It's called reincarnation. You build up karma points or you lose them while you're in this current life. Do good things, get karma points. Do bad things, get them taken away. Somewhere there is a balance, and therefore we become, in our next life, what our points dictate. Some come back as people, good people and bad, some come back as rocks, some come back as animals.
Exes come back in the form of insects.
I know, I know, I'm an ex myself, but that's the reality. Find yourself trapped with a fly in your room? That's the ex. Circling around, making sure you haven't forgotten them, checking in with you, and hoping that maybe you might still be single and moping around. Don't give that fly/ex that satisfaction, my friends, you hold your head up high and wave them out of the room. Mosquitos? Do I need to really tell you why they bug the living begezzus outta you? No! They annoy you, always whispering in your ear "I'm going to suck your life outta you." Can there be any example of an ex that would NOT fit this? Okay, well maybe some, but you get my point.
I'm not crazy, just tellin' you like it is...
At least from this point of view...
Voodoo
Now, Voodoo Babies, I know you've read enough of my sober and clear thinking sort of writing. You're wondering, where is that crunk kinda humor that made me a Voodoofied Baby in the first place? Well, here we are. I'm about to drop some knowledge on you.
Insects. Flies. Mosquitos. Gnats. They swirl about in the warm evening air, drifting lazily with the breeze, and somehow, they always seem to bother you. You know what I mean, come on now. The drift a little too lazily over your food, and just might deposit some vital bacteria on your food/face/beloved's cheek. Visualize with me. Ommmmmm. THERE'S A FLY IN MY SOUP. I bet there is.
There are some philosophers or religious types who go about with the popular belief that we return in the form of the animal/person/object that we truly deserve to return in the form of. You with me so far. It's called reincarnation. You build up karma points or you lose them while you're in this current life. Do good things, get karma points. Do bad things, get them taken away. Somewhere there is a balance, and therefore we become, in our next life, what our points dictate. Some come back as people, good people and bad, some come back as rocks, some come back as animals.
Exes come back in the form of insects.
I know, I know, I'm an ex myself, but that's the reality. Find yourself trapped with a fly in your room? That's the ex. Circling around, making sure you haven't forgotten them, checking in with you, and hoping that maybe you might still be single and moping around. Don't give that fly/ex that satisfaction, my friends, you hold your head up high and wave them out of the room. Mosquitos? Do I need to really tell you why they bug the living begezzus outta you? No! They annoy you, always whispering in your ear "I'm going to suck your life outta you." Can there be any example of an ex that would NOT fit this? Okay, well maybe some, but you get my point.
I'm not crazy, just tellin' you like it is...
At least from this point of view...
Voodoo
Wednesday, June 06, 2001
Thanks For Nuffin
Today, I heard some very important thoughts from two random sources, one Husky Boy, and another one, some young man who was helping me with my makeup.
I know that many of us go through our day at work, dealing with things that we don't necessarily want to do but must do so that we can pay the rent, etc. And some of our work goes unnoticed, and that's a given. However from time to time that need to get some notice does peek its head up. It's not a nice feeling, to feel like you want someone to notice you, but truthfully, a thank you every now and then is a good thing. I'm not thinking just for work's sake, but just between friends or lovers, or even family or colleagues. Thank you goes a long way.
It satisfies a very basic human need to gain acceptance or to be recognized. Some take this to another level entirely and call it "a need for approval" and that has its roots in other things that I won't get into, but thank you is a response and validation that is lacking in American society. I notice it most in the workspace, but I also notice it in the interpersonal lives of the people around me. A lack of gratitude? No, more like an inability to express himself/herself. To say thank you requires an amount of vulnerability that is uncomfortable, but think about the important outcome that is felt by sharing that part of yourself.
I've always taken the time to say thank you to people for the little things that they bring my life, from helping me out with a project or just for trying their hardest to complete a task. Not only for my own karma, so that it returns to me, but because I know it's important that others know that they are appreciated.
Believe it or not, I worked my ass off today, and it's not easy to compile statistics, and make great sense of it. Not to mention teach yourself the software. I know, you think I sit around all day and sip mimosas and stare at men all day. That's at home, Voodoo Babies. But appreciation goes a long way, and my fuming angst will go burning for about a day or two. Call it character flaw. I call it "been-there-one-too-many-times." Justifiable rage? Get over it? I will. But until then, tell someone today Thanks, and do it genuinely. It does mean a lot to the people around us, and until we learn to be nicer to each other, much in the world will not change.
I'm not idealistic, but I'm realistic.
But unkindness makes me a cynic.
Voodoo
Today, I heard some very important thoughts from two random sources, one Husky Boy, and another one, some young man who was helping me with my makeup.
I know that many of us go through our day at work, dealing with things that we don't necessarily want to do but must do so that we can pay the rent, etc. And some of our work goes unnoticed, and that's a given. However from time to time that need to get some notice does peek its head up. It's not a nice feeling, to feel like you want someone to notice you, but truthfully, a thank you every now and then is a good thing. I'm not thinking just for work's sake, but just between friends or lovers, or even family or colleagues. Thank you goes a long way.
It satisfies a very basic human need to gain acceptance or to be recognized. Some take this to another level entirely and call it "a need for approval" and that has its roots in other things that I won't get into, but thank you is a response and validation that is lacking in American society. I notice it most in the workspace, but I also notice it in the interpersonal lives of the people around me. A lack of gratitude? No, more like an inability to express himself/herself. To say thank you requires an amount of vulnerability that is uncomfortable, but think about the important outcome that is felt by sharing that part of yourself.
I've always taken the time to say thank you to people for the little things that they bring my life, from helping me out with a project or just for trying their hardest to complete a task. Not only for my own karma, so that it returns to me, but because I know it's important that others know that they are appreciated.
Believe it or not, I worked my ass off today, and it's not easy to compile statistics, and make great sense of it. Not to mention teach yourself the software. I know, you think I sit around all day and sip mimosas and stare at men all day. That's at home, Voodoo Babies. But appreciation goes a long way, and my fuming angst will go burning for about a day or two. Call it character flaw. I call it "been-there-one-too-many-times." Justifiable rage? Get over it? I will. But until then, tell someone today Thanks, and do it genuinely. It does mean a lot to the people around us, and until we learn to be nicer to each other, much in the world will not change.
I'm not idealistic, but I'm realistic.
But unkindness makes me a cynic.
Voodoo
Told You I'd Be Back
This is for the Voodoo Boys...you know who you are. Rob Morse, in today's SF Chronicle sez:
A Minneapolis woman named Lori Barghini is marketing silicone "nipple enhancers" called Bodyperks for $19.95. The Washington Post reports that she got the idea from a girlfriend who used to put shampoo bottle lids inside her tank top.
Men are such suckers. We love you guys, we really do, but the truth is, it's cold more than we're turned on by you. Don't be sad, kiddies, that's just how it is. The breeze more than your charm and good looks. We don't get nipple hard ons until we find out about your earning potential. That is, how much can I earn by gettin' with you.
And stop looking at our tits like they were going to speak to you. I've caught many a man scanning the Twins for an acknowledgement that never comes, even friends, and well, you're so busted!!!
Just kidding. Sheesh.
Voodoo
PS: What the hell kinda shampoo caps she talkin' about anyways? Have you seen the size of those thangs lately???
This is for the Voodoo Boys...you know who you are. Rob Morse, in today's SF Chronicle sez:
A Minneapolis woman named Lori Barghini is marketing silicone "nipple enhancers" called Bodyperks for $19.95. The Washington Post reports that she got the idea from a girlfriend who used to put shampoo bottle lids inside her tank top.
Men are such suckers. We love you guys, we really do, but the truth is, it's cold more than we're turned on by you. Don't be sad, kiddies, that's just how it is. The breeze more than your charm and good looks. We don't get nipple hard ons until we find out about your earning potential. That is, how much can I earn by gettin' with you.
And stop looking at our tits like they were going to speak to you. I've caught many a man scanning the Twins for an acknowledgement that never comes, even friends, and well, you're so busted!!!
Just kidding. Sheesh.
Voodoo
PS: What the hell kinda shampoo caps she talkin' about anyways? Have you seen the size of those thangs lately???
The 5 AM Wake Up Call
For some jacked up reason, I've been waking up at 4:40-5:00 the last few days. Maybe it's leftover jet lag, maybe it's some cosmic force gettin' my butt up early. I think it's the early morning sun peepin' through the blinds which I never seem to close properly. Whatever the case, I've been waking up, wondering where I am (because sometimes it's LIKE that), and then going back to sleep. This morning, I went to the gym.
I normally avoid certain gyms because I don't like the idea of working out where I know lots of folks. I'm not a diva in that way, that I can't been seen workin' it out or sweaty and no make up kinda shit, but the truth is, I just like to be left alone to my thoughts and think about stuff, and go incognito at the gym. Anyway, I hop on the EFX machine and start haulin' bootay and start thinking about my day and all the other crap I have to take care of. It's a nice way to start the day. I used to work out like this, in the pre-dawn hours, and I prefer it to the PM hours, like late late at night because I'd wind up awake until 2AM, and that's not good...Fun, but not good.
So I manage to avoid pretty much all eyecontact and don't recognize anyone. About twenty five minutes later, I see someone, and then we wind up talking for a little bit, which is cool because I haven't seen the brotha in a while. So I bounce and drive home. The streets are empty, just newspaper deliveries and some early morning donut shoppers. Back at the house, I rinse off and watch the morning news. I would normally be trying to get a few more minutes of sleep in at this time, but I'm awake and ready to go.
As a token of appreciation, I head out to a bagel/juice shop and get some good breakfast in me. It's expensive, but it's not easy for my old ass to go and work out at that hour. So now I'm at work, actually here on time for a change. I'm going to try to get outta here early today to go to work on Barcelona: the Photo Album, since everyone's been asking for the pictures. I'm not a fan of telling the same damn story over and over, except the Moth Story, but that's something else all together.
So here's to my early morning start, and we'll see how long this lasts ;-)
Take care,
Voodoo
Be back later with some cynicism for yo ass.
For some jacked up reason, I've been waking up at 4:40-5:00 the last few days. Maybe it's leftover jet lag, maybe it's some cosmic force gettin' my butt up early. I think it's the early morning sun peepin' through the blinds which I never seem to close properly. Whatever the case, I've been waking up, wondering where I am (because sometimes it's LIKE that), and then going back to sleep. This morning, I went to the gym.
I normally avoid certain gyms because I don't like the idea of working out where I know lots of folks. I'm not a diva in that way, that I can't been seen workin' it out or sweaty and no make up kinda shit, but the truth is, I just like to be left alone to my thoughts and think about stuff, and go incognito at the gym. Anyway, I hop on the EFX machine and start haulin' bootay and start thinking about my day and all the other crap I have to take care of. It's a nice way to start the day. I used to work out like this, in the pre-dawn hours, and I prefer it to the PM hours, like late late at night because I'd wind up awake until 2AM, and that's not good...Fun, but not good.
So I manage to avoid pretty much all eyecontact and don't recognize anyone. About twenty five minutes later, I see someone, and then we wind up talking for a little bit, which is cool because I haven't seen the brotha in a while. So I bounce and drive home. The streets are empty, just newspaper deliveries and some early morning donut shoppers. Back at the house, I rinse off and watch the morning news. I would normally be trying to get a few more minutes of sleep in at this time, but I'm awake and ready to go.
As a token of appreciation, I head out to a bagel/juice shop and get some good breakfast in me. It's expensive, but it's not easy for my old ass to go and work out at that hour. So now I'm at work, actually here on time for a change. I'm going to try to get outta here early today to go to work on Barcelona: the Photo Album, since everyone's been asking for the pictures. I'm not a fan of telling the same damn story over and over, except the Moth Story, but that's something else all together.
So here's to my early morning start, and we'll see how long this lasts ;-)
Take care,
Voodoo
Be back later with some cynicism for yo ass.
Tuesday, June 05, 2001
What's Playing in the Voodoo Lounge CD Changer
You'll notice that this month, things are a little more eclectic than in times past...Go figure. Life's funky like that.
Enjoy, and if you have any other recommendations, let me know.
5000
Voodoo
You'll notice that this month, things are a little more eclectic than in times past...Go figure. Life's funky like that.
- Jurassic 5 Tight, tight, and very tight. Peep the audio/video if you get a chance.
- Mc Solaar He's a French rapper...tight beats, but if you can understand what's he's sayin', he's purty fly.
- 112 This is about as P. Dorky as I like 'em.
- Love2Dance Some compilation I found... good driving music and makes ya wanna shake yo booty without havin' to do all that bump and grind with some ugly stranger. Not like I've ever...Well, maybe.
- Wayne Gorbea Salsa makes me wanna...Salsa.
- India Arie My worth ain't determined by the price of my clothes. No shit baby girl...This is a must have CD for allaya'll.
- Brotha Lynch Hung One of my students made this for me, and it's TIIIIIGHT. You have to like b*tches, killin' and fo-ties to appreciate it, so you have been warned.
- The Gipsy Kings Peep this for some good guitarismos and tight sounds.
Enjoy, and if you have any other recommendations, let me know.
5000
Voodoo
Monday, June 04, 2001
The Avid Reader
Strangely enough, that was the name of a bookstore that I was employed in a few years ago. It was more than five years ago, to think of it. And I can't think of a more appropriate place for me to work. Truth is, I read four books in the last two weeks. Incredible, isn't it. And I'm about to finish #5 in the next few days.
What's the deal?
You see, when I'm done with the hardcore reading, I get to buckle down and read the good stuff. The books that I've been wanting to read all semester, and now it's time for me to engorge my theoretical and practical minded brain with fun goofiness like psychological thrillers, nonfiction boogaboos, and silly fiction. I'm a fiend for books, and I don't know what I'm going to do with myself if I don't have a good book to read. I'm already scanning the field for something to read in the next week...I hate to be left without a book in hand.
I go home ready to read. I go to work thinking about what I've read, and what I'm going to do when I get home: read. I bought chairs just for this purpose: to cover my limbs with some warm blankie and read by a good lamp. Consume myself in books, and I could die a happy Voodoo. It's said to become a good writer, you have to be a good reader, and that's my goal in life, not to be a good writer, although I am always keeping that in my mind, but to be a badass writer. You know, one that's fearless enough to write about silly things, but also smart enough to talk about the things that matter to someone out there, if not myself.
Just my two cents, now back to my libros.
Voodoolicious
Strangely enough, that was the name of a bookstore that I was employed in a few years ago. It was more than five years ago, to think of it. And I can't think of a more appropriate place for me to work. Truth is, I read four books in the last two weeks. Incredible, isn't it. And I'm about to finish #5 in the next few days.
What's the deal?
You see, when I'm done with the hardcore reading, I get to buckle down and read the good stuff. The books that I've been wanting to read all semester, and now it's time for me to engorge my theoretical and practical minded brain with fun goofiness like psychological thrillers, nonfiction boogaboos, and silly fiction. I'm a fiend for books, and I don't know what I'm going to do with myself if I don't have a good book to read. I'm already scanning the field for something to read in the next week...I hate to be left without a book in hand.
I go home ready to read. I go to work thinking about what I've read, and what I'm going to do when I get home: read. I bought chairs just for this purpose: to cover my limbs with some warm blankie and read by a good lamp. Consume myself in books, and I could die a happy Voodoo. It's said to become a good writer, you have to be a good reader, and that's my goal in life, not to be a good writer, although I am always keeping that in my mind, but to be a badass writer. You know, one that's fearless enough to write about silly things, but also smart enough to talk about the things that matter to someone out there, if not myself.
Just my two cents, now back to my libros.
Voodoolicious
peepmyshit.com
Normally I would like to welcome my readers from around the Voodoo Universe. But I have two .gov's peepin my site. Which means one of two things:
1) The Feds found out about my illegal Filipino cookies.
2) Dubya is a Voodoo Baby, in which case, I think he's been very very bad and needs to be spanked. And when you come to visit California, dear, make sure you actually visit, and don't skulk around. That's just bad manners.
Whatever the case may be, WELCOME to my former fellow federal workers. Be voodoofied!
Normally I would like to welcome my readers from around the Voodoo Universe. But I have two .gov's peepin my site. Which means one of two things:
1) The Feds found out about my illegal Filipino cookies.
2) Dubya is a Voodoo Baby, in which case, I think he's been very very bad and needs to be spanked. And when you come to visit California, dear, make sure you actually visit, and don't skulk around. That's just bad manners.
Whatever the case may be, WELCOME to my former fellow federal workers. Be voodoofied!
Sunday, June 03, 2001
Fightin' the Funk
Early this morning, I woke up and put some clothes on to work on the lawn. It's turning brown, due to the lack of time that both me and Mista J been able to put into it. Shit, neither one of us ever had lawns when we were growing up, the fact that it's still in the front of the house and somewhat green is a testament to the fact that we can kinda keep it alive. At any rate, I fertilized it a little and then watered the mug. I went back into the Mansion, and then proceeded to go through my studio, my room and other spots and purge my life of the things that I haven't been using or have outgrown over the last few months.
It's amazing how much you amass in your life as you move on, you buy things that you forget about, and then you lose things that you find you can live without anyway. It's a little sad, to be quite honest, this moving on and letting go of things that have been cluttering up my life. I'm a well known Pat Rack, as Buff Bagwell would call me, but that's life, and I have to unpack my shit before I weigh down this house with too much kalat. I'm about done, but I dont' want to touch my treasure trove of articles for my dissertation. I'll have to wait until I'm mentally ready to do that.
I spent yesterday with Palma Sutra, classmate of mine in USF. She and I, along with other colleagues went to speak to a class of incoming doctoral students. We told them the ins and outs, they asked us questions, and then we told them how it really is...to an extent. The rest I figure they can learn as they go. We were introduced as Dr. Voodoo, etc. It was fun. We giggled as if it really didn't hit us yet, and for some of us, it really hasn't.
All of that is well and such, but there is a part of me that hasn't been quite right. It's almost as if I've reached some major point of depression. I know this is getting rather personal, when for the most part I'm quite content to talk about deordorant as your friend, or how to be a good topless sunbather (wear sunblock on your Twins, my friend). But the honest truth is, Voodoo Babies, that I'm just as human as the next person, but I'll find a way to get over that...somehow. At any rate, life has kind of slowed down, and I'd much rather stay in bed than leave and face the world. What is that about, you might ask? A lot of things, namely the big one is finishing with my doctorate and not knowing just what to make of life...
What? You're saying with a look of shock on your face! You're done, there's time to do things now!
True, but along with the completion of that grand act came the large void that it filled. The truth is, it's a little hard to sit with that. The one thing that I've literally been working on since I knew it was possible, as a child, is now a done deal, and there is no long term goal I have facing me. I know that this opens up the world, but at the same time, it also leaves me looking at a great big canyon of whoa, I can do this and this and this and that...It's intimidating at best, and should be a point at which I can see the world opening up for me, but at this point, it's a little terrifying and best met with a little bit of hesitation.
Palma Sutra and I were talking about this, as she was feeling the same way too. It's not easy to go through it alone, but hearing her talk about it also helped a lot. It's almost like shared misery. I feel tons better, but I am ever cognizant of the challenge that life now brings me. At this moment, what I have chosen to do is accept the way I feel as being true to my humanity, as it is at a crossroads where I stand. But in accepting it, I also let go of it and understand that's what being human is about: accepting the truth of the moment, being fully present in that moment, and then moving past it. That explains the cleaning up of my life, literally and figuratively. It also means taking the opportunity to see the great things that I've done with my life and prepare myself to move onto more things.
What those things are, I don't know. And that's okay.
Vudu
Early this morning, I woke up and put some clothes on to work on the lawn. It's turning brown, due to the lack of time that both me and Mista J been able to put into it. Shit, neither one of us ever had lawns when we were growing up, the fact that it's still in the front of the house and somewhat green is a testament to the fact that we can kinda keep it alive. At any rate, I fertilized it a little and then watered the mug. I went back into the Mansion, and then proceeded to go through my studio, my room and other spots and purge my life of the things that I haven't been using or have outgrown over the last few months.
It's amazing how much you amass in your life as you move on, you buy things that you forget about, and then you lose things that you find you can live without anyway. It's a little sad, to be quite honest, this moving on and letting go of things that have been cluttering up my life. I'm a well known Pat Rack, as Buff Bagwell would call me, but that's life, and I have to unpack my shit before I weigh down this house with too much kalat. I'm about done, but I dont' want to touch my treasure trove of articles for my dissertation. I'll have to wait until I'm mentally ready to do that.
I spent yesterday with Palma Sutra, classmate of mine in USF. She and I, along with other colleagues went to speak to a class of incoming doctoral students. We told them the ins and outs, they asked us questions, and then we told them how it really is...to an extent. The rest I figure they can learn as they go. We were introduced as Dr. Voodoo, etc. It was fun. We giggled as if it really didn't hit us yet, and for some of us, it really hasn't.
All of that is well and such, but there is a part of me that hasn't been quite right. It's almost as if I've reached some major point of depression. I know this is getting rather personal, when for the most part I'm quite content to talk about deordorant as your friend, or how to be a good topless sunbather (wear sunblock on your Twins, my friend). But the honest truth is, Voodoo Babies, that I'm just as human as the next person, but I'll find a way to get over that...somehow. At any rate, life has kind of slowed down, and I'd much rather stay in bed than leave and face the world. What is that about, you might ask? A lot of things, namely the big one is finishing with my doctorate and not knowing just what to make of life...
What? You're saying with a look of shock on your face! You're done, there's time to do things now!
True, but along with the completion of that grand act came the large void that it filled. The truth is, it's a little hard to sit with that. The one thing that I've literally been working on since I knew it was possible, as a child, is now a done deal, and there is no long term goal I have facing me. I know that this opens up the world, but at the same time, it also leaves me looking at a great big canyon of whoa, I can do this and this and this and that...It's intimidating at best, and should be a point at which I can see the world opening up for me, but at this point, it's a little terrifying and best met with a little bit of hesitation.
Palma Sutra and I were talking about this, as she was feeling the same way too. It's not easy to go through it alone, but hearing her talk about it also helped a lot. It's almost like shared misery. I feel tons better, but I am ever cognizant of the challenge that life now brings me. At this moment, what I have chosen to do is accept the way I feel as being true to my humanity, as it is at a crossroads where I stand. But in accepting it, I also let go of it and understand that's what being human is about: accepting the truth of the moment, being fully present in that moment, and then moving past it. That explains the cleaning up of my life, literally and figuratively. It also means taking the opportunity to see the great things that I've done with my life and prepare myself to move onto more things.
What those things are, I don't know. And that's okay.
Vudu
Friday, June 01, 2001
What's Fog?
I'm back..oh yes, children, I have returned. And it's freakin' cold.
I was on the plane back yesterday, and I heard all these positive accounts about how warm it's been out here...89 degrees and what not. And if you know San Francisco, that's some craziness. So I unpacked, stopped at Voodoo Headquarters in San Francisco, and left my bikini out so I can go to the beach.
But NO! It's cold. There's a fattie layer of fog out there that wants to consume me, take away my tan, and dress me in thick sweaters. Alas, what is a woman to do. It's a welcome change from the heat, but I had such high hopes to enjoy the heat here with everyone else.
Flight leg #1 from BCN to JFK. Three words: Broke Baffrooms. Yes children, none of the toilets in Barcelona flushed, so I should have seen that as an awful foreboding for the trip back to the States. It wasn't cute. I lugged my gear from one gate to the next in the interest of relieving myself of my hydration attempts, yet nary a flush. I explained in spanish "Esto muthafucka no flushiendo." J/K my spanish is much better than that.
The flight back was something akin to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in a 767. The service was horrible at best, and the flight crew looked like they either were treated poorly as children (fed through the wire mother rather than the furry mother, if you're keen on general psychology) or they were annoyed that they had to wear such outrageously Nurse Ratchety outfits. Suffice it to say, they were muy bad. I was waiting for them to throw rolls at the masses. The only saving grace of the trip was a gay couple who sat across the isle for me and Ann who sat next to me. Allow me a few moments to tell you their short stories.
All three of them were on a cruise around the Mediterrenean, albeit on separate trips. Scott and Dennis were taking their annual trip and were from Dallas, so they had this cute little accent, and they had me cracking up the whole flight. On Iberia Air, which I recommend that no one ever travel because they're funky, they give you these cute little socks so you can roam about freely in the cabin. Like that's supposed to make you feel good. Socks. On Air France, they give you blindfolds so you can ignore the madnes around you, headphones, and warm little towels to make you wipe away that shit eating grin that the help you're getting is aiiiiiight. But yah, so on Iberia you get socks. Scott put them on, and then slipped back into his sandals. Then he said, out loud, "Oh my god, I'm officially white trash!" Okay, I guess you had to be there, but I was dyin'. Dennis responded equally loud, "Okay, fashion police, socks with sandals, issue a ticket." I said, "I can't bear to look at you, how shameful!" All the while we were cracking up, and the flight crew grimaced as they mixed our gruel.
Arriving into New York is culture shock on two fronts. First you're back in the States, and then you have to deal with New Yorkers. I have a slight affinity for New Yorkers, one reason why, I won't mention, but also because they talk like they have marbles in their mouth. I think this goes for New Englanders too, god love you my Boston contingent, but my West Coast tendencies made me want to say, "Oh lord have mercy, what have I landed into?" I went through immigration okay. I met a very nice and friendly man at the cavity search department, j/k! But then because I checked off that I had some food brought back with me, they wanted to go through my stuff. I walked up to the counter and there were two girls who were standing there chatting.
"So what kinda food you got?"
"Cookies and wine. One bottle." I lied, two bottles. I immediately start to freak.
"Let's see dose cookies." I pull out the Filipinos. The irony behind it was that they had no idea what the big deal was.
"You been on a farm?" Foot and mouth disease fears were rampant still, but like they gave a shit I replied negatively. "You bring back meat?" Vegetarian, said I. "Okay, you can go." Gee thanks, both of you who have enough combined IQ to figure out how to turn off a lightbulb but that's it. I figured I could have walked through there with sausages galore, and they would be none the wiser. And I could have been on farms, trudging through cow poopy, but they wouldn't know. This is the state of the nation's border security at airports.
During customs/immigration review, they ask you what countries you've visited on your trip. Ann, who sat next to me, and invited me to visit her in New York, wasn't quite sure what countries she visited. As I drifted off to sleep, she was mumbling what places she visited. When I woke up, she said, quite proudly, "I know what countries I've visited," and then exclaimed, "Spain, France, Rome and Italy."
"Rome IS in Italy," I replied.
"Is it?"
Okay, she's a 62 year old nurse. Would you trust her with the tube up you butt when she's not sure where Rome is? But she was a really nice person, and she was trying to get over on Customs too by saying she only bought so much worth of goods, when I know she had gold and diamonds...
And the trip back from JFK to SFO went well, but the man next to me kept breaking the plane of the armrest. You know what I'm talking about, ya'll. He kept floating over onto my side, but I insisted on filling up my space and yet he kept jabbing his elbow into me. I noticed when I got onto the plane that he was alabaster white, but he was totally flushed. I thought to myself, either this dude is going to DIE on me or he's wrecked. During the flight, I noticed he was fidgety and then he leaned over and I heard the sound of a cork. This SUCKA HAD A BOTTLE OF WINE IN HIS CARRYON and he was imbibing with regularly now that the coast was clear. How sad was that. And you could hear the squeaking of the cork into the bottle. tsk tsk. So every time he was trying to be discreet, I turned on my overhead light while I pretended to be asleep. Heh. He scurried back to his normal composure with some STANK wine that made me want to puke.
I arrived back in SFO to the waiting ride from Buff Bagwell. I dropped off my film, divvied up the goods to the family and sat back as I felt the cold ocean air bring my temps back down. It's nice to be back, ya'll, but I'm missin' me some sun and some chill time. Thanks for checkin' in on me, Voodoo babies, and I'm outta here...
ain't nobody dope as me, I'm dressed so fresh and so clean,
voodoo
I'm back..oh yes, children, I have returned. And it's freakin' cold.
I was on the plane back yesterday, and I heard all these positive accounts about how warm it's been out here...89 degrees and what not. And if you know San Francisco, that's some craziness. So I unpacked, stopped at Voodoo Headquarters in San Francisco, and left my bikini out so I can go to the beach.
But NO! It's cold. There's a fattie layer of fog out there that wants to consume me, take away my tan, and dress me in thick sweaters. Alas, what is a woman to do. It's a welcome change from the heat, but I had such high hopes to enjoy the heat here with everyone else.
Flight leg #1 from BCN to JFK. Three words: Broke Baffrooms. Yes children, none of the toilets in Barcelona flushed, so I should have seen that as an awful foreboding for the trip back to the States. It wasn't cute. I lugged my gear from one gate to the next in the interest of relieving myself of my hydration attempts, yet nary a flush. I explained in spanish "Esto muthafucka no flushiendo." J/K my spanish is much better than that.
The flight back was something akin to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in a 767. The service was horrible at best, and the flight crew looked like they either were treated poorly as children (fed through the wire mother rather than the furry mother, if you're keen on general psychology) or they were annoyed that they had to wear such outrageously Nurse Ratchety outfits. Suffice it to say, they were muy bad. I was waiting for them to throw rolls at the masses. The only saving grace of the trip was a gay couple who sat across the isle for me and Ann who sat next to me. Allow me a few moments to tell you their short stories.
All three of them were on a cruise around the Mediterrenean, albeit on separate trips. Scott and Dennis were taking their annual trip and were from Dallas, so they had this cute little accent, and they had me cracking up the whole flight. On Iberia Air, which I recommend that no one ever travel because they're funky, they give you these cute little socks so you can roam about freely in the cabin. Like that's supposed to make you feel good. Socks. On Air France, they give you blindfolds so you can ignore the madnes around you, headphones, and warm little towels to make you wipe away that shit eating grin that the help you're getting is aiiiiiight. But yah, so on Iberia you get socks. Scott put them on, and then slipped back into his sandals. Then he said, out loud, "Oh my god, I'm officially white trash!" Okay, I guess you had to be there, but I was dyin'. Dennis responded equally loud, "Okay, fashion police, socks with sandals, issue a ticket." I said, "I can't bear to look at you, how shameful!" All the while we were cracking up, and the flight crew grimaced as they mixed our gruel.
Arriving into New York is culture shock on two fronts. First you're back in the States, and then you have to deal with New Yorkers. I have a slight affinity for New Yorkers, one reason why, I won't mention, but also because they talk like they have marbles in their mouth. I think this goes for New Englanders too, god love you my Boston contingent, but my West Coast tendencies made me want to say, "Oh lord have mercy, what have I landed into?" I went through immigration okay. I met a very nice and friendly man at the cavity search department, j/k! But then because I checked off that I had some food brought back with me, they wanted to go through my stuff. I walked up to the counter and there were two girls who were standing there chatting.
"So what kinda food you got?"
"Cookies and wine. One bottle." I lied, two bottles. I immediately start to freak.
"Let's see dose cookies." I pull out the Filipinos. The irony behind it was that they had no idea what the big deal was.
"You been on a farm?" Foot and mouth disease fears were rampant still, but like they gave a shit I replied negatively. "You bring back meat?" Vegetarian, said I. "Okay, you can go." Gee thanks, both of you who have enough combined IQ to figure out how to turn off a lightbulb but that's it. I figured I could have walked through there with sausages galore, and they would be none the wiser. And I could have been on farms, trudging through cow poopy, but they wouldn't know. This is the state of the nation's border security at airports.
During customs/immigration review, they ask you what countries you've visited on your trip. Ann, who sat next to me, and invited me to visit her in New York, wasn't quite sure what countries she visited. As I drifted off to sleep, she was mumbling what places she visited. When I woke up, she said, quite proudly, "I know what countries I've visited," and then exclaimed, "Spain, France, Rome and Italy."
"Rome IS in Italy," I replied.
"Is it?"
Okay, she's a 62 year old nurse. Would you trust her with the tube up you butt when she's not sure where Rome is? But she was a really nice person, and she was trying to get over on Customs too by saying she only bought so much worth of goods, when I know she had gold and diamonds...
And the trip back from JFK to SFO went well, but the man next to me kept breaking the plane of the armrest. You know what I'm talking about, ya'll. He kept floating over onto my side, but I insisted on filling up my space and yet he kept jabbing his elbow into me. I noticed when I got onto the plane that he was alabaster white, but he was totally flushed. I thought to myself, either this dude is going to DIE on me or he's wrecked. During the flight, I noticed he was fidgety and then he leaned over and I heard the sound of a cork. This SUCKA HAD A BOTTLE OF WINE IN HIS CARRYON and he was imbibing with regularly now that the coast was clear. How sad was that. And you could hear the squeaking of the cork into the bottle. tsk tsk. So every time he was trying to be discreet, I turned on my overhead light while I pretended to be asleep. Heh. He scurried back to his normal composure with some STANK wine that made me want to puke.
I arrived back in SFO to the waiting ride from Buff Bagwell. I dropped off my film, divvied up the goods to the family and sat back as I felt the cold ocean air bring my temps back down. It's nice to be back, ya'll, but I'm missin' me some sun and some chill time. Thanks for checkin' in on me, Voodoo babies, and I'm outta here...
ain't nobody dope as me, I'm dressed so fresh and so clean,
voodoo
I like long walks, especially when they're taken by people who annoy me. ~Fred Allen
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