1/2/2010 6:56:45 PM
Another Starbuck musing.
Betty Page Plays On Her Pink DS
This time I sit out in the corner of Cahuenga and Barham off ramp. It’s a bit breezy. Cars whiz by. A lady sits to the side playing her DS. Pink in color. Kind of funny. Must be in her mid- to late-20s. Dressed in Black. Grey boots. Black and white checkered jacket. Short hair. Sitting away from people. Off in her little DS world. Pink stands out because she reminds me of the Pinup girl Betty Page with black hair. Short Mod hair cut. Fingers racing away on her game.
I notice a glint by her face. Glasses. I wonder what is her deal. Sitting in Starbucks lounge playing DS. Is she waiting for someone? Is she getting away? She just sits, sits and plays. Wait, she looks at her blackberry, Curve, I think. I have a similar phone. No text. No IM. No ring. She sits back and again her fingers are ablaze. Leaning back on the chaise chair. Her foot taps unhurriedly. An Venti. No, it’s a Tall. Tall means small in Starbuck speak. Tall is really not that tall. Venti is large. Whatever. Her drink is done. A crumbled napkin sits inside.
I see no book. I see no sign that her venture will be that of reading exploration. Dressed nice (kind of) Probably waiting for someone is my guess. A date, possibly. Her legs cross and uncross. . .and cross again. She twirls her foot and her feet tap reservedly to the beat of Starbuck music.
Couples Dress Alike: Why?
A conversation walks by. An athletic couple. Both dressed in workout clothes. She in tight spandex leggings and form-fitting white nike athletic shirt. He’s wearing the same. Starbuck cup in hand. She is 5’5”. He’s 6’, perhaps. He’s maybe a runner. Former football player. Muscular, kind of. He turns to answer her question. They turn the corner as cars pass by.
It’s a little past mid-day. It’s a lot past mid-day. Precisely, its 3:13pm from what my laptop states. Shadows from the trees and power lines blanket the patio of the beloved Starbucks.
Jamie and Pat: Asian Couple Converse
An Asian couple walks by. The black haired girl turns her head expectedly. A sigh comes out. Not him, I suspect she is saying to herself. She turns back to her pink companion. Not the one she is waiting for. This mystery is getting to me.
Korean, maybe? Thai? I know it’s not Filipino or Japanese. Asians, just know these things.
The Asian lady glances my way. I avert my eyes. She is not my type. No eye contact. Look away I say to myself. Look away. My urge to get up and grows. Is it the cool breeze or is her stare. I don’t know. Her companion speaks in a gutter-ish. Chinese. I bet they are Chinese. “Shey shey” I hear one say. I thinks that’s Mandarin.
Oh, oh. The girl in the checkered coat gets up. She readies herself to leave. Takes one last puff on her cigarette. She gathers her bag and she is gone. She wore all black, except for the red belt, maybe. Went too fast. She gathered her stuff and she took off. Gone like the athletic couple. Mystery remains a mystery. Was she stood up? Did her batteries die? I am troubled. My questions unanswered.
The Chinese girl sitting in the far chair speaks, but I don’t understand her. She’s wearing a pink, no. Red and white shirt with Flower prints. She has a Tall drink sitting in front of her. (Small in Starbuck speak) Her friends drink requires a heat-thing. A cover coat. I don’t know, but that is what I will call it, a Cover coat for her coffee. Her friend gets up and leave. Initially, I thought it was guy with short hair. But, it looks it girl with a Flock of Seagulls hair cut. Kind of Dike-ish. The girl in pink coughs. She wears Black rimmed glasses. I wonder what her conversation was about. Her friend went back inside the café.
They are playing that song from the movie Nine. “Be ITALIAN”.
Her manly girlfriend is also wearing a plaid hoodie. She drinks, or is it a he? I dunno. He/she glances this way. Little do they know they are part of my Starbucks musings. Let’s call the pink friend Jamie. She reminds of this heavy girl in the second grade that had I had issues with. Her lips move, but nothing comes out. She scratches her face. It looked like she was picking her nose.
Anyways, her friend, lets call him/her Butch. Crosses his leg like a man. He/she shakes his/her head in a masculine way. I hear his/her voice. Sounds feminine. Its gotta be. Well, he/she pulls on his cross leg closer to him/her. I still don’t know if it’s a girl or guy. He/she dresses like a guy, but kind of looks like a woman. Body frame is svelte, in a husky kind of way. Maybe, Pat is a better name. Very Androgynous.
Jason Calls for Warmer Climate
Alas, their interactions no longer interests me. I think it’s time to go in. Jason, my cousin, has had his head covered for awhile. The breeze from the car and the cool winter day has made sitting here a little. . . It has me wanting a more warmer climate. Must run. This exercise in the Starbucks Cahuenga musing is over.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Glitter: A Troubled Soul That Could Do Anything and Be Anything
01/3/2010 5:28:59 PM
Her name is Glitter (Actually, it’s not, I fear someone may try to look her up. She may not be too happy) At any rate, she may not know it, but she infected me. Infected with this writing bug. Hopefully, some day I will thank her. I don’t know what she is doing now. Writing. Stripping. Selling. Angel-ing. Who knows? Myspaced her awhile ago, but I don’t myspace anymore. Just facebook and the occasional twitter.
What I liked about her is the “go-for-it” gumption. Of course, she was attractive, smart, ballsy. Moreover, she was not afraid to use her assets. Unfortunately, with many people of her caliber, she had issues. Who doesn’t? It’s been a long time since I thought about her. We got brownies a couple of times. I was a lightweight compared to her. She gave me her panties when to I went to Hawaii. (Long story, another time) We weren't close in that way. She had a way about her. Glitter made me laugh.
Late, winter nights make me think of her. I hope she is not tired--or wasted--or burnt out. She had the ability to be anything and do anything--No remorse, no hate in her heart. When I think of her, it is one listening to the beat of her own drum. Pretty actress-type. Gorgeous smile. Nice figure. Smart. Practical. Former stripper. Opinionated. Writer. Nothing she did surprised me. If she became an actress, a politician’s wife, a vegan advocate--Glitter was something else. She's got skills. If she was a hooking, stripping, personal training, I would say that sounds like Glitter. If she became a world renowned writer or porn star. . .honestly,the circles she traveled amazed me. Interviewed luminaries, published writer, walked on the dark-side (I will leave it at that) Glitter has an outstanding spirit. I hope it is not snuffed out.
She has some demons—Dark Demons. Honestly, who doesn't?I remember the things she said when she was having a bad trip. Probably doesn’t remember, but I do. Body language told the story. Buckled over, holding herself. Writhing in pain. deep emotional pain. A heavy guilt weighs on her soul. The brownie-induced psycho-drama out was not first time it played, I suspect. I fear she may keep replaying that drama until she gets help, professional help. She needs to forgive herself and stop repressing this pain. Guess, that is why I am drawn to her. I turned to peer counseling because I needed help. She hides it. No, "Buries" is a better word. Until she accepts that hole in heart, she will keep butterflying from one social circle to another. Glitter is more like a moth, she keeps flying to the light unaware these unconscious choices are self-punishment. She's Blanche Duboise, the histrionic personality in Streetcar Named Desire. She's running from a herself. A decision--a tough, life altering decision she made. Looking back, I understand now why you wanted be like Lauryn Hill. Zion is one of my favorite songs on the tract, too.
Glitter,I do not believe you have forgiven yourself. I had a hard time doing the same. I, too, was in denial, deep Denial. Lauryn Hill's song, "I Used to Love Her (Him)" hit a chord for me. I was afraid of who I would become if I stayed with her. Emotional abuse I would not take. After so many loud, shouting matches and unrelenting, harsh, angry words,I can see how a man could put hands on a woman. Don't get me wrong, I am not rationalizing domestic abuse. It is WRONG. Just Wrong. A real man should never strike a woman. The better part of valor may be taking your leave. I was afraid if I was with her longer, I would be dead (emotionally) or she would be, physically.
Glitter is Armenian. She has cultural pressures: Be successful, find a good Armenian husband, etcetera. From last I heard, she is far from that. She runs Glitter's Angels. Don't suspect her family approves. She hooked up with some bouncer guy in Florida, Jack (not his name). If he is her boyfriend, then he must be a good guy. She seesaws from good and bad, hot to not-so hot. She knows that means. Maybe she will read this sometime. Maybe not. I hope to connect with her in the future. Twinkle (Inside joke), I hope you are doing well. If you are in trouble, I still hope you would connect with me. I hope that it does not get too bad that you can’t get out of. You have a good soul. I hope you find Forgiveness. Glitter, be well.
Her name is Glitter (Actually, it’s not, I fear someone may try to look her up. She may not be too happy) At any rate, she may not know it, but she infected me. Infected with this writing bug. Hopefully, some day I will thank her. I don’t know what she is doing now. Writing. Stripping. Selling. Angel-ing. Who knows? Myspaced her awhile ago, but I don’t myspace anymore. Just facebook and the occasional twitter.
What I liked about her is the “go-for-it” gumption. Of course, she was attractive, smart, ballsy. Moreover, she was not afraid to use her assets. Unfortunately, with many people of her caliber, she had issues. Who doesn’t? It’s been a long time since I thought about her. We got brownies a couple of times. I was a lightweight compared to her. She gave me her panties when to I went to Hawaii. (Long story, another time) We weren't close in that way. She had a way about her. Glitter made me laugh.
Late, winter nights make me think of her. I hope she is not tired--or wasted--or burnt out. She had the ability to be anything and do anything--No remorse, no hate in her heart. When I think of her, it is one listening to the beat of her own drum. Pretty actress-type. Gorgeous smile. Nice figure. Smart. Practical. Former stripper. Opinionated. Writer. Nothing she did surprised me. If she became an actress, a politician’s wife, a vegan advocate--Glitter was something else. She's got skills. If she was a hooking, stripping, personal training, I would say that sounds like Glitter. If she became a world renowned writer or porn star. . .honestly,the circles she traveled amazed me. Interviewed luminaries, published writer, walked on the dark-side (I will leave it at that) Glitter has an outstanding spirit. I hope it is not snuffed out.
She has some demons—Dark Demons. Honestly, who doesn't?I remember the things she said when she was having a bad trip. Probably doesn’t remember, but I do. Body language told the story. Buckled over, holding herself. Writhing in pain. deep emotional pain. A heavy guilt weighs on her soul. The brownie-induced psycho-drama out was not first time it played, I suspect. I fear she may keep replaying that drama until she gets help, professional help. She needs to forgive herself and stop repressing this pain. Guess, that is why I am drawn to her. I turned to peer counseling because I needed help. She hides it. No, "Buries" is a better word. Until she accepts that hole in heart, she will keep butterflying from one social circle to another. Glitter is more like a moth, she keeps flying to the light unaware these unconscious choices are self-punishment. She's Blanche Duboise, the histrionic personality in Streetcar Named Desire. She's running from a herself. A decision--a tough, life altering decision she made. Looking back, I understand now why you wanted be like Lauryn Hill. Zion is one of my favorite songs on the tract, too.
Glitter,I do not believe you have forgiven yourself. I had a hard time doing the same. I, too, was in denial, deep Denial. Lauryn Hill's song, "I Used to Love Her (Him)" hit a chord for me. I was afraid of who I would become if I stayed with her. Emotional abuse I would not take. After so many loud, shouting matches and unrelenting, harsh, angry words,I can see how a man could put hands on a woman. Don't get me wrong, I am not rationalizing domestic abuse. It is WRONG. Just Wrong. A real man should never strike a woman. The better part of valor may be taking your leave. I was afraid if I was with her longer, I would be dead (emotionally) or she would be, physically.
Glitter is Armenian. She has cultural pressures: Be successful, find a good Armenian husband, etcetera. From last I heard, she is far from that. She runs Glitter's Angels. Don't suspect her family approves. She hooked up with some bouncer guy in Florida, Jack (not his name). If he is her boyfriend, then he must be a good guy. She seesaws from good and bad, hot to not-so hot. She knows that means. Maybe she will read this sometime. Maybe not. I hope to connect with her in the future. Twinkle (Inside joke), I hope you are doing well. If you are in trouble, I still hope you would connect with me. I hope that it does not get too bad that you can’t get out of. You have a good soul. I hope you find Forgiveness. Glitter, be well.
Injuries--Life Necessities
Monday, January 04, 2010
2010 Promises Made, Injuries Endured
Barnes and Nobles—Trying to stay on 2010 promises. Blogged earlier today. Had to leave the house because there was a ton of people. It was a New Years get-together. Mostly, Luz’s family. When I left, kids were playing upstairs. The rest were watching Hangover. I don’t think they knew the Lakers were playing the Kings. If they did, I suspect they would be watching that instead. Earlier, they were watching Florida and Tim Tebow play against Cincinnati in some bowl game. Gators were winning 33+ to 3. Blow out. At one stint, a player got hurt. Dislocated his elbow. Ouch!!!
I know the feeling. Dislocated mine wrestling. A good wrestler from Ridgecrest caught me in a double underhook. Tilted me over. I planted my left elbow. Heard a crunch. I had an OBE, Out of Body Experience. I heard a shout from over there. Little did I realize that shout came from me. My season was over. Kind of glad in a way. No longer running after practice. No more cutting weight.
Injuries, I had a few. When I was 4 or 5, I was pushed off a slide and broke my left arm. Leaned on a glass table and had to get stitches for my knee. Broke my clavicle playing football. Strained or tore my ACL playing basketball. Turned a few ankles here and there. Injuries, just a fact of life.
Recoveries: Paths from Injury's Lessons
Recovering from an injury:one of the trials all of us must face. I don’t know anyone that hasn’t to take that road to recovery. We can all relate. Sometimes these injuries are life-threatening. Sometimes they are just require some chicken soup and a band-aid. After going through my share of funerals last year, I realized there are injuries to one’s soul. Battered children, sexual assault victims, and the gamut suffer an injury. These assaults to mind and soul can dramatically effect the person makeup in ways that cannot be visibly seen, like a cast or a bruise. However, we can see it. It’s there. One just needs to be observant. Look at the defense mechanism they use. Are they inappropriately angry? Do they shout and scream for a relatively minor thing? Its regression. Are they saying “You sound bored. “? Are they accusing you of cheating? May want to reverse the mirror and look at the accuser. Are they denying or repressing some past hurt? Maybe, a friend of yours is studying or working extra hard? Sublimation.
Super Heroes Have Issues
Batman. Punisher. Daredevil. Spider-man. Captain America—All these Superhero character, Sublimators. All of them. A great pain was caused to them and they endured and turned all this emotional angst to something positive. Batman’s millionaire parents were killed by a criminal. Bruce remade himself to the Dark Knight to protect Gotham. Frank Castle had his family gunned down by a mob hit-man. He became a bad mo-fo kicking ass. Matt Murdoch became an a crime-fighting red ninja, kind of. His day job was attorney-at law. Peter Parker, dead gramps on his conscience, chose a life at the Daily Bugle instead of the WWE. Steve Roger was skinny nerd that shot up super anabolic steroids. Later, he had combat training and kicked some butt. All put a costume and fought crime. Why? Because they were wronged and they decided not to be a victim and chose to whoop ass.
I bet you know a hero right now. Police. Nurse. Physical therapist. Counselor, Teacher. They are all around us. Need inspiration. Read the Bible. Torah. Quran. Pick up a history book. Got to comic book store. They are all around us. Who your hero?
Public Humiliation Fires Me Up
Injuries effect more than the body. They affect the mind and soul. I am don't want you think these acts upon another were character strengthening. I have been the bully and I have been bullied. It is not nice being the victim and hopefully with time one learns it is not nice being the brutalizer either. These psychological injuries can be devastating. Nonetheless, one needs to decide to get better. First, they must accept the circumstances happened and then they need to decide to do something about it. Good or bad. Its really up to you. Wear a costume. Put on a badge. Go to school for a psychology degree. Whatever, it is one can replay the damage caused or one can decide to do something about it. Writing has become my medicine. Little personal history, during a class discussion, My Advance English teacher used one of my papers as how NOT to write. I remember him looking at me and snickering. My friends chuckled at my discomfort. Mr. Slay, thanks for blasting me. Sabbatical from writing is over. Now, I’m on my road to recovery.
2010 Promises Made, Injuries Endured
Barnes and Nobles—Trying to stay on 2010 promises. Blogged earlier today. Had to leave the house because there was a ton of people. It was a New Years get-together. Mostly, Luz’s family. When I left, kids were playing upstairs. The rest were watching Hangover. I don’t think they knew the Lakers were playing the Kings. If they did, I suspect they would be watching that instead. Earlier, they were watching Florida and Tim Tebow play against Cincinnati in some bowl game. Gators were winning 33+ to 3. Blow out. At one stint, a player got hurt. Dislocated his elbow. Ouch!!!
I know the feeling. Dislocated mine wrestling. A good wrestler from Ridgecrest caught me in a double underhook. Tilted me over. I planted my left elbow. Heard a crunch. I had an OBE, Out of Body Experience. I heard a shout from over there. Little did I realize that shout came from me. My season was over. Kind of glad in a way. No longer running after practice. No more cutting weight.
Injuries, I had a few. When I was 4 or 5, I was pushed off a slide and broke my left arm. Leaned on a glass table and had to get stitches for my knee. Broke my clavicle playing football. Strained or tore my ACL playing basketball. Turned a few ankles here and there. Injuries, just a fact of life.
Recoveries: Paths from Injury's Lessons
Recovering from an injury:one of the trials all of us must face. I don’t know anyone that hasn’t to take that road to recovery. We can all relate. Sometimes these injuries are life-threatening. Sometimes they are just require some chicken soup and a band-aid. After going through my share of funerals last year, I realized there are injuries to one’s soul. Battered children, sexual assault victims, and the gamut suffer an injury. These assaults to mind and soul can dramatically effect the person makeup in ways that cannot be visibly seen, like a cast or a bruise. However, we can see it. It’s there. One just needs to be observant. Look at the defense mechanism they use. Are they inappropriately angry? Do they shout and scream for a relatively minor thing? Its regression. Are they saying “You sound bored. “? Are they accusing you of cheating? May want to reverse the mirror and look at the accuser. Are they denying or repressing some past hurt? Maybe, a friend of yours is studying or working extra hard? Sublimation.
Super Heroes Have Issues
Batman. Punisher. Daredevil. Spider-man. Captain America—All these Superhero character, Sublimators. All of them. A great pain was caused to them and they endured and turned all this emotional angst to something positive. Batman’s millionaire parents were killed by a criminal. Bruce remade himself to the Dark Knight to protect Gotham. Frank Castle had his family gunned down by a mob hit-man. He became a bad mo-fo kicking ass. Matt Murdoch became an a crime-fighting red ninja, kind of. His day job was attorney-at law. Peter Parker, dead gramps on his conscience, chose a life at the Daily Bugle instead of the WWE. Steve Roger was skinny nerd that shot up super anabolic steroids. Later, he had combat training and kicked some butt. All put a costume and fought crime. Why? Because they were wronged and they decided not to be a victim and chose to whoop ass.
I bet you know a hero right now. Police. Nurse. Physical therapist. Counselor, Teacher. They are all around us. Need inspiration. Read the Bible. Torah. Quran. Pick up a history book. Got to comic book store. They are all around us. Who your hero?
Public Humiliation Fires Me Up
Injuries effect more than the body. They affect the mind and soul. I am don't want you think these acts upon another were character strengthening. I have been the bully and I have been bullied. It is not nice being the victim and hopefully with time one learns it is not nice being the brutalizer either. These psychological injuries can be devastating. Nonetheless, one needs to decide to get better. First, they must accept the circumstances happened and then they need to decide to do something about it. Good or bad. Its really up to you. Wear a costume. Put on a badge. Go to school for a psychology degree. Whatever, it is one can replay the damage caused or one can decide to do something about it. Writing has become my medicine. Little personal history, during a class discussion, My Advance English teacher used one of my papers as how NOT to write. I remember him looking at me and snickering. My friends chuckled at my discomfort. Mr. Slay, thanks for blasting me. Sabbatical from writing is over. Now, I’m on my road to recovery.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)