Juno

As is apparent by the publicity photo below, I have recently viewed the movie 'juno.' Normally
I'm not one to comment about a movie beyond the customary nod of approval or disdain upon exiting the theater; or in some random "what'd you do last night"conversation the ensuing day, but I'm going outside my comfort zone on this one. This lil' guy right here took me by surprise...not having any expectations beyond knowing that it had won some film festival and that the guy from 'Superbad' was in it; it was just another film that took up some space in the seemlingly random sequence of thoughts that run through my head. Going to see a movie like this was a crap-shoot, one that could leave a bad taste in my mouth, but it had credentials, so I felt confident.

It was funny, well-written, had a unique soundtrack, was well acted and overall was a great movie where everyone in it, I felt, contributed something to the overall 'greatness.' Now I can say with complete confidence that I'll pretty much like anything in movie form--I'm a movie person. But it's rare that I will enjoy something so much that it gives me cause to write about it.

Juno is a good movie. Go see it--it's worth the ridiculous ticket price.

Snow Daze

I remember waking up early in the morning on days when I knew snow was to fall the night before in the hopes that when I looked out the window, I would see a world transformed by clouds of fluffy whiteness. On the days the snow actually delivered on it's end of the bargin and draped the trees like a mink fur, I would pray to find my school on the ticker across the bottom of the TV screen telling me that my day would not be run by those authoritarians at school but by my endless reseviour of energy and whatever my imagination could muster.

Well today was one of those days; granted I'm no longer checking school listings, but the feeling of waking to a wonderland of whiteness where giant, sparkling flakes stack up showing you just how much fell, is the same. It was a snow day in Aspen, CO...and it was a beautiful one for gnar shredding where screams of joy were stifled by a constant stream of powder being thrown in your face because your waist-deep in Colorado gold. I could say more but...just let me tell you--it was a good day.

I am a happy man.

Peru

Won’t lie…I feel like garbage…normally I don’t get sick, but here I am, typing away, lost in a haze of mindless TV; periodically going through coughing spasms that I imagine to be quite funny to outside observers, but in actuality are so very painful. On the upside, it gives me a chance to reflect on the past couple months, where I got the chance to devote my time and energy to something that makes sense to me. After so long of not knowing and being unsure about everything, feeling like I’m aimlessly drifting from point-to-point, passing time…to again, have the opportunity to go and do something that I believe in, to do something that gives me purpose was scary and fulfilling. It’s scary because floating is easier then working towards a goal, because once you have an objective—once you have something tangible to work towards—all the sudden, failure is possible; and no one likes to fail. And it’s not like I plan on saving the world (although that would be pretty ok with me), I just enjoy the feeling I get from being able to experience something new and different while being able to give something back, it’s kinda selfish really.

Anywho…Peru. On August 15^th 2007 an earthquake of debatable magnitude and duration, depending on whom you’re talking to, struck the west coast of Peru, with its epicenter near the port town of Pisco. Thousands of Peruavans had their lives shaken to pieces, 500 of them died and 35,000 homes were destroyed. Once I found out that my favorite disaster relief organization, Hands on Disaster Relief (http://www.hodr.org/) was deploying, I immediately made plans to spend my “off season” volunteering. When people ask me how it was, saying it was amazing or that it was a truly rewarding experience doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. While true, I feel like it trivializes not only what happened but my experience as well, and not in a: ‘mighter then thou’ kinda way but in a: ‘words fail to express the overwhelmingness (yes, it’s a word) of the experience, and anything I say pales in comparison to actually being there and being a part of their re-construction.’ Whether it was clearing rubble in Pisco, so that families could build a temporary structure, playing with kids at a refugee camp who’ve had their lives turned upside down, building an irrigation channel in the rural village of Concon so that families could continue growing their crops, delivering aid to an extremely rural village 7+ hours up in the Andean foothills, where traditional dress is the norm and dinner was cooked on the side of the road, or building temporary classrooms and having them filled with Children a day after we completed them. That was how I spent two months, two months of embarrassing miscommunication, incredible food given as a gesture of thanks, and a constant shock at how families preserve under the greatest duress. I think it’s rather ironic that after being there I return to Aspen, one of the more affluent areas in the U.S, where packs of feral dogs don’t own the streets at night and the wind doesn’t carry a hint of sewage, where you won’t hear Reggaeton or Salsa music blasting from cars or street corner tiendas, where your safety isn’t questioned as you walk the streets at night, or have a woman breakdown as you clear away the material possessions she’s spent a lifetime amassing, in a home where she raised her family only to have her turnaround and ask us to eat with her as a way of thanking us. To do so much with so little as the vast majority of Peruvians do is both incredible and shaming at the same time. I am thankful for having had the opportunity to spend the time that I did with the communities in Peru, as it has reinforced in me a desire to go forth and see beyond my everyday and look to world for opportunities to help…cheesy, but true.

For someone who thought words would fail him, I’ve seemed to manage a couple on the subject…but I’m serious; my jigsaw recounting doesn’t do it justice. I’ve posted a ridiculous amount of photos here http://www.kodakgallery.com/, and it should be known that I may have taken one or two but that the majority has come from me poaching the photos of people who actually have an eye for that sort of thing. I suck with the camera. So yeah, Peru…it was bitchin’ and I’m sure I’ll post another blog or two on the subject…but for now, that’s all I got.

Soy Sucio en Peru

This is just a little taste of what´s to come as my time in Peru comes to an end. I have photos aplenty to post as well as some thoughts (as soon as I gather them) to share with all of you out there in blogger land.

My dream...

I have a dream, it smells like hot apple pie and feels like the frayed seems on an old baseball. My dream sounds like a John Philips Sousa march set to the explosion of fireworks. My dream is seen on a crisp fall evening when you can count your wishes on shooting stars. My dream tastes like a sweet kiss that brings butterflies into your stomach at the close of a first date.

I want to ride my dream like a surfer at Pipeline; barreling through its tube getting the ocean's mist on my face, seconds from getting caught in its hydraulic force then having the weight of the world fall squarely back on my shoulders.

I want my dream to run me into the ground; muscles cramping, lungs burning, out of breath and covered in the smell of determination, because my dream won't quit.

My dream is big enough where I don't have to choose, because no one choice can dictate forever. My dream evolves from simple to complex--it's anything and everything on a given day.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

yeah dat's right y'all...I be chillin' at the muthafuckin libary now cause I told my teach to peep dis shit. I says to his bitch ass "yo, I'm bout to raise up out dis mutha cause you know dat dis shit be mad snoozin." Punk ass bitch got so scared he bout dropped one in front of me. So's now I'm chillin wit my bitches at da libary where I's get all my shit done...cause you know dat da libary be da dopest spot wit mad books n'shit. Yeah you know, I like to kick it by sittin back, rollin a fat ass blunt and readin some muthafuckin Bill Shakespeare. He's ma dogg. Don't nobody flow like my man Bill--he got all da bitches. I peeped dat movie, In love wit Bill Shakespeare and shit wit dat hot blonde chicken head all up on his jock n'shit. Damn, you know dat's how da J-Man be flowin when he be trying to get in da honey's draws and I be smooth too. Barry White ain't got shit on dis honkey...just call me white chocolate cause baby you know I comes hard, correct and strong. It's about time for be to blow this bitch cause you know I gotsta be gettin my education on. I gotsta go deal wit dis wack as teach who think he know all about what I'm thinking 'n' shit--wull I say fuck dat shit. I jus might put some chrome to his honkey ass and see who knows shit bout shit. I peep y'all lata...

piece.

Not my words...

Security...what does this word mean in relation to life as we know it today? For the most part, it means safety and freedom from worry. It is said to be the end that all men strive for; but is security a utopian goal or is it another word for rut? Let us visualize the secure man; and by this term, I mean a man who has settled for financial and personal security for his goal in life. In general, he is a man who has pushed ambition and initiative aside and settled down, so to speak, in a boring, but safe and comfortable rut for the rest of his life. His future is but an extension of his present, and he accepts it as such with a complacent shrug of his shoulders. His ideas and ideals are those of society in general and he is accepted as a respectable, but average and prosaic man. But is he a man? has he any self-respect or pride in himself? How could he, when he has risked nothing and gained nothing? What does he think when he sees his youthful dreams of adventure, accomplishment, travel and romance buried under the cloak of conformity? How does he feel when he realizes that he has barely tasted the meal of life; when he sees the prison he has made for himself in pursuit of the almighty dollar? If he thinks this is all well and good, fine, but think of the tragedy of a man who has sacrificed his freedom on the altar of security, and wishes he could turn back the hands of time. A man is to be pitied who lacked the courage to accept the challenge of freedom and depart from the cushion of security and see life as it is instead of living it second-hand. Life has by-passed this man and he has watched from a secure place, afraid to seek anything better What has he done except to sit and wait for the tomorrow which never comes? Turn back the pages of history and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs, but they lived rather than existed. Where would the world be if all men had sought security and not taken risks or gambled with their lives on the chance that, if they won, life would be different and richer? It is from the bystanders (who are in the vast majority) that we receive the propaganda that life is not worth living, that life is drudgery, that the ambitions of youth must he laid aside for a life which is but a painful wait for death. These are the ones who squeeze what excitement they can from life out of the imaginations and experiences of others through books and movies. These are the insignificant and forgotten men who preach conformity because it is all they know. These are the men who dream at night of what could have been, but who wake at dawn to take their places at the now-familiar rut and to merely exist through another day. For them, the romance of life is long dead and they are forced to go through the years on a treadmill, cursing their existence, yet afraid to die because of the unknown which faces them after death. They lacked the only true courage: the kind which enables men to face the unknown regardless of the consequences. As an afterthought, it seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?

-Hunter S. Thompson

words to live by

Walk with the dreamers, the believers, the courageous, the cheerful, the planners, the doers, the successful people with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the ground. Let their spirit ignite a fire within you to leave this world better than when you found it.

-Wilferd Peterson

A Flash in the Pan...

A moment. A brief something that inspires is all it takes to move someone.
Move them to write, to sing, teach, love, dance; to give form to their ideas in a way that makes them feel good.
So much in a moment. A moment has power; connections are made and lost in moments, where the world disappears and all you're left with is emotion; raw and naked, for that brief instance you're vulnerable and all you can hope for is a smile telling you that it's alright, that someone understands.

Devil's Punchbowl

I went cliff jumping the other day...I've heard the spot referred to as both "punchbowl" and "devil's punchbowl." Personally I think adding the word 'Devil' makes it a little more badass so that's why the title is as such. it was pretty sweet. friggin' cold but sweet.

Hey Big Spender...

that's right 'Mr. Not-so-subtle, don't want to tip you so I'll avoid any interaction where your services may be rendered;' I'm talking to you.

Since working in the "service" industry, or to be more high-falutin' about it, "the hospitality industry" I've met a wide variety of people--good and bad, and the common denominator in all interactions, especially working as a bellman, is money. Or to be more precise--tipping or a gratuity. I want your money because I like to eat and drink and have a "life." You on the other hand seemed to have lost the memo on this one because as of late your wallet, money clip or rubber banded pile of crap has stayed in your pocket; leaving me to believe you actually think I wear these pants that don't breathe, and shirt that looks more apropos on a character from Hawaii five-O because I think I look good rather then because I'm at work. Granted, my fashion sense has long been scrutinized...but come on buddy cough up a couple bucks...you're on fucking vacation. Wait a minute...you're on vacation in Aspen. Did I fail to mention that? Yeah, I work at a "hip" hotel in Aspen, CO, you know, where the water flows like wine and the women instinctively flock like the salmon of capistrano." Yeah, that Aspen--it ain't cheap here Sally and those who come to play and experience a rocky mountain high know that as well...so I reiterate, where's the money shithead?

Don't let this diatribe lead you to believe that I'm not cordial when in my snazzy work uniform--quite the contrary; I'm cordial, polite and professional...not an ass kissing, brown-noser whose smile drips with a smarmy demi-glaze at the sight of an expensive car, so again, why do you choose to ignore the services I offer?

What services do I offer you may ask? Well let me tell you: I take the luggage from your car (which is usually obscenely heavy for the two night stay your slated for) and will bring it up to your room where I will then point out a couple features of said room (because if I don't, you'll call down in two minutes asking how to work a thermostat) and will then valet your car at a ridiculous nightly rate (I got nothing here--we really screw you on this one). Now many of you are saying...well I could do all of that on my own, why should I tip for something when I really have no choice in the matter? Trick question. you always have a choice--because I always ask; and if you decline my offer of help, that's fine, it's when you receive my help and keep that wad in your pocket that I want to smack you. That, and chances are you're from sea-level or somewhere down below the almost 8,000 foot elevation that Aspen is nestled at; so while you're sucking wind just getting out of the car, try lugging the 47 pieces of luggage you couldn't leave home without up a flight of stairs and then tell me anyone can do it.

I'm not saying my job is hard--because it's not. It's laughably easy; I'm talking trained monkey easy, but just because I'm not performing open-heart surgery or closing million dollar deals doesn't mean you can overlook services provided...because while you may have the fancy clothes, expensive luggage, and a home in St. Barts you should remember this: Money can't buy class my friend.

A penny saved is a penny burned...

Sandwiched between dreams and reality is an overworked and under-appreciated slave in a tacky uniform working their 3rd double in a row; forcing a smile and taking your shit because you need to exercise control over something as you piss away your savings on the 'vacation of a lifetime,' and they need the tip.

Fueled on coffee, grease and cigarettes you set out to the last bastion of American hope--the casino floor. The elastic waistband on your "comfort-sized" pants groans under the heft of yet another 'lumberjack' breakfast as you park your decidedly non-lumberjackian, double-wide excuse for an ass into a bucket seat at the nearest slot machine, and begin to feed it quarters. All because the XXL t-shirt you bought at the airport gift shop says "feelin' lucky." And the saddest part is that as you pump your savings into a machine designed to take your money, you don't even smile; your souless eyes, sucked dry from the super-oxygenated air and stale cigarette smoke, are dead...your golden years are spent hooked up to a machine, watching lights blink in a choreographed dance to the polyphonic jingle of games like 'Lucky Larry's Lobster Run' and 'Kabloom.'

Man...I cannot wait to retire.

Explanation

Before this thing gets under way I feel it necessary to explain the title so that we're all on the same page. As defined, Punctuated Equilibrium is as follows: It's a theory in evolutionary biology, which states that most sexually reproducing species will show little change for most of their geological history. When phenotypic evolution occurs, it is localized in rare events of branching speciation (called cladogenesis), and occurs relatively quickly compared to the species' full and stable duration on earth. Good stuff.

How that pertains to me is based on observations I've made about my life and how it's progressed thus far; for you see my life seems to follow the tenets of the above theory in that change has not been gradual. All change related to my life has been in spastic jerks from one thing to the next...master of the smooth segue I am not.

So there you go...a little background before we get too far.