OOJ: Waffles and Chocolate

new and improved breakfast! trader joe's dark chocolate mint creams on top of a whole grain frozen waffle- minty chocolate goodness in every bite. be jealous.

OOJ: Dried Rose

Zozobra 2014

Zozobra 2014, Santa Fe, NM 

it's pretty brilliant, actually. choose someone to accuse of being the source of an entire community's anxieties and problems, and immediately, poof: relief. no need for self-reflection or accountability, just burn a poor mofo at the stake and rejoice. so simple, so clean. too bad for me that i am that chosen one.

whoever came up with the idea is a marketing genius. first, they renamed me: Old Man Gloom, Zozobra- by now, i doubt anyone remembers my real name. then they created an entire celebration out of the burning of me: kettle corn, lemonade, firecrackers, live music, a parade. come one, come all, pack a picnic and bring the entire family out to watch a man go up in flames!

i get it, i see the appeal. life is much simpler with a living, breathing (though soon i'll have neither of these qualities) villain- that's me. people are overwhelmed by their fractured lives, their competing passions and responsibilities. they exist in a constant state of uncertainty, guessing at the "right" decisions, clumsily making plans for the future when no one of us is even guaranteed a future to begin with. add on top of that the daily tragedies that show no sign of ceasing- accidental death, paralysis, an unexpected diagnosis with a timeline- and it's easy to see how the troubles can pile up. in many of these situations, there is no obvious villain, which makes it all even harder to swallow. 

that's where i come in. because even a fictitious reason like me is preferable to the truth: that more often than not, things simply happen, with terrible results. call it what you will- fate, bad timing, natural consequences, some higher being's fucking Plan- but i have nothing to do with any of it. i'm just the guy they picked, the one who never fit in to begin with, and who therefore was an easy sell. pin your troubles on me and send them up in flames.

the crowd has been gathering for hours, the last rays of daylight fleeing the scene. a man in a suit appears and, like a bad actor, melodramatically bellows a list of accusations against me, ending with the predictable outcome: "GUILTY!" he repeats it too many times (hey buddy, less is more). the crowd screams; the people look joyful. beachballs are unleashed above their heads. a woman in glittering red spandex with feathers sprouting out of her head dances on the stairs in front of me as the band resumes their festive beat. from my vantage point, i can see everything: kids on shoulders, couples taking selfies, the vendors, the hooded figures carrying torches making their way towards me, and the infinite darkness beyond them all. 

SOD: J. Cole, "Be Free"

It's been a summer of sorrow for both ABQ and the U.S. that has once again forced us to recognize that residents in this country are not equally safe and protected. Michael Brown's death in Ferguson, MO, has been feeding the news crawl for weeks now, but here in ABQ, public attention has been on violence against homeless individuals. In June, Nancy Myers was killed by a driver who appeared to have aimed his truck straight for her while she was sleeping on the sidewalk at night. Then, in July, two local teens beat to death Allison Gorman and Kee Thompson, two homeless men sleeping in an empty lot, while a third teen stood watch. Both incidents seem to have been unplanned, triggered merely by the sight of people sleeping outside and a twitchy impulse to harm another being. 

Last night, i walked under a bridge near the train station at around 10:40 pm in downtown ABQ. i passed two individuals curled up in sleeping bags on the far side of the street, their heads tucked down out of sight. i believe that people who live on the streets have tremendous internal strength, resiliency, and ability to mobilize resources, but from where i stood, at that hour, they looked soft and vulnerable. It's incomprehensible how someone could make the decision to attack another who posed absolutely zero threat.

Just as it is incomprehensible when police shoot individuals who pose no more threat beyond the color of their skin. Here is today's Song of the Day, J. Cole's "Be Free", written in tribute to Michael Brown.

Postcard from Taos

view of Rio Grande Gorge from the trail to
Manby Hot Springs (Arroyo Hondo, NM)

three weeks into my Taos Ski Valley "residency", and i have disappointingly little to show for it. i've barely touched the many pens, blank paper, art supplies, and music scores that i brought. so far, this is all i've learned:

1. i don't like living in a place that has only one way in/out; i feel surprisingly trapped. though TSV is undeniably beautiful in the way that ski resorts are in the summer, it's a curvy 30-minute ride down the one road into town, and if anything happens on that road to block it, you're stuck on one side or the other until the block is cleared. TSV itself (in the summer) features one bar; one tiny cafe; one tinier "grocery" store named 'Bumps' (quotes around the word "grocery" because it's basically a liquor store with junk food and a couple lonely apples rolling around in a basket); one coffee stand; and a couple ski shops (why are they even open now???). which means that any time i get a break longer than 3 hours, i'm flying down that one road off the mountain like a bat out of hell. 

2. nature is not inherently enlightening. as someone who was raised among shopping malls and fast food chains (and who now prefers living amid the pavement, people, and commotion of cities), i've always thought there was something mystically superior about people who lived "in nature". i suspected that their decision to live in remote areas indicated a more highly developed sense of being, in the same way that i suspect that people who only read The Economist and listen to NPR podcasts must be superior to me, with my love of British fashion mags and commercial pop/R+B music (even though i know it kills my brain cells). i now realize this is complete bullshit. people who live in TSV all year round are as ridiculous as any fool off of any city street. 

3. because nature is not inherently enlightening, i have not become a more evolved human after living here for a few weeks. i have not solved any of my own problems, much less society's. i haven't had any revelations. i am not more patient and kind to others. i am as judgmental as i was before i arrived (see my comment on ppl who live in TSV). at first, i was disappointed with my lack of self-improvement. but now i'm content to admire the trees (which i swear are closing in on us, inch by inch); enjoy the thunderstorms; and thank the universe for DirectTV. 

OOJ: Guillermo Ochoa

very few things or people can hold my attention for 90 minutes, but one who succeeds at doing this is Guillermo Francisco Ochoa, goalie for the Mexican national team in this year's World Cup in Brazil, who has definitely established himself as the star and savior of the Mexican team this year (no thanks to you, Rafa). this 28-yr-old native of Guadalajara (where i lived for a few months!) debuted with Club América a few years ago and spent his last year playing for a French team and is now a free agent. Ochoa punched out, hugged, and blocked countless goal attempts while looking cool as an otter pop straight from the cooler. Mexico sadly hit the end of their World Cup run today after two successful penalty shots by the Netherlands, but hopefully Ochoa's performance this summer will bring him more opportunities in the international arena.  

POD: Antonio Machado

it's been forever since my last Poem/Poet of the Day (POD). here are a few lines by Antonio Machado, a Spanish poet (1875-1939). i "found" the first few lines in Helen Oyeyemi's novel, Boy, Snow, Bird, and looked up the rest; i think i've found my next tattoo. they were later incorporated into a song by Joan Manuel Serrat, a Spanish singer, in 1969, whose music is pretty sixties-fabulous. so you get a song too today- buy one, get one!

Caminante son tus huellas
El camino nada más;
caminante no hay camino
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino
sino estelas sobre el mar.

Traveller, the path is your tracks
And nothing more.
Traveller, there is no path
The path is made by walking.
By walking you make a path
And turning, you look back
At a way you will never tread again
Traveller, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea.