My Own Taj Mahal.

Most of the great wonders of the world are monuments and tombs to old dead leaders. They build these divine structures so that people will remember them. But at the end of the day, what will they be remembered for? Will they be remembered for the legacy that they left in life in how many lives that they have touched, or will they be remembered for using slave labor and stealing from the poor in order to make these buildings that stand for nothing except megalomania, death and destruction?

So then I wonder, what will I want my legacy to be? What do I want people to know and think about me when I die? I can only hope that I have touched many lives, through conversation and through art. I can only hope that the ones that I truly love loved me and loved how I loved them. Maybe I will not be the next Cezanne or F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I can be Charles, the guy who loved with all of his heart and let all of his feelings flow the best that he could.

So when I die, I want to be cremated. I want my ashes to go to the places that meant the most to me. I’m sure that some should go to Mars, in honor of my mentor, but I want the rest to go to places that have a special place in my heart, like my back yard, Central Park, the Dominican Republic, Kelly Drive, and the trails on Fairmount Park. My life will be my own Taj Mahal.

Land of lost Web Pages

When I started this blog, I said that I wouldn’t get too personal. Then, I started talking about intolerance, drinking, smoking pot, partying it up with Co-eds, masturbation, lack of luck with women, and struggles with self-confidence. I think that maybe I kind of missed the boat on not getting personal. But then again, I probably wasn’t clear to myself as to what I meant at the time. A lot of personal blogs are filled with total garbage. People name their friends by name and talk about their sex lives but on a totally superficial level. They play those blog games where they answer questionnaires or have those auto generators that tell you your porn star name. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that I think that a blog can be something more, even my little 5 hit a day ode to existentialism and intellectualism.

I wonder if there are studies out there with data on how much hard drive space and bandwidth is wasted on these blogs, especially the ones that are abandoned after a few months. How much Copper, Coal, Silicon, and Iron have we wasted on this sludge? Just think, Mountains upon Mountains wasted on useless knowledge that soon is abandoned into that land of lost web pages.

The Early 20's Funk

We always hear about teenage angst, mid life crisis, and the golden years and how tough they are. Why is it that no one ever tells you how much your early 20’s suck? After I went through this hazing I asked everyone that I know about what they felt about their early 20’s. They all told me that they totally sucked for a variety of interesting reasons. They were all very deep and personal stories that bring up a lot of emotions. But what I found most interesting was how unanimous this feeling was and how that differs from what you hear before you enter the shit storm.

My question is why doesn’t anyone tell you the truth about this before it happens so that you are prepared? You have such adolescent notions and material dreams. You think that you will make a lot of money, have a nice apartment in Center City, drive a Ferrari, and have a model on each arm. Then you wake up one day, in the room that you grew up in at Mom’s house, pinch two pennies together to take SEPTA to work, and then go home, tired, only to veg out in front of the TV, Google useless knowledge, bullshit on IM, smoke a joint, jerk off thinking about that hot chick who won’t fuck you, then fall asleep only to do the same thing again the next day.

It’s the vicious circle. You have no concept of time, because it used to be fall semester, winter break, spring semester, summer break. Now its work, work work, and more work, until you take that vacation which you never will take because you feel so self important, like the fucking world will end at your job if you aren’t there. Work consumes your life and you feel like a Doozer. At the end of the day, you don’t sit back and see what you made, because all you care about is what you didn’t get done. And then you stupidly think that if you work a little faster to beat that deadline then you will get to relax. Then, reality strikes, and you realize that if you are stupid enough to kill yourself to work fast, then your boss will be smart enough to just pile on more work.

So you work so hard, because you want to build a life for yourself. Then, you realize that all your dreams were bullshit. You thought that you were building your life, but what you were really doing was letting it pass by. You don’t have that luxury car because not only can you not afford it, but you realize that it is a bullshit money pit depreciating asset for balding middle aged men with small penises. You don’t have that model, because not only will she not give you the time of day, but when she opens her mouth the shear bullshit that comes out of it is so unattractive that it can soften even the rock of Gibraltar.

You never get to go out because you work all the time and all of the people who you know are from work, and the last thing that you want to do is hang out with their monkey asses when you leave Inotech Inc. You work in a corporate fishbowl called a cubicle that has the unique combination of both making you feel claustrophobic and exposed. Every month you learn that Herpes isn’t the gift that keeps on giving, but College loans are.

You realize that money or prestige can’t buy happiness and things are just things. The new dream is to work with people who you respect and help you grow. You want the ability to tell your boss to go fuck himself without worrying about being fired. You want to feel like a person and not a number. You want to feel whole and appreciated. And most of all, you want a life.

But the professional route isn’t the route for everyone. Some choose the Spartan existentialist route, filled with houses jam packed with people, ramon noodles, sucky per hour jobs in the service industry, promiscuous sex, cabinets filled to the brim with liquor, 3 foot bongs packed with the killer kind bud, useless gadgets which collect dust, and the credit card debt to prove it all

No matter what route you take, the problem is all the same. You worked all your life to get to this point, and now you don’t know what the hell to do. You feel so unsure of yourself now that you have to actually live your life. You have to make your bed, and then you have to lie in it. Before, hey, you might have been miserable, but at least you knew that you were doing “the right thing”. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Now you are at the end of the tunnel, and you don’t know what to do, because all you ever did before was just try and get there.

Then, one day, you finally realize what you have to do. You basically have to tell yourself, fuck everybody. Fuck society, who only wants you for your slave labor and your consumerism. They want to make you feel like shit so you will make their product, give it to them, and then go out and buy it. Fuck your boss who is never happy, no matter how crazy you work. Fuck those women who don’t appreciate you for who you are and just want to use you because you are a nice guy who is a doormat. Fuck all those guys you used to hang out with who aren’t worth anything except some free beer and pot on occasion and who tell you that all you need to do to make yourself happy is to get laid. Fuck your parents who, even though they love you and want what’s best for you, haven’t been your age since Country Joe and the Fish were storming the charts.

So, when your parents tell you to go to school and work hard, so that you will get a “good job with benefits” and you will be happy, you feel like you were lied to. Why didn’t they tell you? Do they think that you will not do the right things if you are prepared with the truth? Do they just not remember? What happens when you don’t become what they want you to become? What happens when you marry the wrong person or don’t become a doctor or a lawyer like they told you that you would be since you were a sperm? Will they still love you? Will your relationship ever be the same?

I had my own version of this story with some omissions and additions. It took me a lot of time and work to get out of this depressing vile of funk. It took old friends who believed in me and helped pull me out. They made me see in myself what everyone always saw in me. It took new friends who guided me and made me feel more reassured. The guys who take me out for a beer or a cigar to bullshit or talk about our lives. The women who tell me what a great guy I am and make me feel like the king of the world.

I used to put up walls for fear that I was not worthy. And when people put up walls in front of me, all I would do is pile on more bricks. I was the caterpillar who was afraid to break out of his Cocoon and be the butterfly that everyone knew that I could be. Now, it’s time to tear down those walls. It’s time to spread my wings and fly.

Rocky in the Rain

Tonight I went and watched Rocky II in front of the Art Museum in the rain. That’s definitely an experience. The bright lights shinning through the rain onto this magnanimous gothic structure, which is now covered by the semi-built stage for Live 8.

It’s pretty cool watching the famous scene where he runs up the Art Museum steps in front of the very place in which is was filmed. What I remember most about this montage was when he ran through the Italian Market. It brings me back to my childhood when the Italian Market was actually Italian and untouched by gentrification. Now it might as well be called the Korean Market, and there are art galleries there. Galleries in the Italian Market? What is the world coming to?

What I remember most about the Italian Market was not the great food, the saw dust on the ground which soaked up the fish guts, or the burning of plywood in the middle of the street to keep warm. One day, I went there with my dad, and we parked near a slaughterhouse. We made several trips to and from the car. I heard a lot of bahs coming from there. Then, a few less. Then, only a handful. Then, total silence.

Get Regular With Relax

I was watching an old episode of Sex and the City the other night. It was the one where Samantha goes out with a guy who is so well endowed that she can’t handle him. Imagine being known as that guy. I’m wondering whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing. Then, of course, my mind started wandering and thinking of all the other sucky roles there are out there.

I heard that a lot of the people who played the criminals in the America’s Most Wanted reenactments got mistaken for the real criminals all the time. Imagine being actually mistaken for an ax murderer on the run.

Then, of course, there are all those commercials. You know the ones I’m talking about, PMS meds, tampons, Genital Herpes meds, erectile dysfunction meds, and laxatives. The funny thing about these commercials is that the characters seem so happy to have these conditions. I mean how happy would u be if you were constipated on PMS with a big wad of fuckin cotton or dioxin ridden bleached wood fibers in you, while you had an STD and are married to a guy who can’t get it up?

Imagine being that actor and talking to someone in a bar who thinks that you look familiar. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Yeah, I’m the guy in the Levitra commercial who finally got to throw the ball through the hoop.” Or, imagine being like Mia Farrow’s character in Radio Days doing a commercials where you sing “Get Regular With Relax”. I mean, are the residuals really worth it?

Damned To Hell

I consider myself a total clutter bug. I think that anyone who knows me will attest to that fact. So walking around my room, kicking around stuff that should have been thrown away a long long time ago, I found an old test of mine from College. I must mention that I graduated 3 years ago, but I digress.

It took me forever to figure out which class this was from. It shows me how much I just learned to “past the test” sometimes. And I read it, not understanding what the hell I said, but it did sound profound. I guess that’s all that matters at the end of the day.

So my friend always says that if you want to make money, don’t go to school, create one. I mean how much of the bullshit that we “learn” in school do we actually retain? I would say that after 3 years in the “real world” that school teaches you to learn how to learn. This is a valuable skill, especially in my field, software engineering.

Then, I couldn’t help thinking, jokingly, about my friend who goes to Seminary to become a minister. I mean how much of this stuff does he really retain, with all the Greek and Hebrew and Jesus and Paul this and that? And then God said, bla bla bla, Israel, Jesus, bla bla bla, Nazareth, etc. I mean, I only do a program here and there, and here this guy is going to guide the spirituality of the future movers and shakers of our nation, or I can only hope. If he learns spirituality the way that I learned Math and Computer Science, then I think that we are probably all damned to hell.

Boulder of Shame

I’ve always been a pretty blunt person. I have prided myself on cutting through bullshit and arbitrary notions of tact. I’ve been complimented on many occasions for my ability to “say anything”. For example, a girl I worked with in college saw me chewing on straws a lot. She asked me if I did it because I had an oral fixation. I responded that I thought that most girls would like that. That’s the kind of bluntness that I had. I had the ability to say anything without really revealing anything.

I had a conversation with a friend one night and he told me about the reason he is such good friends with his best friend. He said that they don’t hold anything back. Then I realized that for years I was holding back. I was holding back with him, but more importantly, I was holding back with myself.

Yeah, I can flirt or ask people questions that most would not even think about asking. I can say a lot of things most people just don’t say. But at the same time, I was holding back. I didn’t talk about the fact that I was miserable and uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t really let anyone into my life, even the people who meant a lot to me. But more importantly, I didn’t tell the people who were important in my life how much they meant to me.

So at that moment, I just said fuck it, and just let it all out. I started telling people what I was really thinking and feeling. I let it all out without fear of sounding sappy or worrying about feeling vulnerable. And instead of feeling vulnerable, it’s quite a liberating experience. Keeping things bottled up feels like carrying around the Stone Cutters boulder of shame, and now I’ve cut the shackles.

P.Q. Quatlbaum

As I have said before, when I was a kid, I went to a very Liberal alternative Co-Op school called Project Learn (PL). We called our teachers by their first names, and each parent had their own job. One parent’s job was teaching me and my two friends how to program in Quick Basic. Every month, there was a Town Meeting, where all the parents from school got together and talked about the issues. Everything was done by consensus, so being a product of PL can really help you in collaborative processes. Hell, I’m a Theatre nut who is a Software Engineer. I don’t think that this is a coincidence.

What I loved about PL was the people and the environment. I mean, they are “my people” if there ever was any. They are mostly smart, middle classed, liberal intellectuals who work in the public sector or own their own Business. I have never met a PL parent who worked in Corporate America. And despite all the beef Liberals get about being “anti-family”, you will never meet people with more traditional family values. All the men who are a product of PL respect and deeply love strong women and are generally the types who mostly seek long term relationships, even in their 20’s.

I think that it was the right fit for me, because the school is a community that really seeks out what is best in each member and nurtures it. I always had a problem with English, even though I am a pretty good writer with the help of spell check (God bless modern technology). So a few days a week, I would get extra tutoring after school, after it was found out that this was something that I had to deal with. IN other schools, I would have fallen through the cracks or been labeled “incorrigible”. At the same time, I was a year ahead in Math, so instead of doing Math, I took a class in programming, and now, I am a programmer, for better or worse. Perhaps, some day, I’ll get a real job. ;)

So last week, it was an end of an Era. The after school teacher who taught me how to draw, carve, and was a mentor early in my life retired. We had a big party for him. I have to tell you that I never thought that he would leave. I kind of thought that he would just stay there till he died, and then we would all chip in to rocket his remains to Mars. You have no idea how to many times I have heard him filibuster about the face and pyramids on Mars and the merits of not being a one planet person, but I digress.

It is always great to see old friends and get back in contact with people who you should have never lost touch with in the first place, especially if they knew you when you were a little whippersnapper. It’s always good to get a little old dose of PL from time to time too. But what is really great is becoming friends with people who raised you while you are now a man. The conversations that I have with this teacher now are eye opening, because now we can talk about things that we couldn’t before. The same goes with my parents. When you are a man, you are less worried about getting “in trouble” than you are in just having an open and honest conversation. And this time, more or less, you are on the same level with your elders.

I remember I saw a guy in a Bar who I used to go to a pool with every summer when I was a kid. His son is the same age as I am. I asked him whether he ever thought that he and I would have a beer together. He seemed to not be as freaked out about the whole thing as I was. I guess we all grow up and our relationships change. But we always have to keep our eye on the ball. We always have to remember who we really are and where we came from.

I make it a policy not to name anyone I know in my writings on this blog. All I have to say is, this post is dedicated to P.Q. Quatlbaum. You have touched many lives more so than you can ever imagine. May your retirement be divine, whether it’s in the Pyramids in Egypt, or the face on Mars.

The McDonald’s Test

Today, I stopped by McDonald’s to get a quick bite to eat. This is something that I swore that I wouldn’t do after seeing Super Size Me, but I guess when you are in a hurry, it’s OK. This visit made me remember an old Economic theory I had. I call it the McDonald’s test. Here is how it goes. If you want to find out the Economic livelihood of a community, then stop by their local McDonald’s. How old are most of the people working there? Do they look like they are doing it to get extra money for Gas or that nice prom dress that they always wanted, or are they older? Not necessarily old, but old enough that they shouldn’t still be working at McDonalds. This test has seems to have stood the test of time during my short years on this earth.

It makes you think about people’s fate. Some people are destined to wear a three-piece suit to a well paying but crappy job at Innotech. Others are made to wear a uniform, weather it be at McDonalds or in Iraq. Is that good enough for the richest country in the world? I don’t think so, but maybe that’s why we are the richest country in the world. After all, someone has to pick up the garbage. Right? Is there a better way? I don’t know. I certainly hope so. It is food for thought though.

Here comes the Pellaton

Last Sunday I went and watched the Wachovia Bike Race in Manayunk. I watched part of it on Main Street, and the rest was spent on the infamous Manayunk Wall. If you haven’t seen the Pellaton pass by you ten feet away going 35 miles an hour, then well, frankly, you are just letting life pass you by. This is, of course, a lot different from the action on the Wall. You see the pure agony on their faces as they the hill, one out of the ten times during the race. Their jerseys are open. Sweet is pouring down their face. The pain in their expression is something that you will never forget. They almost look like they are foaming at the mouth.

But once you see them go by a few times, the real show is the crowd. There must be at least 20 random Keggers on the Wall. They are equipped with DJ’s, Live Bands, Food, Slip and Slides, you name it. People play Beer Pong and Flip Cup on the sidewalk. Most of the music that I heard was Old School Hip-Hop, Tribe, The Pharcyde, The Sugar Hill Gang, Black Sheep, Slick Rick, and much more. None of this 50 Cent shit. In fact, in my whole walk along the wall, I heard absolutely no crappy new Rap music. Thank God for that.

I used to go to a party on the Wall every year when I was a kid at my Aunt’s place. It was great. You would watch the race on the TV in the AC, and then when they came up the Wall, you would run downstairs to see them, and then run back up to the AC. It is definitely a different experience being own your own and of drinking age. You wake up the next mourning with a hangover and sunburn. I remember last year I saw a drunk kid go up to a cop and ask, “To whom do we owe the ability to get drunk on the street like this? Mayor Street?”

If you can’t go to a race, then seeing it on TV is still fun. All I can say is that I can’t wait for the Tour De France. Three weeks of none stop action. I want to see killer crashes and crazy drunk fans in the mountain stages swarming all the riders. I want to see the strategy. The attack, the defense, the counter attack, the breakaways, the drowns on the team taking one for Il capo di tutti capi, and that great announcer, with his awesome voice saying, “Here comes the Pellaton.”

Boredom or Suffering

It is sometime funny how pure beauty can come from what would normally be perceived as melancholy. The other day, as I was riding home on the train, I could see the fog cover the tips of a few of the Philly Skyscrapers. It was quite a site. I’ve seen the same thing in New York, but it is usually from the ground, and the lights from the buildings, which give Midtown permanent sunshine, shine through the fog and create an amazing site. The same can be said for the blinding security lights at Temple University.

Do I like this so much because of the contrast? Light symbolizes beauty, life, assuredness, and hope. Fog symbolizes ugliness, death, uncertainty, and fear. Do these polar opposites come together and create an impressive equilibrium? Is it that one’s strength does not come without the other?

Can we appreciate happiness without adversity? Would we just get used to it and want more? When is enough enough? Is there a dollar amount salary that will make us happy? Is there a number of chicks that we can score with that will make us satisfied? Is there a square footage of housing that is big enough for all the useless shit that we buy? Can we ever really have a nice enough car, whether big and gas guzzling or small and fast? Can we ever have a enough “friends” on speed dial? Can we ever really be happy without despair to compare it with?

A friend of mine always says that life is boredom or suffering. Maybe he has a point.

MC Oliver!

I was channel surfing this mourning. Yes, I said this mourning. I haven’t been able to say that in a while, but I digress. So I came across MTV 2, and there was a video by one of these new Hip-Hop groups that brought their C game as usual nowadays. What captured my attention was that they were sampling the line “you’re going to love me” from the song “And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going” from the musical Dreamgirls. I was just wondering what is with this phenomenon of sampling hooks from Musical Theatre in Hip-Hop songs.

I think that the first one that I remember was a Reggae remake of “If I Were A Rich Man” from Fiddler On The Roof. It’s a pretty fun song, especially at parties. I must admit that. That remake has been done I think at least 3 times, including the new version by Gwen Stefani. I love you Gwen, but I think that you should stick to your roots, my dearest.

I think that Jay-Z took this thing to a whole new level. He first started by sampling “It's the Hard-Knock Life” from Annie. Then he sampled “I'd Do Anything” from Oliver!. It’s just so funny to see all this tough new wave Hip-Hop fans driving down the street, with spinning rims, their seat laid back with the TV on the headrest, pumping these songs at full blast. They love the hot little hooks that Jay-Z has given them. But, oh no my friend, that’s little orphan Annie and pickpocket Oliver. I’d pay a Million bucks to see the looks on their faces when some of these guys figure out that they have been head nodding to musicals, campy sentimental musicals at that.

What a day for a ride

It was a great day to ride today. There were clear skies for miles. The flowers were in full bloom. The sunbathers were out in bikinis. The beautiful aroma of pot permeated the air at different points along the path. The “Chief” was selling pretzels in front of Boathouse Row. The clubfooted Pigeon named Petey was walking around, doing his thing. People read. Friends played Chess. Families played with their kids. What a day for a ride.