Earlier this evening I was browsing in my room and went to the window to take a look at the building architecture outside my window, as I'll be using it for an art project for my portfolio, and to my delight I spotted my brother on the balcony playing the guitar. Since the windows were closed and I had nothing better to do I decided I was going to, being the mature lady that I am, throw objects at him until I scared him and/or called his attention, so I quickly scatter my room for a useless object that I wouldn't miss if it flew out the window. I know my room is full of them.. everyday as I'm raking through my drawers I throw up piles of useless objects that I think.. where did it come from, what is it for, and why is it here? Everybody has it, right? So the first thing I see it a useless old chapstick that is sitting ontop of my TV without a cap, so I figure it's probably dried up and no longer efective. Just to make sure I dabbed it a little and found it to be surpringly moist. I tried using it and was a little carried away by its buttery taste, which was enough to convince me I might have use for it seeing as how we still are in winter. Next, I check inside a pot and clutched against old bracelets, european coins, and extra led for my pencils, I find a what appeared to be an old thermometer burried and forgotten probably somewhere around the beginning of summer. I poked around curiously to see if it still worked, and 7 minutes after thermometer amusement I discovered it is still quite accurate. Fun fact, my belly button is 32ºC. Moving on from my bellybutton, I realized how difficult it was to find something that had absolutley no use. Wall magnets, tiny japanese bells, salmon pink Flamingo figured souvenirs from Sugarland, Texas, old meaningful fortune cookie tags, one rechargable battery, sharpeners, lost earings, I feel like it all will come in handy sooner or later. Oh the mortal attatchment to material is a curious thing. Before that I thought I was pretty passive on this stuff, but I'm only human.
Aside from that, my art porfolio is coming along quite well. I started it this morning and have 5 drawings that I'm pretty proud of although they are not the best. The fact that I finished them all in a day shows thriving will, no? Well, anwyays..
I'll post them later, I need some feedbacks. For now I'm going to finish some sketches, between Yogurt, tea, and avacados, yogurt, tea, avacados.. and some Ice chips. And of course, my trusty, back-from-the-dead mini Ipod.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Food and Self-Esteem
Although this clearly points out to be a very 'me' like subject, it's meerly an over view of an event that boosted (contrary to the popular effect this has on me) my self-esteem a little.
I don't have much patience for the market, for some reason long isles of repeated types of food in different containers just gets me confused and dizzy. So, I make my parents a little list of the items i judge necessary for the month, and they take my list and use it as toilet paper, clearly, because there is never any food for me at home, which wouldn't be so much of a problem if my parents didn't survive of cheese and old bread. Anywhom, seeing as how I was feeling sick as a dog and there were no sweet loving parents at home to make me soup or anything of the sort, I took a trip to the market downstairs (the only good part about living where I live). First off, I thank god I have my parents to do my groceries because the day that responsiblity shines on me I'm afraid myself and/or roomates will die of ill-nutrition and lack of vitamins. Either way.. I just made for the soup isle and obviously had to stop to by my Paçoquinhas, which for the record is a brazilian pastry sort-of-thing made of peanuts and calories. And lots of them. So I stop and think, I need something sweet but I'm also not feeling to great about myself and should probably cut back on some of the calories. So I browse the market for a while, and this is just a comment aside, strangely enough there was someone behind me the whole time rolling oranges into my isle. I still have no idea who that was. Anyways, I stop quickly in the fruit section and decide I want pomegranets, and if I have any other fruit, ill just be expecting pomegranets and wont be happy with anything else. I then decided that Pomegranates don't exist in Brazil. So I ventured over to the plums, glared swiftly at the price, and skipped on to the next fruit. Nothing seemed to please me after the pomegranate idea, so I decided to take a look in other sections. The tea section is always interesting, they had organic cookies with soy and castanhas, and I hate castanhas, and the others all fruit flavored, and if you know me, you know I detest fruit flavoring. I screwed the whole thing and went back to the fruits to look for the paçoquinha I abandonned and made for the line. Halfway through the line I realized I would probably be thirsty and went back to look for something to drink. Of course soda is out of the question, so I searched for juice. I wanted grapefruit juice, origianally, but then I remembered the effect that grapejuice had on me after the week I spent with strep-throat drinking only grapefruit juice and now everytime I drink it, my throat hurts and my head begins to pound. Its all psycological, but uncomfortable none the less. So I settled for Mango juice, and although I love mangos, I'm not to crazy about the juice brand they had. I looked at it questionably, and decided to trade it in for water. So far I had tomato soup, paçoquinha, and water. I think that'd do, so I got in line. Again somewhere along the line I felt the paçoquinhas waying my basket down, and somewhat waying me down and I felt guilty for my diet and left it along the way ontop of some dorito stand.
I know the market looks like a place of many options, but when you think about you can eliminate 40% of the market space that contains books, DVDs, clothes, plates, games, and electronics. One Isle of alcohol, one Isle of soda, two isles of pure fat evil in the form of delicious chips and chocolate, one isle of useless flours, another of birthday material. A whole section of breads and cakes, three of frozen foods and ice cream. That leaves a section of fruits and an isle of tea for those who like me are cutting down on the crap to somehow attempt to feel atleast a little better when in a bikini.
I got to the cashier and the lady was a 30 year old beastly bulging blimp of a woman no offense intended. How she fit into her chair or in her little square completley escapes the laws of physics. Her teeth portruded from her mouth and each took a separate direction making her look like a native jamaican tree eater. Her hair was somewhere between scraps of hair you find in the vacume cleaner sewn together to somehow portray a wig, and a cat scratching pole in the form of an egg nest. It just sat on the top of her head like a little ball of ugly. All together she looks like something youd see in a Butt Ugly Martians episode. It then came to me clear as crystal. Things could be worse.
I don't have much patience for the market, for some reason long isles of repeated types of food in different containers just gets me confused and dizzy. So, I make my parents a little list of the items i judge necessary for the month, and they take my list and use it as toilet paper, clearly, because there is never any food for me at home, which wouldn't be so much of a problem if my parents didn't survive of cheese and old bread. Anywhom, seeing as how I was feeling sick as a dog and there were no sweet loving parents at home to make me soup or anything of the sort, I took a trip to the market downstairs (the only good part about living where I live). First off, I thank god I have my parents to do my groceries because the day that responsiblity shines on me I'm afraid myself and/or roomates will die of ill-nutrition and lack of vitamins. Either way.. I just made for the soup isle and obviously had to stop to by my Paçoquinhas, which for the record is a brazilian pastry sort-of-thing made of peanuts and calories. And lots of them. So I stop and think, I need something sweet but I'm also not feeling to great about myself and should probably cut back on some of the calories. So I browse the market for a while, and this is just a comment aside, strangely enough there was someone behind me the whole time rolling oranges into my isle. I still have no idea who that was. Anyways, I stop quickly in the fruit section and decide I want pomegranets, and if I have any other fruit, ill just be expecting pomegranets and wont be happy with anything else. I then decided that Pomegranates don't exist in Brazil. So I ventured over to the plums, glared swiftly at the price, and skipped on to the next fruit. Nothing seemed to please me after the pomegranate idea, so I decided to take a look in other sections. The tea section is always interesting, they had organic cookies with soy and castanhas, and I hate castanhas, and the others all fruit flavored, and if you know me, you know I detest fruit flavoring. I screwed the whole thing and went back to the fruits to look for the paçoquinha I abandonned and made for the line. Halfway through the line I realized I would probably be thirsty and went back to look for something to drink. Of course soda is out of the question, so I searched for juice. I wanted grapefruit juice, origianally, but then I remembered the effect that grapejuice had on me after the week I spent with strep-throat drinking only grapefruit juice and now everytime I drink it, my throat hurts and my head begins to pound. Its all psycological, but uncomfortable none the less. So I settled for Mango juice, and although I love mangos, I'm not to crazy about the juice brand they had. I looked at it questionably, and decided to trade it in for water. So far I had tomato soup, paçoquinha, and water. I think that'd do, so I got in line. Again somewhere along the line I felt the paçoquinhas waying my basket down, and somewhat waying me down and I felt guilty for my diet and left it along the way ontop of some dorito stand.
I know the market looks like a place of many options, but when you think about you can eliminate 40% of the market space that contains books, DVDs, clothes, plates, games, and electronics. One Isle of alcohol, one Isle of soda, two isles of pure fat evil in the form of delicious chips and chocolate, one isle of useless flours, another of birthday material. A whole section of breads and cakes, three of frozen foods and ice cream. That leaves a section of fruits and an isle of tea for those who like me are cutting down on the crap to somehow attempt to feel atleast a little better when in a bikini.
I got to the cashier and the lady was a 30 year old beastly bulging blimp of a woman no offense intended. How she fit into her chair or in her little square completley escapes the laws of physics. Her teeth portruded from her mouth and each took a separate direction making her look like a native jamaican tree eater. Her hair was somewhere between scraps of hair you find in the vacume cleaner sewn together to somehow portray a wig, and a cat scratching pole in the form of an egg nest. It just sat on the top of her head like a little ball of ugly. All together she looks like something youd see in a Butt Ugly Martians episode. It then came to me clear as crystal. Things could be worse.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
In general
Today after a very long day of 5:00 lunches due to oversleeping, coffee and house hunting, we settled down in a cozy neigborhood bar downtown and had acouple of beers. Correction, André had a couple of beers due to my patheticness in all that is drinking and related.. I settled on my one cup and ending pack of cigarettes. Somewhere in this we began a dialogue on the reasons we should run away from this country. We mutually decided that in any case being in such a city as New York or London doesn't really require an explination. As the conversation depthend a certain hidden nostalgia grew fiercly in me to the point in which I longed for anything as incomplex as a familiar smell, such as a winter pine tree, cold and sharp to the throat.
As soon as I arrived home I was lucky enough to catch Vanessa online. She was telling me about her upcoming move to Brazil and offered me her job in Holland as an Au Pair, as she knew I had been searching for a job abroad since I can remember. Although at the moment I long for my beloved California, Europe does not sound bad at all. Infact, I miss the long sidewalks and the tall houses. I miss having a reason to wear three coats and go out for coffee under a grey abyss just to feel the exoticness of my newfound freedom. Yes, I could very well settle for Holland at a time like this. For now, I will go off to make myself some breakfast and get prepped up for my little trip to the orphanage. Doing what I can where I can for now..
As soon as I arrived home I was lucky enough to catch Vanessa online. She was telling me about her upcoming move to Brazil and offered me her job in Holland as an Au Pair, as she knew I had been searching for a job abroad since I can remember. Although at the moment I long for my beloved California, Europe does not sound bad at all. Infact, I miss the long sidewalks and the tall houses. I miss having a reason to wear three coats and go out for coffee under a grey abyss just to feel the exoticness of my newfound freedom. Yes, I could very well settle for Holland at a time like this. For now, I will go off to make myself some breakfast and get prepped up for my little trip to the orphanage. Doing what I can where I can for now..
Friday, September 25, 2009
Cumpliaños
Officially, as of 12:01 yesterday, I became a legal voting citezen. Of all my birthdays, this was perhaps the most akward. It started differently than most birthdays of mine have ever began. No Mom, no Dad, no surprise cakes or balloons. Not even my own room, my own bed. I spent the whole day with people I didn't even know existed less than a month ago in places I never dreamed I would be acouple weeks ago. People I thought would be with me today have either parted to their own paths and sent birthday wishes through a brief word, or simply vanished from my life in ways I could not have imagined. This has been a perfect way to begin the lessons of being an official adult. I could not have chosen better words while seated in the far corners of a Cigar stand, sipping a coffee, lighting a fag and discussing the Steinbeck books in the bookstands near the Frank Sinatra presentation, surrounded by adults in suits. It was overall a cold realization of the path I have consequently landed on. As I took the bus near dusk, it was any other day in the lives of the hundreds of faces that had just spent there saturday behind a counter taking food orders in a rediculous red and yellow uniform that probably include some species of embaressing hats, and they could give a crap if it was my birthday today or not. I arrived in the apartment to find it dark, and empty. I circled it to find a perhaps last bit of childhood spirit in me, expecting to find any token of gratituted by my parents, letting me know they wished they could be here, etc. While partially bumbed about my so far 'awsome' 18th birthday, I came across a floating happy birthday balloon tied to an envelope labled, "With love from Mom, Dad, and Patrick. Glued to the string was a card my mother had made with birds and decorations, wishing me the most happiness and an opurtune of change in my life. Indeed..
Hoping to discover a card, letter, or any words that would have possibly boosted my glummy mood, I opened the envelope to find a counted 180 reais. I set the envelope on my bed, and cried. I cried for me, I cried for my parents, I cried for people who couldn't be with me today, I cried for who forgot about me today. I cried for the birthdays to come, for what I didnt deserve, for who I wish I could hug and tell how much I love, for whom I wish I could erase from my mind, for whom I wish would call me to wish me a happy birthday. Truthfully, they don't have to remember my birthday. My birthday is an excuse in form of an astrological 24 short hours to remind the world I exist and I have today 18 years ago to prove it. Remember me, write to me, though I have probably not written to you. Never forget me.. and wish me luck.
Hoping to discover a card, letter, or any words that would have possibly boosted my glummy mood, I opened the envelope to find a counted 180 reais. I set the envelope on my bed, and cried. I cried for me, I cried for my parents, I cried for people who couldn't be with me today, I cried for who forgot about me today. I cried for the birthdays to come, for what I didnt deserve, for who I wish I could hug and tell how much I love, for whom I wish I could erase from my mind, for whom I wish would call me to wish me a happy birthday. Truthfully, they don't have to remember my birthday. My birthday is an excuse in form of an astrological 24 short hours to remind the world I exist and I have today 18 years ago to prove it. Remember me, write to me, though I have probably not written to you. Never forget me.. and wish me luck.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Introduction
First off, I have just decided to move my blog, mostly because my old one had about 100 useless posts that I am too langurous to revise and/or delete. On the other hand I've been far too neglective of this to pick up where I had left off. But to recommence on a new a page.. here is my current latitude.
If one does not know to which port one is sailing to, no wind is favorable. Indeed.
Today is the day before my birthday. Technically speaking, it is 5 hours exactly untill my birthday(Currently 19:01), and I find myself in a similar position to which I have been for a past 48 hours, and that is situated on a table surrounded by cigarettes, books and questionable brazilian candies I picked up at an equally questionable corner store.. attempting to revise my scholastic history in hopes to find something presentable enough to include in applications for college. Just as I had expected. Essays and questionaires all resuming up to that same question, "Why do you feel you are eligable to enter our school?"
Oh, how I wish I could be propper honest.
Dear Sir or Madam, to whom it may concern. I most probably am not currently eligable to attend your school of high expectancies and great talent (I am leaning heavily towards the Brooks Institute). Infact, my reasons to want to attend your college are purely, or atleast heavily, depthless. I want my own dorm, first of all. And not because I want my own room to declare any type of independence, although that does intregue me, no. I want more than anything to wake up drowned in responsibilities and possibly unfinished book assignments due the day before and look at myself in the mirror knowing the consequences are purely mine, forcing me to take on my own liability, which currently I do not possess. Strongly recomended at my age, I know.
Secondly, any project, obstacle, or challenge presented to me during this time would be strictly constructive to me as an aspiring artist; photographer etc. I must say I enjoy the defiance and find it fully self-constructive. Also, to be in an in enviornment in which people around me are placed on the same track would give me the determination I feel I need to outstand. Honestly I see college more as a challenge than constructive learning. Not to demean the teachings. Its why we go to college, of course. To learn, to build, and to eventually be eligable for a job. Burocratically speaking of course, our college diploma is the material proof that we can be trusted with our material and what we have to offer. This will be needed, I am aware.
Lastly, and the most depthless, opt to bare. In my freshman year of highschool, I was lucky enough to cross paths with an amazing English Litterature teacher, Mr. Richard Branson. Besides teaching me grammar and litterature, he had an effect on me that little teachers have had in my whole life. He made me stride to be an interesting person, and not because of his persistance, but rather the lack there of. He placed in each of our hands a notion of self-respect and self-image by demeaning our own. He was rather careless to anything we said out of context and looked at us with a face that struck us in 10 different places. Like this, every word he said burned in our brains in hopes that they would be teaching us something we would take with us forever. When he spoke of college, he allowed a rare air of nostalgia to reign his eyes and something about him shone.
"Do you honestly believe you have to go to college? The answer is no. You do not have to go to college. College is an option that many people do not opt for. But if you asked me, I would say.. go to college. Not because of the acedemic build-up it offers, but just because they will probably be the best years of your life."
Yes, I go to college. However, I hardly consider living with my parents and having them take me to school from 7:00 - 10:40 "College". To me, the brazilian college curriculum is laughable.
Please, Brooks Institute, pull me out of my academic misery and accept my pathetic essay of acceptance.
Thank you.
If one does not know to which port one is sailing to, no wind is favorable. Indeed.
Today is the day before my birthday. Technically speaking, it is 5 hours exactly untill my birthday(Currently 19:01), and I find myself in a similar position to which I have been for a past 48 hours, and that is situated on a table surrounded by cigarettes, books and questionable brazilian candies I picked up at an equally questionable corner store.. attempting to revise my scholastic history in hopes to find something presentable enough to include in applications for college. Just as I had expected. Essays and questionaires all resuming up to that same question, "Why do you feel you are eligable to enter our school?"
Oh, how I wish I could be propper honest.
Dear Sir or Madam, to whom it may concern. I most probably am not currently eligable to attend your school of high expectancies and great talent (I am leaning heavily towards the Brooks Institute). Infact, my reasons to want to attend your college are purely, or atleast heavily, depthless. I want my own dorm, first of all. And not because I want my own room to declare any type of independence, although that does intregue me, no. I want more than anything to wake up drowned in responsibilities and possibly unfinished book assignments due the day before and look at myself in the mirror knowing the consequences are purely mine, forcing me to take on my own liability, which currently I do not possess. Strongly recomended at my age, I know.
Secondly, any project, obstacle, or challenge presented to me during this time would be strictly constructive to me as an aspiring artist; photographer etc. I must say I enjoy the defiance and find it fully self-constructive. Also, to be in an in enviornment in which people around me are placed on the same track would give me the determination I feel I need to outstand. Honestly I see college more as a challenge than constructive learning. Not to demean the teachings. Its why we go to college, of course. To learn, to build, and to eventually be eligable for a job. Burocratically speaking of course, our college diploma is the material proof that we can be trusted with our material and what we have to offer. This will be needed, I am aware.
Lastly, and the most depthless, opt to bare. In my freshman year of highschool, I was lucky enough to cross paths with an amazing English Litterature teacher, Mr. Richard Branson. Besides teaching me grammar and litterature, he had an effect on me that little teachers have had in my whole life. He made me stride to be an interesting person, and not because of his persistance, but rather the lack there of. He placed in each of our hands a notion of self-respect and self-image by demeaning our own. He was rather careless to anything we said out of context and looked at us with a face that struck us in 10 different places. Like this, every word he said burned in our brains in hopes that they would be teaching us something we would take with us forever. When he spoke of college, he allowed a rare air of nostalgia to reign his eyes and something about him shone.
"Do you honestly believe you have to go to college? The answer is no. You do not have to go to college. College is an option that many people do not opt for. But if you asked me, I would say.. go to college. Not because of the acedemic build-up it offers, but just because they will probably be the best years of your life."
Yes, I go to college. However, I hardly consider living with my parents and having them take me to school from 7:00 - 10:40 "College". To me, the brazilian college curriculum is laughable.
Please, Brooks Institute, pull me out of my academic misery and accept my pathetic essay of acceptance.
Thank you.
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