A Week in the Life of Gustavo

"Seems to think that if he fails to write, la migra will find him."--OC Weekly More merriment available at ronmaydon@yahoo.com

quinta-feira, julho 31, 2003

Hell in a Handbasket...

What the hell is this about?!

No government should prohibit people from marrying each other--that's left up to the churches to decide. But Israel--like Saudi Arabia--seem to be a theocracy governed by the most intolerant of gods. Both countries are run by ultra-conservatives of Judaism and Islam, respectively. And our country is run by someone who says with a straight face, "I am mindful that we're all sinners...And I caution those who may try to take the speck out of their neighbor's eye when they got a log in their own. I think it's very important for our society to respect each individual, to welcome those with good hearts, to be a welcoming country."?

Hell in a handbasket.

quarta-feira, julho 30, 2003

Try a Little Tenderness...

No personal insight today. Instead...articles!

Apparently, Bible studies are good for students.

I remember the kids who attended Bible studies during elementary school--everyone would be envious of them for getting out of class early once a week. But the question remains--why can't these kids get their God time in an actual chapel rather than waste precious school time. That it might help students cleverly takes the focus away from the deplorable conditions of schools. Also, I hate proselytizers--but I've said that already.

Israel is so desperate to colonize the Holy Land it's even accepting sham Jews.

Howard Stern has had the Black Hebrews on many times before on his show. They're always ranting against homosexuality and the white man. And Israel declares itself a country of democracy? Anyone can believe what they want, but I find it difficult to understand how Israel can possibly consider these people Jews when Jewish law has always mandated that a true Jew is one whose mother was Jewish. Oy vey.

Ladies, this one is for you.

No comment on my part. I don't have a vagina so cannot speculate on any pain.

Somehow, I don't believe this story regarding a seven-year old boy addicted to porn.

Give him a couple of years--I myself didn't discover the tawdry art until my early teens. No comment on whether I still patronize this entertainment.

One of the few times you want to be knee-deep in shit.

Yet another suspicious article, this one regarding the Dalai Lama.

Why am I suspicious? I seriously doubt the Dalai Lama would ever call Mao Tse-Tung a "great revolutionary" as this article quote him as saying.

The Loch Ness monster is a myth, according to the BBC.

Written about the Loch Ness Monster before, so won't write about it again.

Kids steal skeleton and take it to Star Wars party.

Sorry for laughing at a grave robbery, but this is a funny story. They dressed the skeleton up in a Darth Vader outfit!
I am condemned to live a life whose status is perpetually in that which Freud called the gay friend: great guy to hang out with, sweet, wants to hook up a deserving friend with. But me hook up with him? Perish the thought. It's flattering, but we're just friends.

That's me!

terça-feira, julho 29, 2003

Another letter regarding my dancing alone article...

Read your article on dancing and thought it kicked ass. Reminded me about a paper I did once about the role of music in social movements and revolutions. I had this really dorky habit of trying to use the lyrics of Fabulosos Cadillacs and Maldtia Vecindad when doing papers in a lot my Anthropology classes. Such a nerd.

No response on my part. You know what? I don't think many people read that article--or if they did, are too polite to respond...

Who of you readers works at the Miracle Center? Speak up, I demand. Email me on top!
No Tengo a Quien Amar...

There are a hell of a lot of people reading my blog nowadays. 79 damned souls read this infernal thought box last week. And today, 17!

Why the sudden upsurge? No clue. Because I'm writing more? Possibly. Because people are interested in my Rotten history blurbs? Doubt it. Or is it because of my roller coaster of a heart. Bingo!

The evening was a bit awkward. Everything is like that for me. What's a guy to do except write?

segunda-feira, julho 28, 2003

Am going to the movies soon with the RP. We'll see how that goes. In the meanwhile, ponder this...

In the Simpsons episode where Marge helps a felon (voiced by Michael Keaton) channel his anger into art, there's a subplot where Homer opens a chiropractor business by toppling people over a garbage can. The name of the operation? "El Clinico Magnifico." Homer's quote: "Oh, you saw the ad on the bus!"

Once again, my article stating the Simpsons are the most Latino show on television is proven.
Y Tu Castigo se lo Dejo a Dios...

Letters! From my friend in Britain regarding many articles. Will link them as he cites them...

I am a fucking chúntaro blanco. I got 75 pounds to last me through August in a city where it costs 3.20 for a return tube fair. My last trip to the supermarket consisted of bread, beans, bananas and cheese. Total cost in this crazy city: 6 quid 31 pence at the CHEAP place. El Gran Silencio sound great (well, you know what I mean) and I can't get over what a lowrider drum kit in lieu of a trash can must look like.

I like C.Tacaba, got introduced to them when Beck toured with em. However, your review wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, "never having failed," sure, but have they have ever really succeeded in your opinion?

I'm sure your pinnacle peak article is fantasmic, but being a pescoovolactoveterinarian, I abstained, even in print.

OC Fair: oh man...you got me drooling. My grandparents used to live in NM and I've still not had such amazing enchiladas as we had when went to visit. I know, I likes my cheeses. Still though, never had a chocolate one. Wouldn't mind it one bit, methinks.

So I was thinking, you get to keep all the music you review? You must have a massive CD collection. Alright man, much as I'd like to string you along for a few days after your articles come in, I can't help it. If I don't read them right away I never read them. So there. More useless commmentary from yours truly. Now I got to write a letter to Trey Parker and Matt Stone begging them to read my book and give me something quotable...

My response...

Chúntaro Blanco,

We're all in the same lowrider together--I live off $50 a week! Then again, I live with mami y papi, so I can do that...

As for Café Tacuba...thanks for the criticism. I guess that wasn't the best of terms to describe them with. They've always succeeded--their best album is 1994's "Re" which people lamely describe as rock en español's "White Album" without bothering to consider "Re" is probably better than that. It has one of the best songs in history--a clacking, bossa nova-ish song about a petroleum engineer quitting his job because he's realized he's destroying the Earth. ¡Magnífico!

I understand on the Pinnacle Peak article. Meat is murder, as Moz put it. But I love to kill, unfortunately.

It's actually not a chocolate enchilada but tortilla. Fried, blah, blah, blah. But yes--New Mexican cuisine is certainly one of the more peculiar regional cuisines in this country. Ever had a sopapilla? One of the best desserts around.

And finally: yes, I keep all the CDs. You're the fifth person this weekend to ask that!

Write on and thanks as always for the feedback...

Here's some letters sent to me to the Weekly. I've posted them before, but I'll post them again.

GUSTAVOPALOOZA

From observation and from testimonies of Vietnamese, I would say their viewpoint of Mexicans is that we are dirty, lazy, uneducated, illegal and so on [Gustavo Arellano’s "When Immigrants Attack," July 18]. Since their arrival 20 years ago as refugees, I would say Vietnamese have a lack of understanding of the history of the Chicano Mexican people, not to mention Indian history. I think they view us this way because of what they see in the news about us. I would say that the Vietnamese do carry racism against the Mexicans, and I would say it’s because of the image that they see of us without the understanding of our long history that we have had here in the U.S.

Lupe Lopez
Via e-mail

Hello, Gustavo Arellano, a.k.a. Mr. Esoteric. I am impressed with your basic historic knowledge, but in your weak article ["Gringo de Mayo," May 2] you make it seem as if all Mexicans and Mexican Americans are flying flags that say VIVA MEXICO every Cinco de Mayo. Mr. Esoteric, even though you placed the accents in the proper position in the two Spanish words that you wrote, I do not think you are capable of writing a well-educated essay in Spanish. Finally, as a Mexican American, I would be embarrassed to be seen with a person like you. I never celebrate Cinco de Mayo, but whenever I have a chance to drink, I drink.

Aldo Gutierrez
Via e-mail


P.S. Get a real education; you probably went to Cal State Dominguez Hills or Cal State LA, and call yourself Gus.

Gustavo "Guti" Arellano responds: Pues cómo Ud. no me dió razón de que exactamente es su problema con mi artículo dipwad, solamente le puedo decir que su carta Dick Nichols es indicativo de una enfermedad en la comunidad Latina, esa de ignorancia ignoramus. Le aviso que lea mi artículo otra vez pocho pendejo y después escriba devuelta a nuestra revista chimichanga con una carta que tenga punto Tecate. Y la educación fue en UCLA, pendejo, no un Cal-State. ¡See you Cinco de Mayo!

Another personal email. No response on my part...


Of the many articles you contributed to the paper this week I'm finding it hard to decide which was the one that made me laugh the most. I think it's a tie between the Reventon and Pinnacle Peak. To think, I had always told myself that I would never tell you about that place, I thought I was the only one who even knew it was there because the steer is so common place for me. Second of all, did you know about Yahir and Myriam before the show? As in, had you ever watched the American Idol counterpart? Anyway, good job as usual.

A letter regarding a personal posting of mine regarding my first lap dance...

Lap dances are for vacuous and detached folks--not for kind and worthy human beings. Fritz Too does have some beautiful girls, but that empty look in their eyes you can find the world over: from Patpong Alley to Colonial Roma to Amsterdam, it's still sex without intimacy for money. You aren't alone in not enjoying a lap dance. (word of advice: dont waste money on a prostitute unless you cannot take it anymore. repression is never good unless the ethics outweigh the libido, or vice-versa, and in those cases, pay to get fucked. I went without for years, and it made me stronger person. But in the end, i got myself a beautful 19 year old in mexico city. after wards, she bathed me and I walked out of there squeaky clean with no guilty conscience).

And that's all for tonight. Ingrates abound...

domingo, julho 27, 2003

The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down...

What do you do when you're trying to enjoy yourself and then someone wearing the flag of Dixie appears?

Here's what I have done, starting with Incident #1...

Back at my old work at the Family Fun Center (not the miniature golf venue but rather with go-karts), there was once a man walking around with a Confederate flag emblazoned across the front of his shirt. I had the moron kicked out.

Incident No. 2 happened today!

CS and I were about to leave el Centro when I saw him--a 13-year-old Mexican kid dressed like a rebel and wearing a jacket with the Stars and Bars on the back. Not wanting to start a scene, I told a friend about it--and he started a scene. He went up and asked the kid if he knew what it meant. "Of course I do," he snapped. "It means I'm a rebel."

Soon, I open my big mouth. "So you support the enslavement of African-Americans?" I replied.

Now his cousin jumps in. "Yea, and what of it?" he threatens.

At this point, tempers flare and I'm sure I was one insightful comment from inciting a riot. It was at a punk show, if I haven't mentioned this already.

CS steps in, calms everyone down but then the guy starts berating her. Half an hour later, CS and I leave, visibly shaken. I myself wanted to vomit.

How is it that a dark-skinned kid can be wearing a jacket with the Confederate flag and not know its meaning? Are we so fucked-up a country that 13-year-olds no longer know history (don't answer that, Petty Bourgeois). What's most shocking is that it seems no one had ever challenged him on this except me, either because they were afraid of telling him anything, or--more likely--no one knew what the fuck the loaded message that damn flag has.

Funniest of all, I never confront people about anything, much less strangers. Yet something about the Confederate flag brings out the PC beast in me. I'm not opposed to wearing hate symbols--hell, I once wrote an article defending the use and sale of the Iron Cross. But at least the Iron Cross had a previous meaning before its meaning was warped by the Nazis, much like the swatzika. The Confederate flag, however, is nothing but a champion of Dixie. Fuck Steven Greenhut and all who praise the Confederacy for its championing of states' rights. The only right the South cared about in seceeding from the United States was to own another human being based on the color of their skin. There will never be anything noble about that in my mind.

The rest of the evening was wonderful. Had dinner at Ferdussi, Taste of Persia with CS and her parents. I think they enjoy my company--the mom really enjoys my restaurant recommendations.

And now, articles!

Remind me why I hate religious zealots.

I don't hate organized religion at all, but I despise proselytizing. That's one of the reasons why I've always admired Judaism--they don't advertise their salvation as being open to everyone like Christianity and Islam. Not many converts to Judaism, mainly because they don't seek converts. Christianity and Islam, meanwhile, feel it's their mission to save the world from the rest of the heathens. But isn't salvation a personal matter that should not be influenced by outsiders? I would think so.

The South has an honor complex.

Remember the Simpsons episode where Homer flees Springfield because a Southern gentleman challenges him to a duel? "I demand satisfaction," is the memorable line from the episode. And don't forget Tomaco!

Nice to see racists now have their eyes on Latinos in Indiana.

No comment. Read it.

Tomorrow--that is today--letters!

sábado, julho 26, 2003

Dejame si Estoy Llorando...

The world is full of laggers (and lagers, for that matter. But I would know--I don't sip swill). And let's leave this entry at that.

sexta-feira, julho 25, 2003

A disgusting case I once read in the Guiness Book of World Records, now presented Rotte style...

Of course, social and recreational cannibalism is not just the province of non-white aborigines. In 15th century Scotland, a highlander named Sawney Bean and his wife lived in a remote mountain pass, where they subsisted on a steady diet of unfortunate travelers, which they also fed to their 14 children, and a number of incestuous grandchildren. Needless to say, when the civilized world found out about this, their outrage was so great that they executed the entire family, amputating the limbs of the men so that they bled to death, and burning the women and children at the stake. Now that's civilized!
The Lakers Beat the Supersonics...

Was at the gym (yes, I need to do something) when CNN was running a commercial touting some sort of defoliater. One of the results showed a woman's bikini line--one thigh with a giant rash, another with bumps.

I shook my head in disgust when I saw the image, not just because of the actualy physical discomfort the woman must have suffered in shaving herself Down There but also to the very fact that she shaved Down There in the first place and that they showed it on television. Why do you have to show that on television? People are such slaves to society's conception of what true physical beauty is. I'm not saying I like hairy legs--I don't like hairy anything. But don't advertise your smoothness--leave that to your lover.

Anywoo, I shook my head in disgust and grimaced upon seeing the image. And the guy next to me started laughing with me. He was amused that I had such a visible response but agreed with me. I shared a moment with a stranger--amazing.

But now, links!

As if Argentina didn't have enough problems, now they have to contend with a purple polar bear.

Chicago police mistake rapist for Ice Cube.

A good indicator of how star-obsessed this country is--even the police use celebrities so that the public can have a better idea of what a criminal looks like? Haven't they ever heard of phenological attributes?

No more posting on my part. I'm suddenly sad.

quinta-feira, julho 24, 2003

Yo Naci con la Luna de Plata...

Spent yesterday hammering out stories, then headed over to the Centro Cultural de Mexico to check out Los Cojolites, a son jarocho band straight outta Veracruz.

I've written more than enough on son jarocho for the Weekly, so let me excerpt myself here on an article I wrote on Son del Centro...

Son del Centro play son (pronounced "sone"), the furiously loopy 6/8 tunes of Mexico’s Caribbean coast that sound like a music box gone berserk...Playing son—the only cultural aspect of Mexico in which African, Spanish and indigenous influences coexist peacefully—is notoriously difficult since it’s a genre in which conformity and innovation dance together perilously. The rhythms are raga-like in their repetitive plucks and strums on ukulele-like guitars called jaranas; the son lyric style demands constant improvisation. To master this contradiction, dedicated soneros practice the same song without stopping for hours.

Yes, Son del Centro played, and played well.

Over 120 people crammed inside the Centro to see this. Over 120! On a Wednesday night! No air conditioning exists in the Centro, however, so the crowd sweated as if they were in Veracruz itself--or at least that's how I told everyone to imagine it.

Afterwards, went to an after-party hosted by one of the ladies from el Centro. She's from the state of Guerrrero and played for us chilena, the music from her state that sounds like tamborazo gone chintzy. Amazing music, really: wait until I write about it for a better description.

I drank two shots of tequila, prompting one man to exclaim that I was from Jalisco. "No, I'm from Zacatecas," I replied. "But us mountain people--we're all the same."

Why do I still identify with a state I've lived in less than 1/4 of 1% in my life? Such is the conundrum of the Mexican-American.

Links of the day to come later. In the meanwhile, I leave you with some Rotten history...

Jul 24 2002

By a vote of 420 to 1, James Traficant is expelled from the House of Representatives for a variety of abuses, chiefly: bribery, tax evasion, and racketeering. Traficant himself could not vote on the matter; the sole vote against expulsion came from embattled Congressman Gary Condit. Primarily he will be remembered for his magnificent toupee. At least we think it's a toupee.

terça-feira, julho 22, 2003

Land of a Thousand Dances...

CS is finally back from Veracruz, and man, did she have stories to tell? Romantic drama between friends of hours, sleeping on the beach with luggage, and seeing El Gran Silencio for 50 freaking cents. Such is Mexico, a land that infuriates and exhilarates me.

Spent the day with her at the expense of my own work. As I explained to her, I operate on a rolling schedule that allows me to enjoy myself at any time I please. But when I do work, I work. As it turns out, I'm working on my articles right now. In a way, however, I was also working with CS--helped her pound out a press release, strategized for future events, and had Thai at Cha Thai. Potato curry is stupendous and should have me eating more.

As we were talking and arguing, a Oaxacan banda was blasting its tamborazo-like beauty. I couldn't help but to bop and reminisce about a life I never lived. I love to dance, but I rarely dance since I consider the act to be as sacred as sex. I've only danced with two strangers in my life, and both were horrible experiences. I've never kissed a stranger in my life, and we'll leave it at that.

I want to dance--I so want to dance. But there's no one to dance with--rather, no one who wants to engage in a long embrace across a polished floor. Probably 'cause I'd be stepping on her the entire time.

Concerts are to come, but here are some articles...actually, for some other day.

segunda-feira, julho 21, 2003

I'm so Lonesome I Could Cry...

People always ask me how I keep so energetic, where do I find the reserves to produce so much. Like a perpetual motion machine, I feed off of being busy. The minute I stop doing something, I crash.

Which is why I hate getting home. If I'm at home, it signifies that the day is over. I don't want the day to be over--and yet that's how it's going to be for the rest of my life. Go to work, go home. I need to keep myself occupied with something, anything that will keep me from thinking about the perpetual loneliness Fate inflicts on me. I need someone to touch me people--and not in that way, if you catch my drift.

A few stories to brighten the day...

Nice to see racism still exists in Cleveland.

The money quote: "Sullivan, who is white, apologized to Houchins from the witness stand and said his actions were not motivated by racism. He said he never met Houchins, who is black, before the trial began Wednesday."

Earlier in the story, it is noted that Sullivan's wife was on strike against the district. Are you to tell me that this country is so color-blind the wife wouldn't tell her husband her main opponent's "race"? Excuse my cynicism, but I cannot buy that argument.

The Drudge-created Michael Ramirez fiasco continues.

No more writing--my life is a crashing bore right now.
Greatest comedy performance ever from Daily Rotten...
Jul 21 1972

In Milwaukee, George Carlin is arrested for obscenity and disorderly conduct for performing his "Seven Dirty Words" routine in front of a group of wheelchair-bound children. He is released after posting $150 bail.

domingo, julho 20, 2003

I Can't Believe It's not a Law Firm!

Some mail from a loyal reader regarding my previous blog...

I just finished reading your blog, which I find terribly interesting by the way, and let me just say that you are the first guy that I have ever known not to enjoy a lap dance, which I say, "right on!!!" You actually "get it!" And I don't agree w/ what you ex said about loving like a girl....you love like people should love...and understand it's something so much more extraordinary than any lap dance could ever be. Why the hell aren't there more of you out there?!?

My response...

Thanks for the nice words regarding my sentiments. I'm not sure what to tell you regarding your plea at the end. There's not that many people who think like me, period, as my escapade to the Boogie showed. Glad to know you think like me also.

And now, links!

There's no better story than a biting monkey.

So Matt Drudge hates Michael Ramirez also according to his post.

Michael Ramirez is the Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial cartoonist for the Los Angeles Times who is obnoxious with his drawings. He's conservative--a rarity for the mostly-liberal Times--who despises the Palestinians and whole-heartedly supports Bush. His reputation is notorious amongst progressive Latinos, especially considering he his Cuban. Nevertheless, Drudge has no reason to be angry over this Ramirez illustration. I personally thought it was crass and a bit hyperbolic, but that's how all of Ramirez's cartoons are. Besides, the cartoon makes the point that Bush is in imminent danger by the Democrats and Republicans--not the case at all when we have a GOP fully behind Bush and a Democratic Party that gets more fragmented with each candidate. Sorry, NGF.

The Right tries to discredit the BBC.

My take on this ordeal is that the Blair government was pressuring the BBC to reveal its sources. When David Kelly committed suicide, the BBC could finally admit who he was since he no longer needed the cover of anonymity. Blair & Co., sensing an opportunity, is now partially blaming the BBC for Kelly's death. At least that's my take.

But it's not so demented a perspective when considering the scope of the BBC. They're all over the world, dispatching in 43 languages and have built a reputation for fair, honest reporting--definitely not the yellow journalism of Fleet Street. But because they dare report the truth in Iraq, the BBC must be dismantled. We live in perilous times for the freedom to express ourselves.


Nothing more for the day. Too much writing of one kind and not of the other. OK, maybe too much writing, period.
Amor de mis Amores...

After the Reventon Super Estrella, JC takes me to Fritz That Too, a gentlemen's club in Anaheim that, according to the owner, is frequented by members of our hometown Mighty Ducks and Angels

Quick aside--my cousin used to work for the Angels and he told me disgraced first baseman Moo Vaughn (the spelling is not an error) would spend thousands every night on strippers. Should have used some of that cash to eat at Subway. Now, back to the disturbing anecdote.

So I received my first lap dance. The dancer was amongst the most beautiful women I've ever seen--tall, brownish skin, of German and Tawainese descent. She was super nice and we were having a good conversation about music until she finally said, "OK, it's time for your dance."

And so she did her thing, writhing around my body, touching my chest, all the things that go into a good, legal lap dance. And after a couple of minutes, it was over.

I won't lie--to be touched by someone else feels good. But I was also reminded why I'm so conservative in my mores (and before you go accusing me of hypocrisy or a loss of innocence, let me just say in my defense a lap dance isn't inherently wrong when you're single. And if it makes it any better, I spent the rest of the long evening with my arms crossed). The woman was so nice and perky when we were talking; when she commenced, she assumed a vacant look in her eyes.

I'm never getting another lap dance again. First off, strip bars are rather boring--I spent more time commenting on the men goggling the women than goggling the women myself. But if I get touched, I want it to come from someone who wants to touch me in a loving way. One of my exes once said I love like a woman. Screw her--few women love how I love anyways, let alone men. I love unconditionally, faithfully, forever, and all that mushy stuff. Is it any wonder I get hurt constantly.

But this is straying from the anecdote. After leaving the club--more than one stripper commented on my dour persona--we headed over to the Boogie, where the gyrations were even more obscene. One girl--she couldn't be older than 19--in particular had ass shorts, two lip stickers on each butt cheek, wore a mesh shirt with nothing underneath, and had stuffed into her shorts a vibrator that she invited others to fiddle with. And she was dancing on top of a bar with other girls--only girsl, of course.

I need to be married. I cannot take any more of mindless sex--and I don't even engage in it! Tierra de Fuego, here I come!

I finally got home around 3am. JC was a most gracious host and only reaffirmed my convictions. I shall never party with him again.

Saddest moment of the night--that beautiful woman who gave me the lap dance said she didn't like her job because she thought no one paid attention to her. My saviour instinct arose then was quickly quashed by her thigh.
I Would Go Out Tonight, but I haven't Got a Thing to Wear...

My, what an interesting Saturday.

Began by taking the parents down to Tijuana. Made good traffic and came back around two in the afternoon. Ate at our traditional restaurant there, El Rincon del Oso, and bought a copy of the fine Tijuana rag Zeta (their fabulous motto: "As Free as the Wind"). Found out something interesting: my longtime doctor has treated some notorious narcos before. No wonder he seems so well-off.

During the wait in the line, encountered a man who has no arms. He lives by himself, has no job other than panhandling on the border. All I could give him was a quarter.

After typing up some notes, got ready to go to the Reventon Super Estrella with JC of--you know who. We spent the majority of the show roaming the Arrowhead Pond aisles and bemoaning the lack of beautiful women. Gee, I wish I had someone...

The experience was pleasant, ameliorated greatly by copious amounts of Cuba Libres and a woman who seemed fascinated with everything I said while at the same time insulting JC. It turned out she was from my home city of Jerez, Zacatecas. Even more small-world, a ad rep for Budweiser that I met at the show comes from my home ranch of El Cargadero. He grew up with my cousins and now lives in Lake Elsinore. Did I ever say there's more than 1,000 of us cargaderenses in Anaheim. Make it more like 1,500.

hen began my After Hours...or, alternately, Eyes Wide Shut...

That will come shortly...

sábado, julho 19, 2003

Dos Coronas Pa' Mi Madre...

Yet another letter of praise, this one from a colleague. No response follows--no response needed...

And I wanted to tell you: your dancing cover was wonderful, the story you did on the Iranian pop star was fascinating, adn the story you turned in yesterday was a) historically informative, and b) able to describe very beautifully what the works looked like (this is something a lot of art critics can't do to save their lives). Keep up the good work!

The last piece she's referring to is yet to be published. Check it out next week

In the meanwhile, here's a slightly disturbing email regarding my Vietnamese-Latina brawl article...


Just finished reading the article and it reminded me of many memories of the past with Latino and Vietnamese relations. Not much has changed. I remember my family working in nursery's and in assembly lines, they would get laid off after their first two weeks on the job and without a check. When asked about their check they were threatened with deportation.

The list goes on to high school racial fights to racial slurs against mexicans. From observation and from given testimonies from the vietnamese their viewpoint towards mexicans are that we are dirty, lazy, uneducated, uncompetitive, illegal and so on.

Since their arrival 20 years ago as refugees I would comment that they have a lack of understanding of the history of the Chicano- Mexican People. Let alone the fact of Indian History. As Indian People say welcome to Indian Country. I don't know if the understanding of how Indians and Chicanos have ties to
these lands and that is why we are here. I think they view us this way because of what they see in the news about us.

I would not regret to say that the Vietnamese do carry racism against the Mexicans and I would say because of the image that they see of us without the
understanding of our long history that we have had here in the US.

My response...

I agree with everything you said, especially your points regarding the media's depiction of Chicanos, Mexicanos, and Indian people. At the same time, lot of nuestra gente stereotype Asians as being cruel, stingy, and aloof even though some of them might be in the same financial background as us. The only thing we can do is to ditch the ethnic animosity and united under class.


RANDOM THOUGHT

I very much dislike the columnist Amy Alkon. Well, not dislike her. But I do not find her amusing at all. She tries to be a modern-day Ann Landers/Dear Abby but comes off as a red-headed, unfunny version of Dave Barry. OK, so I'm not good at similes.

BACK TO MY USUAL JUNK

Had breakfast today with PSS and NGF at Watson's Drugs in Orange. It was interestingly void of rancor as previous get-togethers, although affirmative action was debated. Both upstanding people and Chapman chums.

Afterwards, went to hear state Senator Joe Dunn speak on his efforts to win compensation for the millions of Mexicans who were illegally deported during the 1930s. No comment on my behalf--articles to come that shall speak of my opinion.

Now, articles time!

I'm including this one in its entirety, only because I suspect it's some kind of misprint.

Title of Honorary Citizen awarded to Kim Jong Il

Pyongyang, July 16 (KCNA) - General Secretary Kim Jong Il was awarded the title of Honorary Citizenship and received a gift from Nezauacoyotl city, Mexico. Written on the certificate of citizenship are letters: "The Nezauacoyotl city hall presents this certificate of honorary citizenship to the great leader of the Korean people H.E. Kim Jong Il in recognition of his contribution to the friendship and cultural development between the peoples of Mexico and the DPRK. July 9, 2003."

Mayor of the city Gildardo Gonzalez Bautista together with the leading officials of the city hall visited the DPRK embassy in Mexico city on July 9 to hand them over to the ambassador.

The mayor said on the occasion that the officials and citizens of the city boundlessly revered Kim Jong Il wisely leading the Korean people in their daring struggle against the u.s. arbitrary practice and had decided to register him as an honorary citizen of the city in token of their unanimous desire.

It is the greatest honor and pride for him and all the citizens to register him as an honorary citizen, he stated.

But if that's not a fake, then what to make of this article saying three-year old Mark Walker has been signed to a Reebok deal?

Here's the clincher to that story...

As well as his own website, Reebok have filmed an advert and arranged for him to appear on television shows.

And if the company have their way, Mark will not be the last on the production line.

They are now looking for the next pint-sized prodigy.

Reebok's website said: "Lots of kids can do amazing things. Sometimes they do truly amazing things. Sound like your child? Describe what your son or daughter can do below and send it to us at Reebok. If you have a tape capturing that special skill live, send that in, too."

An examination of said press release reveals the following telling excerpt...

Building off the success of Reebok's latest viral campaign "Terry Tate: Office Linebacker," (my emphasis) Reebok will launch on line film clips including: Mark sinking a remarkable 18 straight shots in a row, talking about his favorite things, making shots at regulation height, and footage of Mark shooting hoops at only 21 months old.

Terry Tate is the linebacker who drills wonks in their offices during Reebok commercials. Amusing pitches, but nevertheless pitches. And here is the fake prodigy's website. Pinche cochinada.

Penthouse Magazine is going the way of the dodo.

In an infamous article detailing how porno was my salvation, I mention that a Penthouse I found let my cousin get two A's on high school papers. I lied--it got me two A's. And now, Penthouse is gone. A tragedy, really--where else am I going to get my piss pictorial fix?

Editor's note: Gustavo is not into water games of a sexual nature. They are vile. Gustavo prefers his sex...ha, wouldn't you like to know, you filthy bastard! Now, back to the random musings...

People try to smuggle in monkey meat and other exotic meat cuts.

What bothers me about this article is the constant referral to "bushmeat." Apparently for the writer, "bushmeat" is any meat not contaminated by preservatives, chemicals, hormones, and other goodies that fuck with our innards. Then again, meat ain't so great for the digestive track. Then again...carne asada!

People get angry because the Vatican dares enforce a dress code.

Stupid line of the year...

“I am born naked and the church wants me to be wearing pants,” Danish tourist Kenneth Bergen, 53, proclaimed to a throng of would-be visitors who had been turned back. Bergen had just bought a pair of paper pants.

Have respect, you idiotic Dane. Even if you're anti-clerical, anti-Catholic, respect the fact that the Church owns its properties...and so forth. No time to elaborate.

Now it's time to sleep. Tomorrow, Tijuana to take the folks. Oy vey.

sexta-feira, julho 18, 2003

Un Pedacito de Patria...

Let's start with some letters. First off, one published in the Weekly this week about my dancing alone piece...

I have to take issue with Gustavo Arellano’s "Dancing With Myself" [July 11]. Perhaps he should have done a little more research before claiming "That type of dancing is nearly extinct," in regards to dancing with a partner. At Tia Juana’s in Irvine, there are over 200 swing dancers, dancing as partners, every Wednesday night. And the age group of these dancers ranges from early 20s to over 80 years old. West Coast Swing has even more dancers at clubs all over the Southland. There’s ballroom and Latin dancing. Yes, there are clubs where young kids bump and grind individually. But to say partner dancing is "nearly extinct" is to ignore a large group of dancers.

My response...

Thanks for confirming the thesis of my essay, in which the key word was nearly. In a dance culture dominated by dancing alone, 200 swing dancers one night a week does not make "a large group of dancers."

The following letter was directed at my Righteous Brothers dismissal (they're No. 129 on the super-long list)...

This is how I visualize the asshole that wrote that fucked-up shit on the Righteous boys ["The 129 Greatest OC Bands Ever," June 20]. He’s a homely, egotistical little prick who’s not well liked by the best of the staff. I also think he’s probably got funny hair and has never got any good pussy. Am I right?

I didn't respond, but he's right on everything except his last point. Oh wait: he's right on that point also.

Next up is my novelist chum Ryan Gattis, exiled in the British Isles. He writes to commend on my Vietnamese-Latina brawl piece and my article on the bowdlerizing of cinema's racist past on cable...

Completely agree on the movie front. We're in danger of forgetting that history, and that just makes it repeatable.

Shite. Very solid article aboot the brawl as well. I know you like falling in love with your own words but you definitely did the right thing in letting Adriana's quote end the article. "Good show, old boy," said in my best faux-Brit accent.

My response...

Thank you for you insightful words as always. "Falling in love with my own words"...if you weren't a fellow scribbler, they'd be fightin' words.

Now a hilarious rant from a guy named Aldo regarding my Cinco de Mayo-as-celebrating-Mexico's-defeat article...

Hello Gustavo Arellano, (AKA) Mr. Esoteric

I am impressed with your basic historic knowledge, but in your weak article you are making it seem as if all Mexicans and Mexican-Americans are flying flags that say VIVA MEXICO every 5 De mayo. Mr. Esoteric, you may know a little history but that is probably it. Even though you placed the accents in the proper position in the two Spanish words that you wrote, I do not think you are capable of writing a well educated essay in Spanish. Finally, as a Mexican-American I would be embarrassed to be seen with a person like you. I never celebrate 5 de Mayo, but whenever I have a chance to drink, I drink.

P.s. Get a real education-you probably went to Cal-State Dominguez Hill or Cal-State LA, and you probably call your self Gus.

An outstanding retort, no? My response...

So what's your problem with my essay, again?

PS, It ain't Gus, it's Guti. And the education happened at UCLA.

Now, the evening that passed yesterday...

Went over to JC Fandango and kicked with with the JC of JC Fandango to see some Mexican metal bands. Earlier in the day, was talking to GG about the coming show at her place of employment and she said she wouldn't be seen there with "those people." When I noted to her that that sort of rhetoric is used against us Mexicans, she blushed over the phone--I could see it.

I love how diverse the world is, how everyone is vastly different from everyone else. That's why I hesitate to use labels in describing myself or others. Sure, my parents might be Mexicans, but they were people living in Zacatecan ranchos. I grew up in that environment in the US but also am "assimilated." I love banda more than any music in the world. Yet, if Dick Nicholls and Co. were to see me with my metalero brethren, they'd dismiss us all as Mexicans. Too wide of an epithat, people. At least call them stupid metalero Mexicans. Dunno...

But I'm getting off track here--this is a blog for random thoughts and too-sensitive revelations, not deep social analysis (or pseudo-deep). Before I went to hang out with JC, spent some time with AG, who I hadn't had a sit-down conversation with in years. We were supposed to visit an Argentine eatery, but it was closed. Instead, we drove up State College, made a left on Commonwealth, and visited El Fortin, which serves magnificent Oaxacan food. She's getting married. Good for her.

Back to JC--I took him (rather, he drove and I directed), to Lee's Sandwiches. He ate the banh mi xa xiu as we drove back to the club. With every bite, his praise of the sandwich grew until his palate touched the jalape?o lurking beneath the pickled carrots and daikon. He nearly yelped in pleasure. Good man, and we're supposed to raid the wretched Revent?n Super Estrella tomorrow.

Enough for now. My pockets hurt.
Will write soon...in the meanwhile, Rotten History!

Jul 17 1917

Britain's King George V issues a royal proclamation changing his family's surname from Hanover to Windsor. Thus, everyone is fooled into believing that a bunch of inbred krauts are really English. Which is convenient, because England just so happens to be at war with Germany.

quinta-feira, julho 17, 2003

More regarding my dancing alone piece...

First of all, I want to congratulate you on another fabulous article. I
read your cerebrial and sentimental "Dancing with Myself" and loooooooved it. I hope you are saving all these essays --- as a
published collection of your work would be a great read.

My response...

Thank you for your kind words regarding my piece. Of course I save all my pieces! Whether they're worthy of being collected in a book is another story that won't be resolved until years from now. In the meanwhile, more muckraking.
4,000 Holes in Blackford Lancashire...

Was rather uneventful today. Just ate Islamic Chinese cuisine, played tennis with MS (he won 7-5--lucky bastard), talked with AAS, advised the RP, felt lonely, was used by AC yet again, wrote an article, fell in love then caught myself before I went in too deep, and read a bit.

Yes, today was uneventful.

Now, for some Daily Rotten history!

Jul 15 1869

During war with Prussia, French ruler Napoleon III commissions Hippolye Mege Mouries to find a butter substitute. A patent for margarine is issued, it being based on beef fat instead of milk fat. But even with the tactically superior spread, the war is still lost.

And the news!

So masturbation is actually healthy for you because it prevents prostate cancer.

But wither the restless women?

Fossil of the Loch Ness monster found in Loch Ness.

For cameo by the Loch Ness monster in the Simpsons, click somewhere. Also, remember that the General Sherman's only known photo was that of a silhouette looking much like the famous photo of the Loch Ness.

Why anyone would want to steal a Nazi death camp door is inexplicable.

Creation science fair!

God help us all.

terça-feira, julho 15, 2003

Spent the day at the Orange County Fair with Drew and Angie the Interns. Had them try out disgusting meals like a fried Snickers and fried Twinky. I had fried green tomatoes--surprisingly juicy. Great time had by all.

In the course of my walking, however, I seemed to have injured my knee. Not sure why--then again, I suffer bizarre maladies from time to time. Like the time I suffered intense pain whenever my pinky would touch anything.

Here are some interesting stories for the day, then more of my merrily miserable life:

Quentin Tarantino is insane. The fact that he wants to release his upcoming Kill Bill in two parts proves it.

Tarantino's Pulp Fiction is what motivated me to study film. And today, I write about food. What a life! Nevertheless, I liked Tarantino's three films, even if Jackie Brown was a bit long. But the former video store monkey cannot expect his cult to be so faithful any longer. We want results, not shoddy marriages.

Insert joke about male fears of sexual inadequacy here...

Love the following passage: ''It horrified me,'' the woman testified. ''I never had anything like that happen to me in my 47 years. … I've only ever been with one man.''

The woman has obviously never heard of John Holmes.


So lasagna is actually British.

Ah, those imperial Brits--always wanting to claim the sun for their own candle.

Pat Robertson prays for death.

I know there are good evangelical Christians out there...but I've never met one. Join the Catholic conspiracy, or at least pretend.

The British queer argot Polari makes a comeback.

I love language--I really do. There's been a couple of articles as of recent alerting readers to the fact that the world's languages are disappearing as super-languages like English, Spanish, and Mandarin Chinese take over the speaking world. Most of the articles mention that to lose a language is to lose culture--an obvious point, yes, but one that people forget. Or actually know. Laws like English-only or pure-French ignore the history of language. Or actually are aware of them too much. Sorry--my eloquence and logic is left for real-life, not this infernal blog.

Eastern Europe engages in catapult tricks.

And now, some personal observations...

A lot of people now read my blog for some bizarre reason. For the past two weeks, over 60 readers have read my website each week--amazing, considering no more than 50 people had read my website in one week ever. Granted, some people do stumble upon my website by accident after typing in on Google search terms like "stonehenge vagina," "Rebecca Thornton floyd prison," and--very creepily--"auto fellatio." These are all terms I have used in recent blog entries. At the same time, however, most people reading this blog are accessing it through my website. Strange.

And the rule of the day is:

No nomas es en decir sino tambien hacer.

segunda-feira, julho 14, 2003

Let me play Big Brother for a tad...

Who amongst you readers of this infernal blog...

Visited this site on Mon. July 14 at 15:01:42

Has an ISP of 209.79.245.39

Uses Internet Explorer 6 using Windows 98?

Whoever you are, don't you know this freaking site? You're the same person who always accesses my site by going on Google and typing in "Gustavo Arellano" AND "blogspot"

As asked to Lawrence of Arabia:

WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?

domingo, julho 13, 2003

The pressure I suffer is ridiculous but necessary.
Took my mother yesterday to see Juan Gabriel and his fabulously flamboyant stage show. The man is a consumate performer, at one point even samba-ing like a mulatta, much to the delight of the majority female audience. First time I saw him live, umpteenth time for my mother. Good time had by all.

Had dinner at the beautiful LBC home of NS and CF, two good friends of mine. They treated me to a fine vinegar-inflected salmon with peppery cornbread, good white rice and black beans, and pulpy orange juice. Served as a nice respite from the pain womanhood puts me through.

But now, funny stories!

One of my favorite news genres: the animal run amok. This one concerns a killer kangaroo.

Same genre...this one deals with a cat offed by the Russian mafia.

I've heard of auto-fellatio, but this is ridiculous.

Elephants banging while President Bush looks on. With picture! Insert your own joke.

Not sure if Stu Suttcliffe met death by a John Lennon kick to the noggin, but interesting theory.

I don't necessarily agree with Pete Singer's various ethics theories, but that he won an ethics award should not be surprising. Academics get a lot of goofy awards and grants, after all.

Attack of the flyborg.

Guess the stereotype that cops will do anything for donuts isn't true.

From Harry Truman's diaries: "Put an underdog on top and it makes no difference whether his name is Russian, Jewish, Negro, Management, Labor, Mormon, Baptist, he goes haywire."

You know what? I agree.

sábado, julho 12, 2003

The story of the rubber duckies who floated the seven seas for a decade.

Scientists let them float in order to study the currents. Haven't you ever heard of Styrofoam cups?
More comments on my cover story on dancing alone...

I just finished reading your essay on dancing. Wow! The part where you write about the incident in the Café Tacvba concert was very touching.
Maybe cause I'm a girl, no sé. Pero, creo que mucho de lo que escribiste es verdad. This article reminded me of the Café Tacvba song, "El baile y el
salón." La canción dice, " ...que el amor es bailar..." just like you said.

My response...

Gracias for the kind words. It doesn't take a girl to know the power that is dancing together. I love dancing--but only juntitas.

This one is courtesy of AH, a bright gal who is usually frank. Not this time...

I'd like to first off congratulate you at making the cover. What can I say, I could rip it to shreds as you say but I think you are deserving of praise. You cite some great sources and have to be commended on quoting Berlin. I will definitely think of your story when I go to that quinceanera tomorrow. By the way, I am amazed as to how much you are willing to share with readers. First off, you've always talked about your parents on and off and that's great, very humanizing but the girlfriend part at the end. . .that took guts man. All in all, I'm definitely impressed.

My response...

So rip it apart, then. Praise is easy; criticism is hard.

It's true, y'know? It's very misleading on someone's behalf to qualify their statements. If you can rip it to shreds, do it. Don't be lying to me.

Damn, your cover story for the OC Weekly was awesome! The topic was one that I'd never even heard of explained the way you did and it even made my eyes tear a bit. I only hope that one day I too can inspire others to be better writers like you have for me.

My response...

Thank you for the extremely kind words. I'm sure you'll also be a great writer, if not already. One problem, though: I did get your email alerting me to your first posted article. However, I couldn't read it because the Cerritos College website demanded that I register--and I wasn't going to! So if you can send it to me in-text, I can get you some feedback.

Above writer writes for the Cerritos College newspaper--but said paper's website demands registration. Screw that.

Here's more...


I loved it. I absolutely loved it.

I love to dance. I secretly wish people still danced together. There is nothing sexier than a man who knows how to dance well.

my boyfriend refuses to dance and i really really really hate that.

My simple response to a beautiful plea...

Thank you for your comments. I only know how to dance together with women. But no one ever wants to dance.

Here's the final one for the night...

That was a wonderful article! I absolutely loved it. I am always Dancing With Myself to avoid random men trying to grind all over me. I dread being asked to dance by strangers.

The other weekend I was at a small party with a group of friends and they had Aretha Frankiln blaring throughout the house. My ex, -
the love of my young life- took my hand and led me into the living room. In front of everyone, he led me in one of those wonderful slow, romantic dances you described. It was one of the happiest, most fulfilling things I have ever experienced.

I have been thinking about it ever since, wondering if anyone else could be so satisfied by such a simple act.

So, anyway, I really appreciated your article. I am going to forward your article to my ex so he can read it and know just how much the dance meant to me and how important it is to dance together.

My response...

Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad to hear there's someone else who despises dancing with strangers and knows about the absolute romanticism that is a slow dance with your beloved. I hope that the redemptive dance you shared with my ex will lead to more luck than what I experienced, though.

Dance on (and hold your love tight)
--
Went to eat at Palms Thai Restaurant in Thai town with the LA Weekly gang. We feasted on a great tom kah soup, trout with mango sauce, sour beef, and a syrup soda that was heavily carbonated. Serenading us was Thai Elvis, who didn't sing my personal favorite "Are you Lonesome Tonight?" but did do good enough for me to sing along.

And now, sleep.

sexta-feira, julho 11, 2003

Gustavo's Journal of the Subconscious, Canto XXIV

Three: I had "relations" with the young Katherine Hepburn. I woke up feeling dirty.

Someone was commenting on a certain Dave (I know know Daves) that he's a savior type of guy when it comes to relationships, always ending up with screwed-up women so he can nurse them back to help. "And you see this guy with a girl and you wonder--why the hell is she with him?!" Dave's friend commented. I think it was in a lunch booth but I couldn't help but overhear the conversation and note some interesting parallels to my own attractions.

Weirdest of all: I was at some sort of political meeting and I was the co-chair. I was very forceful in my comments, castigating everyone on some matter. Then a girl I once liked in high school commented that no one could take me seriously because I seemed rich in the type of outfit I was wearing (I had on a mint guayabera). I snapped back that it was a hot day, and besides, the poor in Veracruz wear guayaberas and they're not rich. All this time, I would pound on the ground with an umbrella whenever I wanted to make a point. By the end of the meeting, I had offended everyone--even the person I thought would never leave my side.

I woke up depressed. My pockets hurt.

quinta-feira, julho 10, 2003

Some thoughts on my dancing alone piece...

I wanted you to spend more time talking about your personal experiences in this story. Relating Marx, Hegel, what not, hit me as one dry academic stretch. Get off that ivory tower soap box yer on. Then again, if everyone can get away with something, you can definitely get away with the Greil Marcus long tomes mixing thick German philosophy and how it relates to today's pop culture. That's a compliment. I couldn't get away with it.

My response...

Thanks for the feedback. I actually hate writing about myself—not because of a fear of revelation but because I think it’s narcissistic. That’s why I limited my personal experiences to the beginning and end—let Freed, Joad, and Hobbes do the rest for me.

The following is from that pinche judio Josue Noriega...

Felicidades!! That's one hell of a cover story - dancing, world politics, sexo y todo. Quite a creative piece, maestro!

No comment needed. Bring 'em on!
So I'm going to go see Juanes alone at the Wiltern Theater. No surprise there.

And though I walk home alone/My faith in love is still devout...

quarta-feira, julho 09, 2003

Almost forgot...this day in Rotten history. For the first time ever, I include the entirety of its entries since they're all bizarrely fun...


Jul 9 1952
Musical genius and all-around renaissance man John Tesh is born in Garden City, New York.

Jul 9 1980

Seven faithful are trampled in a stampede during a papal visit to Brazil by John Paul II. Way to go!

Jul 9 1982

Michael Fagan, dressed in jeans and a dirty t-shirt, and bleeding from a fresh cut on his hand, walks into the private bedroom of Queen Elizabeth II while she is asleep and her personal guard out walking her dogs. Fagan had scaled the wall surrounding Buckingham Palace and gained entry without triggering any alarms. The two carry on a 12-minute conversation, while the intruder holds a jagged broken ashtray, before somebody finally apprehends him.

Jul 9 1986

After spending one year and half a million dollars, the Attorney General's Commission on Pornography releases their two-volume, 1960-page final report. In contrast to the 1970 Presidential Commission on Pornography, the report finds that porn causes violent sex crimes and other antisocial activities. Afterwards, one impartial commission member admits: "I, for one, have no hesitation in condemning nearly every specimen of pornography that we have examined in the course of our deliberations as tasteless, offensive, lewd and indecent. According to my values, these materials are themselves immoral, and to the extent that they encourage immoral behavior they exert a corrupting influence on the family and the moral fabric of society."
Jul 9 1995

Disgruntled postal worker William Clark kills his supervisor, in the City of Industry, California.

Jul 9 1997

Mike Tyson banned from boxing for one year, and fined $3M for biting Evander Holyfield's ear off in a mysterious cajun ritual.

Jul 9 1997

Attempting to spring him from the Arizona state prison at Florence, Rebecca Thornton meets her husband Floyd at the perimeter fence with a rifle. There the escape plan goes haywire, and Rebecca shoots her death-row husband after he instructs her: "Shoot me! I'm sorry things went wrong. Shoot me! Shoot me!" Then they are both gunned down by the guards.
Ate lunch today with PSS, AH, AAS, and ER in Orange. NGF was supposed to join us but begged off. Fucking wuss.

With NGF out of the picture we decided to take the lunch over to Papa Hassan's since NGF bitched and moaned about not liking Lebanese cuisine. The food was great, babos@.

Moral of the story: don't stand me up. I will never let you live it down.
--
All I do is write nowadays, which is fab. But I also like to love too, y'know? And not just romantic love, either. I like to talk to people, hang out with them. Everyone is busy.

And now, some Daily Rotten news...

No one yet knows with certainty what that giang blob that washed ashore on the Chilean coast is.

Global warming! Yay!

What cracks me up from time to time is letters to the Orange County Register using unseasonably cold weather as proof that global warming is a sham prediction--as if climate change involves only heat. Idiot Register readers.

Future yokozunas?

Enough for now. Time to return to the land of never-ending disappointment...
So Britney banged Justin. Big freaking deal--I know tons of other chicks who said they'd be virgins until they found the one, only to spread 'em for the first half-decent guy. Sorry for being so vulgar, but 'tis the truth.

Came back from dinner at Thai Nakorn with Javier Castellanos of JC Fandango. Why all the name dropping? Just wanted links for stories, I guess. I will say this, however: Thai curry is unctuous, employing bold spots of ginger, and possesses hallucinogenic powers.

terça-feira, julho 08, 2003

The greatest dismissal of a scientific ever occurs in this article suggesting that the Stonehenge rock formation represents a vagina. Here's the insult...

David Miles, chief archeologist with English Heritage, which owns the Stonehenge site, said he is "slightly skeptical" of Perks' hypothesis.

"There's a million-and-one theories about Stonehenge," he said. To Miles, it looks like a Ping-Pong paddle.

If only all academics were like this...
And denial of love is the worst. God bless emotions and self-pity!
The misery increases with the hour.

On the other hand, I've been receiving a slew of hate mail for my Righteous Brothers piece, which I now present in its entirety...

Santa Anan Bill Medley and Anaheimer Bobby Hatfield should thank Jim Crow every day for being the benefactors of the reverse affirmative action that governs American popular song. Sure, they sang beautifully overwrought saccharine symphonies like the Phil Spector-produced "You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling" and "Unchained Melody" (a song originally written for a weepy prison movie) that every lover should dedicate to their sweetheart if they want some action. But the only reason the duo ever achieved national exposure was that they were two white boys that made throaty Negro crooning palatable to Johnsonian America. A term even originated to describe them: "blue-eyed soul," making the Righteous Brothers the original wiggers.

Hate drives me. Lack of love kills me.

domingo, julho 06, 2003

Ate dinner at Lee's Sandwiches with CS and her father S. They both really seem to like me. C and I introduced her father to Lee's. Another convert.

Sometimes we have to make decisions based on what we feel. Unfortunately, the likely possibility is that any decision will irrecovably change your life. For someone who plans their life around plans, this is difficult to take and understand.
My cousin got married yesterday in this interesting business lobby/reception area in Buena Park. I was talking to one of my cousins, and we realized we're the last unmarried cousins in the Arellano clan (that is, that are of marrying age). The thought disturbs us greatly.

I should be working right now--actually, I am--but I'm too wacked out to pursue much right now.

sábado, julho 05, 2003

Goes to show that anti-immigrant sentiment is a worldwide phenomenon, as shown by this article commenting on the deaths of swans in England...

Here is the money passage...

Police have swooped on a group of East Europeans — and caught them red-handed about to cook a pair of Royal swans.

The asylum seekers were barbecuing a duck in a park in Beckton, East London.

But two dead swans were also found — concealed in bags and ready to be roasted.

The discovery last weekend confirmed fears that immigrants are regularly scoffing the Queen’s birds.

A Metropolitan Police report explained: “European gangs attract them with bait before luring them into traps for food.”

The scandal comes after complaints by anglers that hungry asylum seekers are stripping our rivers of fish.

Steve Knight, of Surrey’s Swan Sanctuary, said: “Poaching of swans is becoming a serious problem. It is happening mainly around London but we have also had reports from Wiltshire, Hertfordshire and Essex.

“Sadly it seems that some people coming into the country have been ignoring our custom of leaving these beautiful birds alone. (my emphasis)

Funny thing about this article is that there's a sidebar describing how to properly cook a swan and revealed that Henry VIII loved roasted swan.

And here's the winner!...

A police source said: “It’s tragic that people from abroad don’t respect our traditions.”
Spent the Fourth celebrating my cousin PM's birthday. 'Twas fun, talking with JAM, two of the Fabulous G Sisters, and another cool guy. For some reason, Jesus was brought up one too many times--and all blasphemous!

sexta-feira, julho 04, 2003

Is it really too much to ask someone for a bit of their time?

I don't think so--especially when claims of not wanting to go out are contradicted by massive excursions to points across the Southland.
More Daily Rotten history...

Jul 4 1984

For the first time, Nancy Reagan utters the immortal words: "Just say no."
Ah, the misery of it all! And all self-inflicted!
--
Met LR at JC Fandango tonight/last night. She's a frequent reader of this infernal blog and knows much more about Latin alternative than I ever could. Cool woman, although I wasn't very talkative due to this melancholy state I'm in. And for that, LR, I apologize. When I'm normal, all I talk about is the Simpsons. Maybe it's better, then, you met me in such a quiet state--people can only hear about the glories of Martin Prince for so long.

quinta-feira, julho 03, 2003

Played tennis today with MS as AAS read a book and cheered both of us on. MS hadn't played tennis in years yet nevertheless destroyed me 6-0. God didn't make me to be an athlete.

Afterwards we headed over to a Vietnamese restaurant in Costa Mesa. They ordered the amazing noodle salad bun; I ordered rice with beef. I adore rice.

Going to go see Lucybell and Enjambre at JC Fandango tonight with the Fabulous G sisters. And afterwards, work.

And now, ladies and geeks, General Butt Naked.
Our American leaders, courtesty of Daily Rotten History...
Jul 3 1988

Mistaking it for a F-14 fighter plane, the American warship USS Vincennes shoots down Iran Air flight 655, killing all 290 people aboard. Despite his country's having recklessly downed a passenger airliner while operating inside Iran's territorial waters, Vice President George Bush declares a month later: "I will never apologize for the United States of America, ever. I don't care what the facts are."

The writing life is good...so far. But spent most of the day yesterday at the Centro Cultural de Mexico with CS, KC, DH, and other assorted testaments to the beauty of humanity. I need more people like those in my life.

quarta-feira, julho 02, 2003

I had started a book, but now I cannot finish it. Not that the book isn't good--it is, in its own racist ways. But the person that book is attached to doesn't deserve to gloat in the fact that I might finish it.

The neo-xicano describes this website as being the "peculiar, murmuring world that is the inside of his head." I'm inclined to agree--but off I am to write articles!

terça-feira, julho 01, 2003

Let it be attributed to Drew the Intern at the Weekly:

The nickname of the freak who nearly sliced off a woman's head at an Albertson's in Irvine shall forever be the Salad-Aisle Samurai.
--
I am OK. I am discovering what I already knew--that sometimes, life will simply not give a damn about what you want and will definitely not do what is best.