Ok, first little excerpt out of "Threnody's Song," for better or worse:
A night of singing and clarinets, and incense of ashes and cloves.
A girl pretending to be a woman, a broken girl, crying softly over a list of conquests:
a sideways reflection of broken me.
An apprentice healer, aloof, lilting her eyes laconically, quietly,
with a past like a shadow from moonlight, shy and hidden and dark.
The dancing guide, aching at memories that should not be her own,
at the wild inside her, so at odds with her melancholy longing.
The light of the sapphire ember’ed braziers was muted
in the black glass and dark mahogany.
We were all a little broken, in the midnight’s shadowed firelight;
but we smiled, nonetheless.
When I first read Dune, I thought the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear was kind of a catchy way of helping the reader to feel inspired by the main characters' struggles, as they recited it therein. Much later on, I think around when I was doing my thesis on the novel, I realized there was kind of a zen thing going on in it - that is, at the end of it, when there is that duality between there being nothing, and yet there being the self at the same time (zen in it being a paradox, perhaps pointing to something beyond it...). Even more recently, after all the research and practice I've been doing in terms of meditation, the Litany suddenly blossoms with a bit more meaning. I'm not sure how sensically I can summarize the thought, but here goes.
I'm still not sure about the first part as anything but characteristic of its source within the story, and maybe obliquely aesthetic in purpose. But facing the emotion, and accepting it (whether by acknowledging its reality, letting it pass, surrendering to it or whatever) is a common meditative practice, which doesn't seem like anything at face value within the Litany, but takes on a whole new semantic value with practical experience with that exercise. The next and last part of the Litany is doubly interesting in that regard, that is when viewed through the lense of the idea of there being an ego-self and a Self that is beyond that - with that last "I" taking on a whole new kind of emphasis when the ego-associated emotion has been nixed. And if that didn't make any sense at all, well, email me or something.
A tangential thought to all that is that after such big changes in my life and psyche, and all the effort I've put into those so far, I feel like I've come to one of those points where I want to go back through all my old favorite novels and movies and read and watch them over again - like, I feel like I got new glasses, that make things clearer, and remove the glare created by my old preconceptions to probably extend that analogy too far. So, further thoughts are probably to come, in other words.
Shall We Dance?, with Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez. Well...my mom enjoyed watching Gere. And I enjoyed watching Lopez. Susan Sarandon was also in it, but didn't really move out of a secondary role at all. I suppose this was an okay remake of the Japanese original, which I still think is a wonderful movie; they're identical in terms of most of the plot and characters, but I'll maintain that the Japanese version was much more understated and classy, while the American version stated outright everything in voiceovers and dialogue what was accomplished by gesture and body language, or simply not saying it, in the original.
Traitor General and His Last Command, by Dan Abnett. First of all, I think that Abnett is bar none one of the best authors in terms of writing in a cinematic style; each of his novels is like a literary version of Saving Private Ryan in an IMAX theatre. These most recent of his novels in a series following the exploits of Gaunt’s Ghosts, a wonderful mishmash of characters that are worth following through several books, are somewhat different than earlier stories in that they have something of a tighter focus. Traitor General concentrates on a small group of the main characters through the course of a desperately quickly paced story that doesn’t exactly end, but pulls a Dune and leaves the plot just as it’s really beginning, in a sense (hopefully I'm not ruining anything by saying that, it should be fairly obvious by a certain point that there's no way the novel could reasonably end within its size).
Interestingly, His Last Command doesn’t pick up at all where Traitor General leaves off, but rather sidesteps the actual telling of a good deal, and instead shows the results of that missing time in distinct changes in the characters involved, and follows their reintegration with the rest of the family/community of characters. Also, as usual, Abnett’s science fiction settings, while placed within the 40k shared setting, are crafted with care and originality, with that of Traitor General having special note because of it’s exploration of the evil side’s perspective, as it were.
Kicking and Screaming, with Will Ferrell and Kate Walsh. Also Robert Duvall and Mike Ditka randomly, but I don't really care about them so much. But anyway. What happened to the days when they used to make good kid-sports movies, like The Mighty Ducks, or The Sandlot? Those movies had at least the semblance of a plot, and sometimes even character development. This one, however, was disjointed, had a horribly skewed story arc, and there's some sort of anti-character development going on, that last bit which I suppose is kind of interesting in a roundabout way. Thank you Wyatt for taking credit for picking this one to rent; that was courageous of you.
King Kong, with Jack Black and Naomi Watts. Though a humongous amount of detail and action and amazing imagery was crammed into this film's three hours, and I'm sure much of it was cut to get that time, we actually found it kind of boring. The best explanation we've come up with is that any given scene just went on for too long; even the most interesting, epic creatures and movement can start to wear on one after a while, I suppose is what we felt. Perhaps, it was mostly a showcase for the awesome accomplishment of animating Kong; the characters and story, while true to and in some parts improvements on the original, didn't seem to develop or change in any noticeable way. I think if one went into the movie looking for theory kind of stuff, like aspects of Kong or the island being explored as representations of the unknown and monstrous within the psyche, there might be more to be gotten out of it. Or maybe this was all just the mood I was in, I don't know. I did like the fun references to Conrad's writing, that was nice, though I don't remember whether it was in the original?
Extinction, by Lisa Smedman. Yet another in the War of the Spider Queen shared setting, I enjoyed this one in a specific sense; it didn't have barely if any action or intrigue compared to the novels previous to it in the series, but it delved nicely into the awakening of some of the characters as they encounter a cultural clash that changes them utterly. Though very little actually happens in this novel, I think it was well worth it to devote that much attention to slowing down to appreciate what those characters go through internally. That said, if this novel is recognized as a kind of interlude amongst its busier neighbors in the series, that's a big help to enjoying it.
Finally started to get some things out of karate. Besides a knot right on the juncture of my elbow by the point of a stray elbow of another. Ironically, I think the most valuable things I’ve gotten so far seem to have little to do with pure karate at all. I suppose in that sense my ranged fighting has begun to change in some ways; I’m not sure whether to say ‘improve,’ as I still think kali tudo or muay thai are the way to go in that regard till years are spent with karate, but change. Rather, I think some of my disillusionment with martial arts has been dispelled, in my perspective on them changing in regards to myself. And maybe a bit of a renewal of confidence in my teaching skills, in getting a really whiny, probably fruity, and kind of apathetic youngling to do a technique flow strongly and with his own confidence.
So, gone the old aspirations to be simply as badass as possible. If I was training for that reason, I’d not be working and would be getting ready to go to Thailand with one of the other dojo students. “It’s okay to be exactly where you are,” right? I can more than hold my own, usually, and keep improving, and that’s once more enough for me. Back to hints of realizations that are coming to full, finally; what started this click was one phrase last night: “Your center of balance is always your center of balance.” Well, in truth, what opened me to that have been all my experiences lately, and the profound changes they have wrought in me, but that phrase was the catalyst for the martial arts realizations, as to why I’m continuing to practice them – maybe not back to the quantity I used to, well probably not at all, but I’ll keep in touch with them for sure. Just as the principle follows that the body and mind’s conditions reflect each other, I’m suddenly remembering that knowledge of the body and knowledge of the mind might reflect each other as well (that self-study in both regards being a primary principle of yoga and meditation, though I can’t remember the Sanskrit word for it even though I just read it).
In that phrase, for example, it seems interesting that your center of balance is always exactly that – your center of balance – and yet it is constantly changing, and is almost never still. And that seems a perfect metaphor for one’s Self as well, as with each minute, each new experience we change a little bit, and yet, we are always exactly who we are. And then perhaps circles back to a physical aspect of meditation being a way to get in touch with or know the unchanging aspect of that self, in that physically our center of balance is still for the moment (for sitting meditation, at any rate). To come back to martial arts or yoga (gross versus subtle movement?), if one’s knowledge of one’s physical center of balance improves, does their intimacy with their inner center/self improve as well?
And to circle back to martial arts from a different direction, not only is knowledge of one’s self gained – but also interaction with other’s center of balance, as well. And not just center of balance, but being able to read intentions and body language, being able to blend with another and match rhythms and find openings and interact and have sensitivity not just in physical contact (grappling and trapping) but in terms of location in space, as well (capoeira as prime example, there). The amazing thing to me is that all of those phrases can be applied to one’s Self interacting with another’s Self as well, if one’s knowledge of their physical self and physical principles can be applied internally, or if they reflect internally.
Of course, that’s not just martial arts, obviously. The other best example that almost jumps out at me is rowing. My knowledge of that is only second-hand, but I remember hearing about the aspiration towards unity in physical rhythm and intention among the rowers, and the thrill when they got closer and closer to it. And if that’s not an obvious connection back to yoga and meditation – but with that new aspect of connection with others– I don’t know what is.
Pride and Prejudice. As much as this story hit way too close to home in many ways, I enjoyed it a good deal. I dare say it made us want to talk with much more propriety in our daily lives, for one, and the music was quite pleasant throughout. I'm not sure why, but the cinematography made me feel that I was somehow actually reading a book even as I watched. Lastly, I practically wanted a Mr. Darcy by the end.
I thought this was clever
Random quote of the day: "Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable."
Other random quote of the day: "The better an SF writer is, the more subtly and effectively he will play off against the experienced reader's analytical skills. At the highest levels, SFnal exposition takes on the nature of a delicate, powerful intellectual dance or game between writer and reader, requiring much from both and rewarding both very richly."
The idea of any sort of gestalt kind of connection between different beings is something I've always wanted to believe in, but never really could make myself. I think that's why I like seeing flocks of birds, though, or schools of fish, I suppose. Something about the way they move in such perfect coordination reminds me that there might be some kind of telepathy thing that we're missing. I know, I know, there's some scientific explanation for how birds can keep from just outright colliding, but I haven't heard it yet, so I'll stick with my passing thought for the moment.
So Ms. Connie sent me this article; as I replied to her, having been an English major when I was in school I couldn't help but think of the tusk from that point on as a giant phallus. Then I thought of unicorns. Never will I think of a little girl's collection the same way. Of course, it was then pointed out to me by Connie that unicorns generally only like pure and virginal things. I have an urge to write a limerick involving the words 'dickhead' and 'unicorn,' but I'd be afraid of the fanciful horse's name being applied to pedophiles, considering one inevitable topic.
There was fog this morning, which is of especial note in Tucson for its sheer amount. But then I also drive by a driving range on my way to work, and as that's basically a depression filled with grass that's lower than the surrounding ground level, it was filled with solid fog as if it were a bowl, where the rest of the vapor that low in the city had burned off. Nothing much to that, just an interesting image.
Random things night. So, one thing I've learned - the nine-to-five lifestyle makes for perception that there is very little time for anything. I could speculate as to why, argue against that perception, and remark upon my own evidence, but I'll just leave it as noting that I've heard it in the tone of the voices of several people who are also stuck in it for the moment, from the clone-girl (not really attack of the clones, but maybe slightly-weirded-out by the clone) at the street fair to high-paying jobs to cross-country. Maybe I'll return to those other three things at some point. If I have time. Ba-dum tshhh.
In the karate forms we did tonight I noted two mudras (little hand position thingies to start the form) that I thought were interesting. My favorites are still the mudras that are actually practical, close range little nasties, but I liked these because one is basically described as 'opening a book,' and the other is 'holding a small ball.' The first because it's all symbolic (*nodding*), and the second because it's kind of cute.
Xuemei had an interesting experience where she had to watch a video of herself interviewing a patient, who she thought was Australian but turned out to be from Boston. The trick was, the camera only caught her, so she's acting out a doctor's role, but interviewing a patient who's entirely out of the frame. I'm not sure if that could be avant-garde, or at least something that would make for a small essay in lit. or film theory if the interview had the right questions and answers.
I just got the Yoga Journal calendar for the coming year. Quite pretty, great photography, pretty cheap.
Tonight, I tried a Naked brand protein drink. It was quite tasty, actually, though I didn't appreciate having to sit with the grit that coated my mouth after each sip.
And it rained, tonight. I would have written a poem, except this would have been even more incisive into myself than the poem-diary-thingie. I'll talk around what I would have written, I guess. The best moments of my life have had some quality in them that could be described as 'cool water,' or some variation of that. That's not to say that every encounter with colder-than-lukewarm water is a great moment for me, or that tonight was one, but the rain reminded me or them; bittersweet melancholy and all that jazz, yadda yadda yawn. Anyway. Goodnight.
My mom's reviews of science fiction shows! I won't even get into why she actually sat through and paid attention to two of them. She liked Stargate SG-1, but that's possibly mostly because it was the remarkably sedate episode where Carter meets that ascended human dude, which is vaguely romantic. Still, she said she liked the writing and the actress who plays Carter. She thought Firefly was vaguely interesting, but not as 'classy' as SG-1, and for both shows laughed to see actors that she hadn't seen for many years (apparently the preacher in Firefly used to be on some sitcom?).
Well, it's not exactly as fulfilling as the old smallpox/cancer research project, but maybe aliens will come and give us the cure for those things or something (they have it for both Mac and PC now)
I wonder whether there aren't enough objects in the asteroid belt and the Oort cloud for everyone to get their name literally on something (from Wyatt)
Quote of the Day: "I believe it was Voltaire who said, 'Well, then fuck them.'" Well, I thought it was kind of funny at any rate.
I like the Southwest. Anyone who knows me probably knows this about me. So, a random loopy praising of such, in an indirect manner.
Ever notice how there’s no Northwestern Literature classes, or Midwest Literature classes? Ah, but there are most definitely Southwest Literature classes. No other landscape has quite the qualities to lend to a whole genre of its own; the Southwest landscape is often described as having similar importance in that genre to one of the characters or plot. Where a forest story is usually about the mystery and shadow created by that landscape, or an arctic story is often about stark survival, a story in the desert has both starkness and survival on one side and life persevering on the other. And at the same time, nothing in a desert is what it seems, and yet is clear at the same time – there are hidden and apparent needles among the flowers. And it is a desert that is characterized as that most epic of places, of the biggest skies, the tallest storms and wide expanses.
The great director of Westerns, John Ford, went to immense lengths to find just those expanses in an age where the only way to create landscapes of epic nature was to actually find them and film in them. Frank Herbert used the desert landscape as an integral part of his colossal Dune series, combining the romanticism of Southwest literature with science fiction. Cultures from both sides of Europe to Japan have become fascinated with Western stories. I could go on listing, so I’ll just stop there I suppose. Somebody tell me if they think I missed anything.
On monkeys being scary. This and probably whatever I post next are really summing up of other conversations I have, so nobody credit me solely on these things. I think monkeys are scary mainly because they have an uncanny nature. That is, they remind us of something in ourselves – they’re generally anthropomorphic, but undeniably different nonetheless. They’re like some mirror of ourselves conjured from our hindbrains, something primitive that screeches and doesn’t hold to our rules of ego and superego, but has cunning and emotion that remind us of ourselves when we’re not controlling ourselves. Manifestations of id, I guess.
Also, some of them have large teeth, or red or blue butts. And fling monkey poo. And, as has been pointed out to me, it’s generally a hell of a lot easier to fight a vampire than a monkey. That’s why I think there’re not so many movies about scary monkeys. That’s just too scary to be entertaining generally, I’m guessing.
Conundrum. I have this urge to write poetry outside of the big ol’ poetry-diary-journal thing I’ve been writing, but my emotions seem inextricably tied into anything I write. I had a teacher once tell me that my writing sometimes went too deeply into my emotions, to the point of making reading the poem kind of uncomfortable. Anyway, in this case, I want to write a poem to be able to share it, but feel like I wouldn’t be comfortable doing so on account of the same rawness and privacy that accompanies the journal. So…I guess this paragraph is what gets put here for the moment instead of a poem.
More massage-themed fun. One thing that was a point in that recent workshop for those interested in getting more into it was that it was a good idea to partner up with someone in a different, but similar field. For example, a chiropractor, a naturopath, or any number of fields like that, basically. I’d actually spent some time on thoughts almost exactly like that in the past, but they had quietly laid down at some point.
But then I’m thinking, wait, when I worked at the hospital, massages were incredibly helpful. I spent several hours one day, one of the best days I had working there, giving foot massages to a cancer patient, and was perfectly happy doing it because I knew it was distracting her from her immense pain. When family members or I just rubbed the back of patients who had been stuck on their backs or sides in bed for weeks on end, their relief was almost palpable sometimes. And even just holding someone’s hand or resting it on their forearm or shoulder was one of the best things I could do.
I remember one poor woman who had MRSA infecting her skin, and was so morbidly obese that we couldn’t even shift her off the especially sore lesions. All I could do was hold her hand and murmur nothing but, “It’s okay, we’re here,” over and over and over for the whole day, and felt like an ass doing it because I’m sure I looked and felt alien in gloves and gown and mask, and repeatedly had to move her grasping away from any exposed skin I had, but at the end of the day she almost had me crying as she did as well in thanking us for doing nothing but holding her hand and talking to her.
So. As much as I’m looking into getting trained as a bodyworker, that’s my idea of the moment – working something out with a hospital to rove like occupational therapy or physical therapy people or chaplains and give massage or shoulder rubs or even little hand massages or anything really, as anything like that helps so much. If I really want to be out there in my daydreaming, if I could get training in physical therapy and maybe even start a program of some sort, maybe if I found anyone like-minded.
More random thoughts time. One, endorphin rushes are kind of nice in the winter, and kind of not. I remember my friend and I used to drive back to the university from jujitsu with our shirts open or off and the windows down on really cold nights, just because our bodies were still generating so much heat and we were inured to the cold by the rush. Last night, I wasn’t anywhere near that worked up, but was still able to stand chatting in a parking lot for upwards of two hours without giving much thought at all to being cold or not, and I was just wearing sandals and a light sweater. Of course, as soon as I wound down and rehydrated with a cold drink down the road, I went to get back to my car and my body completely crashed. Headache, full-body shivers, clenched jaw and some loss of control over my breath. So, yay for endorphins in one sense, and crappy for when they run out.
Other random thing. Back in existential philosophy class we spent a bit on exploring the idea of the myth of Sisyphus (eternally straining to push a huge boulder up a mountain each day, only to have it inevitably roll down again) as a metaphor for life. There were several angles to approach it by – say, pointlessness and inevitability of misfortune on one end of the spectrum, and on the complete other end in the spirit of trying even if it’s pointless, maybe part of what defines humanity. So, anyhoo, the random thought I had. Saying we do accept the myth as a metaphor/analogy for human life, we’re generally thinking that the singular Sisyphus is representative of all human life in a kind of synecdoche sense.
But what if people aren’t as isolated from each other within their own egos (which define us as individuals) as they think they are? If we turn the metaphor back upon itself, might Sisyphus, in being representative of humanity, be in fact the great mass of all of us pushing that boulder up the slope, in that being human and going through our lives even if misfortune or death is inevitable is us pushing our own boulder up the slope? I guess what I’m saying is, what’s to say that we have to consider it as each of us having our own burden – what’s to say that we’re not all connected in some fashion and in fact are helping or hindering each other with our common, shared boulder/burden of living in how we treat each other?
I didn’t really think to go into the other nice things about zen shiatsu, so here are some. For one, the…uh…shiatsu-ee remains fully clothed, which is nice for several reasons, an obvious one being their general comfort, especially considering how intimate massage is in general, and even more especially because a lot of shiatsu is done on the anterior of the body. Beyond that, any help with comfort is nice because the person being massaged gets the most benefit if they completely let the bodyworker do their thing; the more they can surrender their self to the bodyworker and furthermore relax past their innate resistance, the more they get out of it (I think that’s a good thing particularly because I have trouble with it, but at the same time consider it a very good thing to work on, so it’s impetus).
Also, the bodyworker would find it nigh impossible to wear themselves out doing shiatsu. Since a kind of combination of ki (in the aikido sense), integrating yoga poses and principles, and using the whole body and weight rather than a couple muscles (in a martial arts sense), and a meditative state is part of the definition of shiatsu, the bodyworker in fact almost ends up actually getting a lot out of giving a massage, rather than tiring. And furthermore, shiatsu is often remarkably convenient to do to one’s self, where regular massage is quite difficult (think about it, how good of a massage can you really give yourself without leverage and without slacking over time?).
And the workshop didn’t even really go that far into pushing all these aspects, to make that clear, these were the mental notes I was making.
Other news: my dad recommends the show Bones; he and I are both big fans of David Boreanaz, for one, but he says the show is intriguing enough to carry itself without relying on him, and provides interesting twists.
My mom recommends Curb Your Enthusiasm and Extras. I don’t think I can back that recommendation up; I mean, they’re both kind of funny, the first being from a producer of Seinfield and the latter being British, but they rely on the kind of humor that makes one uncomfortable too much for my taste.
I'm not sure how to organize these thoughts, so they may appear in a semi-random order. Though I was stood up twice in succesion earlier in the weekend (I responded to that in as blase manner as I could, and did the complete opposite of one of the night's original plans and sat across from a complete stranger in a coffee shop), I was determined to get something accomplished, and so went to a zen shiatsu workshop (cue fanfare). I guess the first thing I should admit was that I had to practically discipline myself to not be distracted by the gal in charge, who looked like she should be on the cover of Yoga Journal, but was even more charming as she had a bit of an accent and a lovely voice. I had no idea there would be such connection between martial arts and shiatsu, though I'll have to note that I'm thinking in the main of aikido and Chinese arts, of which there ironically happened to be two other gentlemen besides me who've practiced those in some capacity. I did learn quite a lot, and plan on taking advantage of whatever opportunity I can find to learn more in the same vein; in fact, I think I actually got some patterns in my thinking re-started, I'm not ready to talk about those yet, though. I will say one more highlight (besides the pleasant experience, free massage and gorgeous instructor) - I finally learned how to give someone's neck and shoulders a massage a proper way, which is a profound thing if you think about how awkward or ineffective it usually is to try to loosen the tension in someone's neck. If anyone wants to let me practice on them for a free neck rub or massage, I'm your man.
The Muse Is Always Half-Dressed in New Orleans, by Andrei Codrescu. I bought this collection of essays at some point in high school, I really have no recollection of why, except that it was for school. So I somehow found it, and thought, hey why not. Off the top of my head, Codrescu essays include commentary on growing up in Romania, the strange nature of that country's most recent revolution, various wry takes on being a vegetarian, a couple literary theory essays, some diatribes against communism, and one lovely exploration of New Orleans. I always did want to travel there, though unfortunately at the moment it looks like the only way I'll be able to will be through writings like this one, I suppose.
While helping transfer a newly collected bonsai from burlap to box, I got the task of mixing the fill to go in the box around the root ball (coarse and fine volcanic, pine bark, turface, crushed granite, a couple different organics, some original mulch for the mycorrhizae). I couldn't help but notice that one of the organic soils was a very rich and velvet black in appearance, and it struck me that the best soil and most life-producing soil is a color that is often associated with death. Maybe that's why in some places white is instead considered the color of death? But then, does that mean that black in turn becomes a life-symbolizing color in those places, or does it not have any connotation, or does it still have a negative connotation?
Also, picpics
As it's getting colder out, some of the bay doors to the warehouses are kept closed to retain whatever heat there is inside; some are still open however. So I'm walking by one of the remaining open ones today, which was quite gray and cloudy and dark, and I see snow falling. Like, little flakes of white drifting past across the sky and the next building over, back and forth in the breeze.
Of course, this being Tucson, it was desert broom seeds, but hey, it was a moment.
Dead Leaves - no sense, whatsoever. Like a cross between Tank Girl, FLCL, Akira, Gen13, Die Hard, Escape from LA, and...probably several other things. Maybe a porn, it's kind of hard to define some of the things that happen, though. I felt like I should be doing something else besides watching television, at least say flipping through a magazine or something, but I really couldn't take my eyes off this, nor could I rid myself entirely of what I'm sure was a befuddled look - there's probably not a five second lull in the entire movie, for true. As much as I had to concentrate to tell what was going on, the rampant havoc is quite fun to watch (though out and out disgusting at times), and there are enough dirty jokes and one-liners to make one smile even if they're not in the best mood.
Each time I go to the 4th Ave Street fair, I try to go to the same artist (if he is there and time is permitting) to get a henna pattern inked onto my hand. So, the first time I had it done, it was during an early morning lull in the fair, and so in talking with the artist he ended up putting much more henna on my hand and complexity into the pattern than the fee I had paid warranted; he even took a picture for his personal portfolio, so that was pretty awesome.
Even better than that, though, was the woman who was working with him; she was beautiful in and of herself, with wavy-curly blond hair and a loose skirt and backless top of something gauzy. But what was on her upper back were wings, down to the details on feathers, surrounded by arabesques, all done in a light red-ish henna. It was gorgeous, to say the least. My question to myself is, did I get the idea for my tattoo from that image (it's funny that I haven't remembered that till now, if that's the case), or did I have my tattoo idea before that? All I've got is a mental shrug, at the moment; who knows.
In other news, working with lots of people with relatives in Mexico is nice because of one of the most important reasons: food. I, at this moment, have a bag of twelve solidly large, fresh tamales sitting right next to me. Red chile, baby. Not to mention the fresh, homemade tortillas on other days, and the list of the best places in South Tucson to get Sonoran hot dogs on the other side of my desk. Now, come on Vietnamese half of the people working the warehouse: where y'all at with the food? I'm hungry!
Neologism of the Day: awebysmal - in the vein of that lovely word, 'aweso,' awebysmal combines 'awesome' and 'abyssal' with a nice linguistic twist in the suffix for aesthetics; used, say, for those jokes that really do hit new lows
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