Month: March 2016

Activity challenge – Book 1

I decided to start the challenge with the book The Rum Diaries by Hunter S. Thompson. I did not see the movie (a plus, I think, when reading the book), but did hear the location was Puerto Rico, so I broke out a cold container of coconut water, put on my rose-colored sunshades, and dove in. Now, it takes me a bit longer to get through a book in English than it does in Spanish. First, even though I have been reading in English for over 25 years, I still feel hesitant to read too quickly and miss something. Also, I really like to take in each word and see how it fits in the sentence and if it triggers anything in my mind. With that said, and reminding you that I am NOT a professional literary critic, just a regular reader, I will say I REALLY struggled with it. If I would have played the “shot game” for every time the main character said “those Puerto Ricans” like he was smelling gutted fish, I would have been drunk by the third page. The description of the heat and the drinking is so raw that I found myself wanting to take showers to prevent a hangover. If the writer was going for a gag-reflex, he got it. To me it read slow, drunk, depressed, unfulfilled, and hopeless. I had to read a few reviews because I could have sworn I was missing something. Why was this book published? North American men go to P.R. to work in a newspaper, drink all the time; seem to feel Puerto Ricans were beneath them; get in trouble with the law (but of course it was mainly because the Ricans lied); and at the end (almost very end) two of them seem to get away with murder. Not much energy seems to go into it. The whole thing is a drunken haze, and ah! The one female character gets drugged and raped by the natives but gets blamed for it by her male “friends” who quickly give her the ol’ brush-off. I keep reading reviews of “fast paced” and “action”, and to tell you the truth, I did not see that at all. The narrator seems more of a loner than anything else, and no close relationships seem to build. No lasting memories made, not even for the rape victim due to having been drugged. When towards the end the narrator starts looking back on the “good old days” I had to go back in the book to try to find those days. Never found them. I had the impression that these newsmen were more like parasites praying on the rum and burger resources of the island before being forced to look someplace else for survival. I am so glad that book is over I could throw a dry party.

My next book in the challenge will be Inheritance: It was hers from the beginning. By Thomas Wymark. This book will fulfill the requirement for Horror reading. The book is described as a “psychological mystery and suspense thriller” which in my head means horror maybe because to have a mystery connected to psychology, we must be talking about some twisted characters. The words “suspense” does not paint a pretty picture to me (I like to know the end of a movie before I watch it) so this is the closest I can get to it so far. I am hoping for no explicit scenes. I read Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn and truth be told I had to take a break from reading for a bit. There was too much in terms of imagery in my head by the time I was done and could not shake it off. Then I thought The Girl with All the Gifts by M.R. Carey would be a lighter read, but I still feel some apprehension when walking near a group of kids. Kidding (maybe.)

So, why this book next? Well, I just looked at the first page to see if it grabbed me. It did. How can anyone resist the alluring call of the sirens when the first short paragraph starts with: “I had never been a violent woman.” And ends with: “But things can change.” (Thomas Wymark, Inheratance, Chapter 1.)

Diving in, not knowing what to expect. Don’t know of anyone who has read it and will wait until I am done before looking up some reviews, possibly from Goodreads.com (not a paid announcement, I just really like the resource.)

See you on the other side of the book. Hopefully soon and hopefully very happy.

(Picture credit: Martino Sabia: Lonely reading woman – Woman reading a notebook in Alfama, Lisbon – Portugal. https://www.flickr.com/photos/ezu/42764498/in/photolist-4MboW-VnfpV-e92zvw-dpxAqr-p9sYQs-oT52Qi-83D5Wc-cQkUMy-bW9kQY-pGNG3J-nLF13Z-7jPE4e-ndqdEY-jEv4AU-fuFqK9-aYYfSZ-9vrfYu-foWRWM-997LWw-3NLbqi-foWS2X-5wGVSw-S7ose-aGuZUv-bNMo8p-iz6bDK-5FRRpp-p4fryt-dTQkzA-6G35Ye-8frakk-qD5hY8-fzeEsM-jZLDGH-oBqaJq-9PFvS2-f5CTgQ-8Qh5fa-S7oaZ-oMww45-g2k9c3-dQRc2x-hjUnTq-fJ9J7R-7DgP25-q4rfVF-dux698-PoU2A-pBhSa7-7euof) Some Rights Reserved.

How to completely fail at carpe diem

1) Wake up several times during the night because you think maybe the alarm didn’t go off.
2) Forget to take your vitamins because, while rinsing out the cup for water, you remembered that you should only do laundry with cold water and by the way… there is a load in the washing machine that needs to dry and you can start another load now!
3) Write down EXACTLY what you need to buy and what has to be done when you leave the house so you only need to go out once.
4) Leave the list home. Somewhere.
5) Run around the supermarket looking like your motto should be “catch me if you can.”
6) Go back home, run into the house and spend and hour looking for the damn list.
7) After the hour is gone, and the list is nowhere to be found, agree to go with your child to practice his driving skills.
8) See the grocery bag in the back of the car just as you are about to enter the car.
9) Exactly at that moment, remember you also bought ice cream.
10) After running back and forth from the car to the refrigerator, flapping your VERY expressive arms like a penguin who wished she could fly, make up your mind to breathe and really enjoy this time with your son. He will be leaving soon to college and these moments are precious.
11) As soon as you hit the passenger seat, chug your VERY LARGE size caffeine drink in one shot and start chatting away like you are back with your bff 30 years ago, woohooing like a groupie while talking about all the things you plan to do now that your life is about to change, one of them being working on your memory because who needs that thing (“whatchamacallit”) that you forgot earlier.
12) Notice that your kid is parking the car, look at the car clock and notice it has been 25 minutes since the practice-drive started and see how your son calmly walks towards the house looking very happy after a job well-done.
Take a minute to realize the day is almost gone, you missed your only child driving like a boss, and you have no real ice cream to celebrate today.

Broken people and broken toilets

Thinking so much about my purpose in life lately brought up a memory of a visit to a restroom (yes, it is that kind of story) that I had once in college. I was, at that time, teaching some undergraduate courses as a TA to help cover my tuition. The class was not going particularly well. The students shared they had been worried about upcoming midterms, their GPA’s, pleasing their parents, and their feelings of gloom and doom about their futures. It was as if their entire existence depended on the outcome of these tests. I promised them that after we covered the class material we could have an in-depth conversation (I am a mental health counselor so I figure I should only go so much in-depth so that they could vent but not open the prodigal can of worms) about it. As promised, we did. Their concerns were real. So many people had equated them to their GPA’s that they believed they would devalue as a person if their grades would lower. What/who would they be if they failed their exams? We got busy with it. A few minutes of seeing how they all had these issues in common and were not alone, with a dash of some clear step-to-step problem solving, and they left feeling like they could actually do something about their “existence-threatening” issue.

I picked up my teaching materials, and walked like a champ to the bathroom to pee (I drink sinful amounts of water). I put my things on a desk available in the bathroom, and walked into the stall. With the skill of a master I put toilet paper on the toilet seat, twirled around like a ballerina, and planted myself on the white throne. However, before I could begin, the toilet started flushing… and flushing, and flushing, and flushing. I covered the toilet sensor but nothing changed. I ducked to hide from the movement sensor and there was no policy change in that situation. As soon as I could finish I stood up to give the toilet a stern look as if to tell it that it was nothing more than a kitty litter for humans, and it stopped flushing. The evidence of my insane water intake still there, with the clouds of paper floating, and no flushing to be heard. I was indignant. I pushed the little black button and NOTHING! Beyond embarrassed I had to walk away, one of those people leaving their DNA behind knowing no one would care to collect it for cloning, and AS SOON as I closed the stall door behind me I could hear the clear sound of a loud flush. I slowly walked to the sink feeling somewhat inadequate by the toilet; wash my hands with soap while counting to 20; rinsed; dried my hands on my shirt; got my things and walked out. No direct eye contact was disbursed during the making of this episode.

Right outside the bathroom, on a sitting area available for students for waiting in-between classes, I saw a friend of mine who looked up and could see, like a masterful gypsy scrying on a crystal ball, that I had seriously deep issues. At her silent question (or the one I assumed that she was asking) I said in quite the theatrical manner, waiving my right index finger around, and my head stiff as Queen with a crown: “I AM HERE, YOU KNOW?! And a toilet will NOT determine my value or existence!” A heartbeat passed and we started belly laughing until we were wiping tears from our faces, eyeliners be damned. I told her what had happened and she asked me if it had been like the third toilet on the right (I think) and it had been. She explained that it was broken. We had to laugh so more. Still laughed a week later when I was helping her paint her apartment when she was moving back home.

At some point, while thinking about the broken toilet, and my amazingly loving students, I had to wonder how broken the people who equated my students to their grades must have been. My students made to feel like those other people (family, teachers, any figure of authority) thought them to be unworthy of an acceptable and loving reaction. My students, too busy drinking sinful amounts of the infamous “kool-aid”, struggling because broken people are too busy flushing out mouthfuls of judgment. I wish them unbroken people.

Did you know..?

…that your mind can go insane with sudden creative thoughts during the day, words and images flying like falcons after a paper prey where they may finally transform into living ink in order to pour themselves onto it and rest? Of course, that very day you have a million things to do before you can get enough time to sit and gather your thoughts because the “oh, I’ll carry a pen and a little notebook” plan was left on the table when you emptied out your bag to find your keys (must re-think the love of big canvas bags as purse.) And you are haunted all 36 non-stop busy hours of that day with brilliant ideas that seem to spark from a central point of pure genius in your soul (yes, you called it genius) and you KNOW you must capture them because, “in the name of all that is majestic” (yes, you thought of that too), it can be life changing. You struggle through the purchase of dish-washing liquid and other bubble-making products that only remind you of the daily slow collapse of your soul where your brilliant ideas get washed down the drain along with the discarded left-overs right before you have to moisturize the heck out of your hands because on top of everything, you are not getting any younger. Did you know that at the exact moment when your derriere hits the chair and the pen is held firmly in your hand, fingers tingling with excitement, and that beautiful, perfect, empty page opens itself up to you ready for your simple amazingness to fill it… right then, at exactly that fraction of a second, your thoughts have the incredible capacity to turn on you like a jilted stumbling lover who has been holding a grudge reality-TV style and they start toppling around like a drunken Yoda attempting to do an actual emergency broadcast over the radio. Forget my words I will. Fucking Yoda.