Manolos in Space

Ratatouille

2007-07-15T23:25:00.001-07:00

Mikey, originally uploaded by Manolos in Space.

Went to the movies today. Guess what I saw?

I had a great time but I couldn't help but make an interesting observation. Pixar had clearly invested a great deal of effort into making the rodent characters lovable and appealing to a generally rat-resistant audience without losing many of the qualities intrinsic t those lovely worm-tailes creatures. They also obviously invested a huge amount of time and effort into creating gorgeous Paris-scapes, showing the City of Lights at its best. What they neglected to do was eliminate the same sterotypical images of French people that are so often present in American media.

So now it's okay to be a rat..... just not French.

A bientot, mes amis!

Oak

2007-07-08T20:30:00.001-07:00

Oak, originally uploaded by Manolos in Space.

Alone you stand under the western sun.
Naked, thirsty.
Even the windmill has left you behind.
Green carpet at your feet burns to a golden hue.
Ocean waves crash against shores just out of sight.
Do you hear them?
Do you long to get your feet wet again?

Commute

2007-02-09T14:12:00.001-08:00

Commute, originally uploaded by Manolos in Space.

I love riding BART to work everyday. I love that it gives me a chance to prepare myself mentally for what's to come and forces me to take time out for me. I love that I can share my time and space with all kinds of people, from a man in green tights to a woman with bath sponges in her hair. I love that makes me feel like a part of a community. I love that at the end of a long day, I can look back at the train and see something this beautiful. Thanks.

2007-02-08T10:17:00.000-08:00

A Series of Personal Questions

When did I become all the things I hate?
How could I allow myself to become the model of anger, impatience, and intolerance?
What happened?
Where did I go astray?
When did I decide to replace all the things that make me a good friend and person with such vile poisonous behaviors?
Am I so tired of hurting that I’ve made an active choice to alienate all those who love me?
Will that actually relieve the pain?
What can I do to make a change for the better?
Is it too late to repair the damage?
Will I ever be at peace in this life?
WTF?

2006-09-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

My commute home last night was comical. Or at least it would have been if I hadn't used up my sense of humor during my thirteen hour work shift.

After a long day, I just wanted to ride silently home and crawl into my bed. Unfortunately, I just happened to choose the EXACT moment that all the fans were coming home from the Monday night football game. The trains were packed to the max with an incredible amount of linebacker-sized, black & silver clad, drunk-on-cheap-beer, stumbling, bumbling, testosterone & potato chip overdosed, game-hyped, Raider Nation freaks.

I wish I had had the energy to truly absorb the ambiance of it all. In my cranky, exhausted state, I had to restrain myself from not getting completely bitchy and screaming, "Get the F*#& outta the way and while you're at it shut the F$*@ up!!!!" Thankfully, I was able to restrain myself and managed to find a small corner of the train that didn't smell too much like stale beer breath.

As we rode toward our destinations, young men were walking back and forth along the length of the train shouting, “RAIDERS!!” in regular intervals, inspiring others to join in the chant. The mood was surprisingly cheerful considering that their team had apparently just gotten quite an ass-whoopin’.

I spent the rest of the ride home watching a group of extremely inebriated guys heckle the one and only member of their bunch to not attend the game in a football jersey or appropriately printed T-shirt. He had decided to join them in his khakis and a polo shirt. This inspired an incomfortably long chorus of, “Polo, polo, polo, polo, polo, polo….”

I made a mental note to pay more attention to the football schedule in the future.

2006-05-25T11:53:00.000-07:00

My weekend following a new and upcoming pop band (“baby bands” as we like to call them) inspired me to ponder the question of the difference between a fan and a fanatic. I’m not completely sure I’m even qualified to address that question objectively and yet I can’t ignore the concept.

There seem to be some overt differences which are perhaps better compiled into a list of some of the more choice comparisons:

Fan: Chasing after the dream of meeting your idol.
Fanatic: Chasing your idol down the street and asking him to sign your tits.

Fan: Coming to the venue early in hopes of getting a spot close to the stage.
Fanatic: Arriving at the venue three days before the show, staking out the area, formulating a strategy for the most efficient way to run to the stage, and camping out to hold your spot in line.

Fan: Going to see your favorite band perform for the third time.
Fanatic: Going to see your favorite band perform for the third time that week.

Fan: Holding up a sign at the show that says, “Marry me!”
Fanatic: Planning the wedding.

Fan: Driving past your idol’s house when you happen to be vacationing in the area.
Fanatic: Spending your vacation sitting outside your idol’s house for 10 hours a day in hopes he/she’ll invite you in.

Fan: Always ordering an advanced copy of your favorite band’s new album.
Fanatic: Ordering a copy of your favorite band’s new album from every country it’s released in so you can have all the possible alternate tracks and album cover variations.

Fan: Getting your idol’s autograph.
Fanatic: Getting your idol’s autograph tattooed on your ass.

So now I must ponder the question…. Under which category do I fall?

Wouldn’t you like to know.

2006-04-17T14:23:00.001-07:00

Moving sucks! Every time I do it, it serves as a painful reminder that I seriously need to rethink my dependency on material things.

Saturday started fairly early since the cable guy was coming. The house may be a disaster but all is right in the world as long as the tube is up and running! Had to run to the hardware store to get a plug for the bathtub (I find it’s rather difficult to fill without one). Once all was straightened out with the plumbing, it was back in the truck to pick up a new sofa for the living room.

The next few hours were spent doing a little organizing and unpacking at the new place. A daunting task when you consider that the entire household was thrown into garbage bags and plastic bins in a matter of a few days.

Two lamps were broken in the move and the house has no overhead lighting so a trip to IKEA to pick up cheap floor lamps was a frightening but necessary next step. The mental preparation required to spend any amount of time at IKEA is a subject that I may need to revisit in a future blog.

The entire day culminated with a trip to the city to see Thomas Dolby. He was embarking on his first tour in 15 years and I was excited to get a chance to finally see him live. Getting ready for the show was decidedly unorganized. I couldn’t find half my clothes as they were likely stuffed in a bag somewhere still waiting to be unpacked. I was also having a hard time getting in the mood for a concert with all of this work left undone.

By the time I got to the venue I was exhausted but had managed to change my mindset a bit. As I was starting to cross the street towards the theatre, my roommate stopped dead in her tracks and said, “We don’t have the tickets.”

This was bad news. The doors were going to open in 30 minutes and the tickets were currently stuck with a Nick Rhodes magnet to a refrigerator 30 miles away. Under perfect conditions, the round trip would still take an hour and all the seats would be picked over. The only option was to call in the cavalry……. MOM!

I called my mother and asked if she’s be willing to meet me half way with the tickets and of course, being the Supermom that she is, she agreed. With her help, I was able to drop my roommate off at the venue just in time for her to save us some lovely seats to the left of the stage. The show was fantastic and a nice distraction from the stress of the move.

Sunday was all about moving and unpacking and back pain and tempers flaring and dirt and hunger and exhaustion and broken nails and…… Basically, a really fun filled day!

Like I said, “Moving sucks!”

2006-04-14T09:49:00.000-07:00

All my life has revolved around sounds, voices, music. I’ve been playing one musical instrument of another since I was three. I grew up speaking multiple languages. Even when my brother was born deaf, the absence of sound in his life was a glaring reminder of its presence in mine.

Emphasis was always placed, both at home and at school, on making myself heard, speaking up, annunciating, projecting. I sang in choirs, performed in orchestras, took the lead roll in plays, jammed with jazz bands, competed on debate teams, and even rocked out with my own band. Countless hours were devoted to creating and perfecting all the ways I could produce sound, convey music, and utilize my voice.

Yet in all of that time, I never figured out how to have my own voice. Never once did I get the message, “Hey! If you need something, you need to ask for it.” In fact, somehow I missed the idea completely that I should even have the right to ask for what I need. When it came to personal needs and wants, I learned to be compliant and undemanding. To ask for my needs to be met was to be selfish, disrespectful, or just plain silly. Boy, I really lost the plot on that one.

Now I’m stuck going to the shrink every week to get my hippiechick, earthchild doctor to gently bludgeon that one lesson into my thick skull. Crap! Let me tell you. That is one expensive lesson to have missed the first time around.

2006-03-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

What is it about the DMV that makes people crazy? They certainly don’t hold exclusive rights to mindless bureaucracy and mind-numbing form-shuffling and yet I can think of no other organization that can get so little done for so few in such a long period of time.

It seems that the only thing they manage to do efficiently is irritate the shit out of you while simultaneously giving you no assistance whatsoever. How do they do it? There should be a study done!

I pride myself on being one of the more patient people I know. I always try to give people the benefit of the doubt and will wait quietly and calmly under most situations. My recent trip to the DMV was no exception. I managed to get through most of my business uneventfully until, in a moment which I will chalk up to DMV euphoria, I made the fatal error of asking one final question that did not pertain to my business at hand.

The unexpectedly helpful gentleman at the counter informed me that he was only trained to do one form of transaction (sort of like a receptionist knowing how to answer a phone but not dial out) and would have to ask a colleague to assist him. I had no idea the turmoil this would cause.

This aforementioned colleague made it very clear that we were never to bother him again and under no certain terms would he be willing to answer my questions unless I was actually being served by him. He gave a long-winded angry response which, after my head stopped reeling, I realized was his gentle way of saying, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing either!”

As I was leaving I thought to myself, “Wow! I got this close to walking out of there without a headache.” That would have been cool.

2006-03-01T12:48:00.000-08:00

I love when my shrink curses. Her sweet gentle voice of understanding and compassion periodically delivers these choice phrases that completely distract me from the task at hand. What am I… five? How juvenile is that? But how can I sink deeply into the recesses of my twisted mind when my therapist keeps saying things like, “Dearheart, you have to honor your spirit. Anything else is a total mind fuck!”

That'll be $125.00 please.

2006-02-28T11:00:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl, a common birthday gift was a diary. It would often depict a unicorn or a pegasus jumping over a rainbow on the cover or, for those not into such fanciful creatures, there were models available with kittens or puppies to satisfy every estrogen-laden emotional whim. It would come with a flimsy little key allowing you to unlock a glued-on lock that any third grader could've picked with a paper clip.

It seems ludicris now but when you were that young, that tiny lock and key were as valuable as any bank vault. At that point in your life, your dreams and fears were your most valuable posessions, your only posessions really. You would've taken them to your grave rather than allow them out into the open.

Now we blog.

We can't wait to share our day, our dramas, our fears with the world. Somehow, sending our dreams out into a faceless abyss seems safer than sharing them with one person in the same room. It's a strange state of affairs. Would the world be different place if everyone had to wear their blog posts on their chests everyday? Would it be better? Does anybody give a fuck?

Guess that's a line of questioning for a person much deeper and saner than me. Besides, I was the girl who traded in her unicorn diary for a Stephen King book and Duran Duran button. It was a sweet trade.