A Week's Worth of Change and Thought

Well, it has been a damn good week. One thing to be stated outright, is that grading--the monotonous motion of correcting papers--has definitely been horribly avoided. I have to make that change, but not tonight.

Let's see...well at some point this week I found myself in the park at night. I first ran into Muriel and talked for a bit. Then I ran into Marta, more on her later. Then I ran into Julia. In between Marta and Julia, I roamed the park in the fading light. I tried out the happy little night setting on my camera. I got some good shots. That white blur is Chops frolicking about.

I played more music with Ray. Ray is a badass on the guitar, and I am learning a lot. Once a week, for the next four months will do nothing but to help the process.

On Friday night, I met Siri Berman, Stefan, and Izzo at the Torre Latino Americana--formerly the tallest building in the Americas. I hopped a ride up to the 41st floor, and enjoyed cheap beers ($2.00) and a great view. Izzo is a teacher from NYC, and she was apart of the Teach For America Program. She had war stories about her time in the public sector. Teaching is a hell of a job.

Then we headed out to Arena Mexico for an ultimate bout of Lucha Libre (I would have pics, but they didn't allow cameras inside). INCREDIBLE! Now the crowd wasn't huge, but it was big enough--I mean the big show is in the States, which consequently I now have a desire to witness in person. In any event, the acrobatics and the machismo overflowed. The audience engages in a screaming match of epic proportions. One group, wearing matching purples shirts, and chanting in unison, were utilizing three truck air-horns, tubed up to bike pumps. Hilariously loud. One interesting twist, which I do believe you would not see in the States, is the homosexual wrestler. Misterio, is the designated queer luchador. When an oponant throws him into a head lock, he mimicks a humping motion, and the homophobic opponant backs off, as Misterio smirks and giggles at the audience. He throws in little dance moves, and the crowd loves it--THEY CHEER FOR HIM! From a social standpoint, it was a great acknowledgement of "the other" and an embracing of it within the popular fabric. Less profound but equally as intriguing, was Strong Man. He was the only gringo in the event, and he was so large and frighteningly muscular, that it was absolutely otherworldly. The back of his neck looked like a pack of hotdogs, his back muscles had their own cleavage, his skin was a rusty pipe orangish-brown, and as far as I could tell, he had the tell tale acne and hair loss, associated with steroid use. Disgusting, but lovely; I went home and watched The Wrestler, and I read Mickey Rourke's Wiki file.

Saturday, I met Marta in the park. Marta is looking for a new place to live. She had plans to move to Coyoacan, but they fell through. I had hoped to snag her apartment in Condesa, but that went out the window. What did happen was the idea to combine efforts and look for a place. I had some numbers from my prior searching, and she made some phone calls. We looked at an apartment literally in between my two favorite places: the dog park and Don Keso--which is a great little cafe/pub, which I will take you too if you come visit. In any event, Marta told them we had two dogs, that they were small, and well behaved: aside from the well behaved part, well that may even be wrong, but the rest is defintiely a lie. The place was sweet though. It was on the top floor, and it had great light. It is tiny, but splitting the place would be about $4000 pesos (or $330) a month. For now though, since I have not paid rent for the month of Feb at my current place, and since I know I ain't getting that deposit back, I am going to exit my crib on the 1st. For now, since nothing is sured up, I am going to move into Marta's current place, while we search. Marta is good peoples, as far as I can tell. I do not know her very well, but as Jamie would say, which originates from the mouth of Shauna: "More "yes's" than "no's"." So I say YES! I think it shall be an adventure, fortunately, her dog and my dogs get along well. Her little skidrow terrier is named Samba. She found him under some stairs in Chiapas when he was a wee one. She named him Samba, because, well I assume, it is because she lived in Brasil, and has an affinity for the dance style. Marta is Italian, and she lived in Brasil for two years, and has been here in Mexico for two years. She speaks Spanish, but apparently with a thick Italian accent. She doesn't speak much English, so we have had quite a few moments lost in translation. I am excited to live with her because:

• Far more opportunities to organically practice my Spanish
• Cheaper Rent
• She can walk the dogs in the Morning
• Able to move to Condesa
• New Friends
• New Ideas
• I hopefully will be accountable for my mess

If nothing else, it is a continued step towards adventure.

Also, if you are a gmail person, perhaps you have noticed Buzz. Well, half-heartedly I have been checking it, and I was absolutely intrigued by a post from my friend Atom. He posted a link to A Low Impact Woodland Home. It has made me consider the future, and how this could be my generations way to actually own a home of our own--BUILD IT! There are many sites that are championing the process of learning how to build eco friendly housing. Cob Cottage Housing and House of Straw are two great examples. My dream, and I even did a little searching on the net, is to by a piece of property in LA (Topanga or North Valley--Chatsworth, Calabasas) and build one of these houses myself with the help of friends. Because the US is finally "Going Green", the posibility of utilizing natural materials, and meeting code, is becoming far more possible.

Well, enjoy life.

The Freedom of Honesty

So today there are no classes. Today is a day entitled: Parent/Teacher Conferences. I have met with several parents. Most of them are happy sorts, and their kids are good people as well. One father, toting a book entitled "The Tea Drinker's Guide" was a little peculiar. He told me about how he only allows Spanish spoken in his home, which seems reasonable, as an attempt to preserve the bilingual fluency. However, when he delved into the historical origins of the word "Blackberry" and "Amen", he sort of lost me in a dust of spookiness. Blackberry, according to this wise sage, was chosen by the marketers at RIM for its reference to the ball and chain, which apparently is what the imprisoned slaves dubbed the ball. He decreed that they were on a mission to create a shackle for the technologically whorish civilian, and they wanted the name to be the subtle battle cry of this device. Now, I googled this for a solid 15 minutes, and not a damn morsel of information corraborates this wonderous tale. What I did find, was that an executive at the marketing firm, Lexicon Branding, thought the keys looked like seeds and they began tossing around fruits (there is a joke there), and they came up with Blackberry.

The Truth of Blackberry (According to the internet and a little Google magic)

Then he went on about some business with the Egyptians and "Amen", and how the Romans co-opted the phrase. Needless to say, the guy was a little bit of an odd one, but that is all done with now.

Today, amidst meeting with parents, life has been good. Below you shall find proof of a step towards the future. The theme for Burning Man 2010 is "Metropolis"--coming from DF, I think I will be highly prepared and qualified to engage with the moments that shall unfold.

Today was a day of just pure and simple honesty, and I 100% feel empowered by that freedom.

The Kooks: Behind Closed Doors provided a soundtrack for all the emails and thoughts. Ahoy!


Burning Man Tickets Confirmation:

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ELLIOTT KUHN
8187636832
8187636832

Total Charge = $297.75 USD
VISA | XXXX-XXXX-XXX3-9646

Questions and comments, visit:
http://tickets2.burningman.com/contact

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Purchasing Information:

Event Pass - Aug 30, 2010 - Sep 6, 2010
Burning Man 2010
@ Metropolis - Black Rock City, Gerlach, NV 89412 Get directions

(1 ticket x $280.00 USD) - Burning Man 2010

Welcome to Mexico

Yesterday, I met up with Muriel, a Spaniard I met on my Veracruz trip with the school, and whom I re-met in the dog park. She invited me to go hiking with her friend and her friend's daughter. We met yesterday at around 10, and we headed out.

We made our way to Los Desiertos de Leones. I have been there once before, but I went to the wrong area. Muriel knew of a hiking trail which was off the beaten path, and which lead to a little refugio where an old lady and her blind husband made food. Her wood log shanty held great smells, and her old teracatta pots were scorched with age. I had two tacos with chorizo and ongos. They were quite delactable. At some points through the woods, the wind kicked up to such a fervor, that all you could hear was the mounting rush through the leaves. Flow rolled in several mounds of horse shit, and Chops ate some. I wanted to be mad, but what for? "So you want to roll and shit and frolic? You are in a city and this is nature, and well, ok then." I gave Flow a bath upon coming home.

I got home around 4, and walked to order a pizza. I had built up this event as a scary one. I often times over analyze my cultural role as a foriegner, and well I assume, that in the non-touristy parts, they have an aversion to my bad Spanish and weird clothing. Beto's pizza, was a friendly place, and their cocinita (little piggy) pizza is amazing. I ordered a family size, which would be about a medium or large in the States. I started it last night, and finished today.

Today, I have done little, and it has felt great. I finished watching "Fargo", and I just finished watching "Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels". I talked to my mom on Skype. I took Flow to the farmer's market, and I got a whole bunch of goodness for under $10: a bundle of bananas, a head of brocoli, 4 mangos, 4 avacados, 1/2 kilo of chopped mixed veggies, 4 carrots, and a bottle of fresh squeezed mandarin juice. TASTY!

Now, after the pics upload, I am going to head to the park. Then maybe a coffee, a little supermarket action, and then home again. And then, and then, and then--well, school tomorrow.

Tuesday Inspirational

There is just absolutely nothing wrong with this right here:
Al Green - People Get Ready

Yes!

Everyone is phenomenal--you can watch the jerry curl juice drip of the elated drummers forehead; Al is 100% immersed in confident showmanship; the back up singers are smoothing it all together; the bassist is sliding in the licks at opportune moments; and the crowd is right there with it. The breakdown at the end is absolutely mesmerizing.

It Was a Sunday

When I shimmy through the memories of my life, there are some damn good ones (and this is just here now):

• Five years old, I use to play squirels with a fellow class mate at my Mom's preschool, Born Learners. We would hatch escape plans. His arms had more hair on them, probably still do, which allowed for a greater holding of sand, and hence more squirelness. I was always a bit remisced by the fact, that if caught, he definitely had the better disguise. Also, on Thursdays, I went to school with an attractive young teacher at my preschool. Her name was Nikki, and one time we listened to Paula Abdul's song, "Opposites Attract", and at 5, I was pretty sure that song was about her and I.
• 10 years old, I went to the La Brea Tar Pits; I ran to the entrance, tripped on a rock, skinned my knee through my pants, and spent the whole day bloody and excited--I still have a saber tooth from that trip.
• The middle years, my mom enrolled me in musicals and plays. It was awesome--despite having a flat voice. My mom let me dress up in all of her green clothing, because I was playing the wizard in the wizard of OZ--or maybe I was the mayor, or maybe it was a different play--either way, I was decked out in green.
  
• 14 years old, I was fucking phenomenal at flag football--catching passes was like this locked in moment of perfection.
• Most of my childhood, I would play catch with my dad in the park--I mean, like straight up Leave it to Beaver, 50's style nostalgia--catch in the park. One year, I lead the league in home runs. I wasn't that good, just fast for my age.
  
• 16 years old, I used to park on Buffalo Ave, across from school. Only teachers were allowed to park there. Gloria and I would meet in the mornings and talk there. She got in trouble, and I did not. Her car was bigger. I had my Dad's black Mazda MX-6--in its later years, the driver's side door did not open, it had a busted rear side window, and a slipping transmission--it died two days before I went to College.
• 18 years old, I moved into a dorm room and made a great friend. 7 years later, I officiated his wedding to a lovely lady named Claire.
• 22 years old, I worked at NBC with my father. I bought a 1968 bus and I had long hair--both my parents loved it!
• 23 years old, I became a teacher. My mom has taught her whole life. Teaching is a calling and a skill, and teachers, the real one's, are great people. I met some real one's in my teaching program: Annie, George, Tom, and David Hicks--genuine people, with genuine skill and heart.
• 26 years old, I drove to Mexico in a truck that I love. I went with a friend, and we covered roads and valley's and ideas. Two dogs sniffed the wind, and I realized, that, "Yes, life is about choice."

And now it is Sunday. I have started cleaning my house. I haven't done it in so long. I had told myself, that I was moving, and that I would wait until I moved out, but that pursuit has slipped away from the immediate and become more of an eventual step.

Saturday, was a day spent in smokey guitar playing, napping, eating, and napping. It was a day of absolutely nothing--though I did go for a walk and buy some produce. I had not eaten any fruit for a week--I ate 7 apple bananas and two oranges--I also ate an avocado if that works for you. It was magical. I slept hard.

I awoke at 8 and began" I started with a little stove cleaning, and then dropped the close into a soapy bucket (they are still there, and will be attacked post blog), I swept up a sweater's worth of fur, dust, trash, and stuffing--my dogs have effectively disemboweled a giant bean bag. I have lit some incense, and I have talked to my dad. I think my mom is at church. I am probably going to call Gloria and sing a song on her answering machine. Shaun comes at the end of March. I go to Santa Cruz by way of LA, in May--Andy is picking me up at SJC. I talked to Shimmy yesterday; Ah wait, that was yesterday...

I had a shimmy through my memories of Santa Cruz, and I felt tangible longing for what was. I listened to an evening of poetry which Shimmy organized. He read poetry, and I mutilated the microphone with musings and short writings. In any event, I heard laughs, and I knew who they were: I heard Jen Cohen's gasp for air; Judith's belly laugh; Annie's laugh and crack; Molly's car exhaust sputtering; Lindsay's smoker cackle; Dustin's knee stomping; Devin's repetition of absurd lines; and Shimmy's encouragement. It was a group of people and time which pushed me towards a direction, to which now, in DF, I feel like I am finding my way back to. Part of me thinks, if I say it enough, it will be the collective agreement amongst the people that I meet, that indeed ART is what I must do. So all these musings, and reminders, and conversations are the mortar of the blocks of art I am building as my home--that is a horrible analogy, but I sort of know what I mean.

Regardless, last night was nostalgic, and I laughed at myself and my memories. Note: Be where you are NOW, and share who you are NOW!

Note: Mexicans like to tinker with their cars in absurd ways: neon lights, goofy horns, rims, body kits, spoilers, lifts, lowers, and so on. They put a lot of shit on their cars, which truly serve no purpose. Here is an example: On the back of a water truck, I spotted these: Skulls with swastikas on their foreheads--these were his brake lights and rear turn signals. Now, I strongly doubt that the brownskinned Naco driving the car, has Nazi inclinations--but somewhere, at some point, he decided that his truck needed these. Here here Mexico--here here.

30 to 40: See You There

From the 30's to 40's I explode with lasting creativity. 30 is the new 20. I'm in my 20's. I'm still studying. This is about studying.

Today was a rainy one. I had plans, and with each drop they faded into oblivion. Today consisted of cereal, coffee, TED Talks, and guitar practice. It was a good one, though as the light is fading away, I am wondering where it went--the day that is. So it goes. Its a Mexican holiday. It was the best Monday in quite sometime.

My Internet is extremely slow, and I find myself welling over with anger at its lack of speed. What a hasty little yuppie I have become.

Is Mac really better than a PC, or is just the marketing--I wonder? Somehow, I am pretty sure I am just a pawn like the rest. I am slowly accepting the fact, that the individualistic nature of American society, is simply marketing. In truth, they want us to be sweet little lambs, and for the most part, I do believe we are--bah bah black sheep.

If you are not privy to Bon Iver and his album For Emma, please privy yourself. With the rainy weather, he has crept back into my rotation.

Addendum to my first statement: Aside from exploding with creativity, the 30's and 40's see me in perfect physical shape and balance--hazzah!

Well, there is not "a black crow sitting across from me" ("re: Stacks"--have you listened to his album yet?), but there is a stack of papers--three weeks worth to be exact, and that is a "crispy realization" (go! go now and listen!).

Blessings