que suave
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Models, love to love to hate em
so she married her babydaddy. hah. either way, they are both beautifu, two of my favorite models, l and i love these two photos of them.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
TU doing great things for Philly
I am proud of the things that are happening at my Alma Mater: Temple U.
http://www.temple.edu/newsroom/2008_2009/02/stories/ielp.htm
http://www.temple.edu/newsroom/2008_2009/02/stories/ielp.htm
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Firefighter coaxes boy from led by dressing as Spider-Man
If only all of our super heros from childhood really came to life! For one 8 year-old boy in Thailand, Spiderman really does exist because he helped save his life. This has got to be the story of the year. The autistic boy climped out of the window and onto a third floor ledge. The fireman then dressed up as Spiderman in order to coax the boy down. What a guy!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7961208.stm
Today, a New Day, a Better Day than Yesterday
Today I had a hard time waking up at first but I didn't want to miss a chance to see the morning. I went running with John and it was amazing, although I was out of breathe half the time. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it so much - just to be amongst the morning sun, the other runners and to be awake, alive, vibrant. It felt good to just run. Felt good to remind myself "You are Still Alive."
I want to be more positive and I want to be happier. I know it starts inside of me so I want to really try to create positive thoughts. That is what I will focus on and I think it is important for everyone who strives for these same goals to do the same. To just be, and enjoy being.
I want to be more positive and I want to be happier. I know it starts inside of me so I want to really try to create positive thoughts. That is what I will focus on and I think it is important for everyone who strives for these same goals to do the same. To just be, and enjoy being.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Rare reptile hatchling found on NZ mainland
A hatchling of a rare reptile with lineage dating back to the dinosaur age has been found in the wild on the New Zealand mainland for the first time in about 200 years, a wildlife official said Thursday.
Tuatara have unique characteristics, such as two rows of top teeth closing over one row at the bottom and a parietal eye — a dot on the top of the skull that is believed to be light-sensitive and is sometimes referred to as the animal's third eye.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090319/ap_on_re_au_an/as_new_zealand_rare_reptile
Blue Earth - World's First Solar-Powered Touch Screen Cell Phone
http://mobile.aol.com/articles/2009/02/20/blue-earth-worlds-first-solar-powered-touch-screen-cell-phone/?ncid=AOLCOMMshopDYNLsec0001
..I think we are getting somewhere. Where? Just the future - same place we were going anyway!
Now, I am just waiting for Nokia to finish developing this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BI9F_A13jI
..I think we are getting somewhere. Where? Just the future - same place we were going anyway!
Now, I am just waiting for Nokia to finish developing this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BI9F_A13jI
Pope tells Muslims that religion rejects violence
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090319/ap_on_re_af/af_pope_africa;_ylt=AnTsjGEe4figK2cjUByPA8TZn414
same man who said this: http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/people/b/benedict_xvi/index.html
and most recently has dicussed the use of abstinence over condoms in africa to fight aids. abstinence..really? last time i checked humanity relied on sex.
same man who said this: http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/people/b/benedict_xvi/index.html
and most recently has dicussed the use of abstinence over condoms in africa to fight aids. abstinence..really? last time i checked humanity relied on sex.
the more i think of you the longer that you stay.
I cant talk to you
can’t think about you
got to get you off my mind
when you goin to leave
saw you just the other night
into my dream you came
and you stayed with me all day
tried to get you to go
but it was no use
the more I tried the harder it became
the more I thought of you
the longer that you stayed
by ms. j
can’t think about you
got to get you off my mind
when you goin to leave
saw you just the other night
into my dream you came
and you stayed with me all day
tried to get you to go
but it was no use
the more I tried the harder it became
the more I thought of you
the longer that you stayed
by ms. j
Monday, March 16, 2009
THE WIDOW: A CHARACTER SKETCH
THE WIDOW: A CHARACTER SKETCH
She sat patiently waiting on a park bench. Blue as a sapphire, bright as heavenly light, her heart felt heavy with memories of the past. She leaned slightly to the right, finding comfort on her own fist as her head rested on four right fingers, her arm resting on the side of the bench. Her eyes gleamed as the sky reflected into them, she had to take her sunglasses off to get a better look at the clouds, nighttime was approaching.
Rolling by she looked for familiar shapes - something she used to do with him, something she used to do with him on this bench, this very bench. A bunny formed out of two cumulus clouds - a white pile of cotton balls made the face while two rolls of cotton candy clouds came to resemble two ears. She starred at the bunny until it faded away, hundreds of miles into the upward sea.
She liked to think in opposites since he left. Half of her life twisted out of her control, she maneuvered the elements and manipulated her thoughts so at least the other half of her life could make sense. That way she figured, there would be no sadness, just an understanding - a mathematical equation of grief. She’d calculated the future because she wanted no more disappointments, no more surprises, no more anticipation. Just beginnings and just endings.
A mother jogging with a dog swept by her feet, bringing the wind with her, followed by mounds of leaves - red, green, brown, and orange. The season showed itself more clearly as she was forced to clasp the buttons of her blazer he’d purchased for her this time last year. She felt silly that morning as she’d put the blue blazer on but she had no other, that being the reason he’d bought it in the first place. She knew the woman was a mother because of her face. The wrinkles aged this beautiful jogger. The lines around her lips and the indented curves around her eyes gave it away. Her matronly exhaustion was evident.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the bench this day but knew she wasn’t ready to get up. Her cat would be there waiting for her when she returned home, no doubt waiting in the window for her to return. He’d then scamper over to the bowl awaiting his next meal. The bought the food bowl together, they fed the cat together. Sometimes it was difficult to look at the cat. Sometimes she wanted to kill the cat. So she’d stay a little while longer at the park, delay the pain a while more.
Patiently she sat, as if waiting for something or maybe someone. Peering down the path she noticed there was nearly no one in the park at all. That maybe, she was here alone. That didn’t frighten her as the blues and purples began to show on the horizon, indicating it would be nightfall soon. She enjoyed the solitude, away from hounding family, snooping friends and blackened memories.
She plugged her headphones into her iPod, adjusting the hold button to cover the red, taking the machine off hold. With one click she was gone, into her own transcendental world of melody. The fab four comforted her, “once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home.” Now, the tears would come - away from prying eyes. One by one they filled her eyeballs as they overflowed releasing like two floodgates unhatched. She wanted to scream, she wanted to fall to her knees, beg her love to return, beg her God to return him to her. “Now,” she’d yell, “Today,” she’d beg.
But, it was no use, her prayers would go eternally unanswered as she’d wait in limbo for the rest of her life, hoping one day he might return. She was deranged this way, completely unattached from real life and relationships. It was possible she had convinced herself that he might return. She hadn’t met a single new person in the 11 months, 12 days and 2 hours he’d been gone. And she couldn’t stop counting. 11 months, 9 days. 11 months, 10 days. 11 months, 11 days and then today. Another day, no different, reminding her it was almost a year.
She didn’t bother to stop crying, she felt her emotions fall down her face and collected her own tears in her hands, cupping them around her cheeks, embracing the moisture and allowing it to seep into her pores. Every part of her could leave her at this moment, moments like these, and she’d be left with what she has now - nothing, her life totally swallowed by loneliness.
Habits remained. She ate the same as she had before and dressed the just the same, too. She continued working at the library, dusting books and directing children. She enjoyed the familiarity without being consciously aware she did. Her home was very much the way it was one year ago - empty, empty ever since he left. She didn’t have too many belongings anymore and after 11 months and 12 days her apartment looked devoid, almost vacant - without a spirit.
When she was a teenager she wanted to see the Beatles live. Her mother wouldn’t let her but that didn’t stop her from trying. Her mother was afraid of everything - from the slightest touch to the most “radical music.” She didn’t understand teenagers, she didn’t like the Beatles and she especially did not like the creative mind her daughter was molding for herself. Work was important to her mother - order, civility and dedication her favorite words. But, they lived in New York City. The whole world outside her door seemed to totally contradict what was inside. In 1964 she went to JFK airport to greet The Beatles and watched them that same year at on the Ed Sullivan show, much to her mothers dismay.
Now, the boys were promising her “it’s alright,” but, the sun had already set and as she looked back on the last year of her life she realized she had very little memory of the time. Had she sleepwalked through the funeral, the banks, the social security forms, the last year of her life?
Sometimes, she’d tell herself “he is dead,” just so she’d remember. Sometimes she’d forget and come home expecting him to be there. Sometimes, she’d put two servings of rice into the bowl, forgetting she only needed one now. Sometimes, she’d wait for him, alone on the porch, until very late at night, when all the clouds had subsided and all the stars were out. And when it seemed everyone was sleeping and there was no more noise to be made, she’d remember him. His voice was the first to come, following by the slight touch of his fingers along her back and her shoulder. She’d rock back and fourth on the porch next to an empty rocking chair, her eyes gently closed, her mouth slightly open, relaxed, and she’d wait for him, wait to feel his breathe behind her. Sometimes the wind was enough to excite her.
She remembered him and she missed him, and that’s how it was going to be, forever. Forever a widow, forever alone, forever on the bench in the park, forever feeding her cat from his bowl. Forever til the next day and then until a year. She’d always wait for him until he appeared.
She sat patiently waiting on a park bench. Blue as a sapphire, bright as heavenly light, her heart felt heavy with memories of the past. She leaned slightly to the right, finding comfort on her own fist as her head rested on four right fingers, her arm resting on the side of the bench. Her eyes gleamed as the sky reflected into them, she had to take her sunglasses off to get a better look at the clouds, nighttime was approaching.
Rolling by she looked for familiar shapes - something she used to do with him, something she used to do with him on this bench, this very bench. A bunny formed out of two cumulus clouds - a white pile of cotton balls made the face while two rolls of cotton candy clouds came to resemble two ears. She starred at the bunny until it faded away, hundreds of miles into the upward sea.
She liked to think in opposites since he left. Half of her life twisted out of her control, she maneuvered the elements and manipulated her thoughts so at least the other half of her life could make sense. That way she figured, there would be no sadness, just an understanding - a mathematical equation of grief. She’d calculated the future because she wanted no more disappointments, no more surprises, no more anticipation. Just beginnings and just endings.
A mother jogging with a dog swept by her feet, bringing the wind with her, followed by mounds of leaves - red, green, brown, and orange. The season showed itself more clearly as she was forced to clasp the buttons of her blazer he’d purchased for her this time last year. She felt silly that morning as she’d put the blue blazer on but she had no other, that being the reason he’d bought it in the first place. She knew the woman was a mother because of her face. The wrinkles aged this beautiful jogger. The lines around her lips and the indented curves around her eyes gave it away. Her matronly exhaustion was evident.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the bench this day but knew she wasn’t ready to get up. Her cat would be there waiting for her when she returned home, no doubt waiting in the window for her to return. He’d then scamper over to the bowl awaiting his next meal. The bought the food bowl together, they fed the cat together. Sometimes it was difficult to look at the cat. Sometimes she wanted to kill the cat. So she’d stay a little while longer at the park, delay the pain a while more.
Patiently she sat, as if waiting for something or maybe someone. Peering down the path she noticed there was nearly no one in the park at all. That maybe, she was here alone. That didn’t frighten her as the blues and purples began to show on the horizon, indicating it would be nightfall soon. She enjoyed the solitude, away from hounding family, snooping friends and blackened memories.
She plugged her headphones into her iPod, adjusting the hold button to cover the red, taking the machine off hold. With one click she was gone, into her own transcendental world of melody. The fab four comforted her, “once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home.” Now, the tears would come - away from prying eyes. One by one they filled her eyeballs as they overflowed releasing like two floodgates unhatched. She wanted to scream, she wanted to fall to her knees, beg her love to return, beg her God to return him to her. “Now,” she’d yell, “Today,” she’d beg.
But, it was no use, her prayers would go eternally unanswered as she’d wait in limbo for the rest of her life, hoping one day he might return. She was deranged this way, completely unattached from real life and relationships. It was possible she had convinced herself that he might return. She hadn’t met a single new person in the 11 months, 12 days and 2 hours he’d been gone. And she couldn’t stop counting. 11 months, 9 days. 11 months, 10 days. 11 months, 11 days and then today. Another day, no different, reminding her it was almost a year.
She didn’t bother to stop crying, she felt her emotions fall down her face and collected her own tears in her hands, cupping them around her cheeks, embracing the moisture and allowing it to seep into her pores. Every part of her could leave her at this moment, moments like these, and she’d be left with what she has now - nothing, her life totally swallowed by loneliness.
Habits remained. She ate the same as she had before and dressed the just the same, too. She continued working at the library, dusting books and directing children. She enjoyed the familiarity without being consciously aware she did. Her home was very much the way it was one year ago - empty, empty ever since he left. She didn’t have too many belongings anymore and after 11 months and 12 days her apartment looked devoid, almost vacant - without a spirit.
When she was a teenager she wanted to see the Beatles live. Her mother wouldn’t let her but that didn’t stop her from trying. Her mother was afraid of everything - from the slightest touch to the most “radical music.” She didn’t understand teenagers, she didn’t like the Beatles and she especially did not like the creative mind her daughter was molding for herself. Work was important to her mother - order, civility and dedication her favorite words. But, they lived in New York City. The whole world outside her door seemed to totally contradict what was inside. In 1964 she went to JFK airport to greet The Beatles and watched them that same year at on the Ed Sullivan show, much to her mothers dismay.
Now, the boys were promising her “it’s alright,” but, the sun had already set and as she looked back on the last year of her life she realized she had very little memory of the time. Had she sleepwalked through the funeral, the banks, the social security forms, the last year of her life?
Sometimes, she’d tell herself “he is dead,” just so she’d remember. Sometimes she’d forget and come home expecting him to be there. Sometimes, she’d put two servings of rice into the bowl, forgetting she only needed one now. Sometimes, she’d wait for him, alone on the porch, until very late at night, when all the clouds had subsided and all the stars were out. And when it seemed everyone was sleeping and there was no more noise to be made, she’d remember him. His voice was the first to come, following by the slight touch of his fingers along her back and her shoulder. She’d rock back and fourth on the porch next to an empty rocking chair, her eyes gently closed, her mouth slightly open, relaxed, and she’d wait for him, wait to feel his breathe behind her. Sometimes the wind was enough to excite her.
She remembered him and she missed him, and that’s how it was going to be, forever. Forever a widow, forever alone, forever on the bench in the park, forever feeding her cat from his bowl. Forever til the next day and then until a year. She’d always wait for him until he appeared.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
the seagull story - to be finished
Outside the beach was cluttered with seagulls, their droppings formed a pathway from land to sea for man to cross. They circle endlessly in patterns that seem to form spirals as they’d fly down to the beach, diving to peck at old tacos, leftover salsa and tortilla chips. The yellow corn chips were hard to eat, breaking into smaller pieces with each peck of their mouth.
what you do is
When the orange meets the blue
we’ll know the sky has changed colors
but, when the tree grows sideways
we know the birds can’t sleep
so what do we do is the tree turns orange?
We look up to the blue sky
and watch the birds fly by
we’ll know the sky has changed colors
but, when the tree grows sideways
we know the birds can’t sleep
so what do we do is the tree turns orange?
We look up to the blue sky
and watch the birds fly by
Thursday, March 5, 2009
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