Tag Archives: photo

Eat your saw dust & paint chips and shut up.

This morning’s breakfast was trippy.  Literally.  They aren’t joking when they label this cereal “shredded wheat”.  It’s so shredded that it’s no longer wheat-like.  In fact, I doubt it’s even shredded wheat.  I love recycling just as much as the next person but rebranding saw dust as cereal is a little extreme for my taste.  Ha.  Taste.  Puns and such.  Observe the picture.  I was lucky enough to score a few white paint chips in my bowl of industry this morning like they were extra marshmallows.  They were potent and within two spoonfuls I began hallucinating and fell halfway into outer space and out of my chair.  Vitamins and minerals go hand in hand with the final frontier, fuck yea!  Way better than my bath salt smoothies.

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The order of chaos.

I’m having difficulty understanding how I feel.  Things are a little clearer at this point pertaining to my dad’s future.  Because there now seems to be a plan in place, that alone grants me some relief — if for nothing else because there is a plan to adhere to.  Make sense?  Sometimes, despite how terrible an event is, if there is a plan or procedure to follow, we do not feel so lost and helpless like blind men stumbling in the dark in search of a candle to light the way out.

The general opinion is six to two months life expectancy but leans in the direction of two.  If there were a chance of quality of life while working toward complete recovery, my dad would fight.  But this is sarcoma, it is in his blood and randomly attaches itself to various parts of the body.  Just yesterday, the CAT scan confirmed numerous tumors in his pelvis and thighs.  It isn’t fair!  Why cancer?  What causes it to be so aggressive??  Why do so many people have their lives affected by it?  Environmental?  Food-related?  Genetic?  All of the above?

Am I feeling a little less train wreck-like due to the routine of spending my days in the hospital?  As if this has become the new normal and I have merely adapted?  Maybe that is a part of it, though having grown up with a mom who worked in hospice and as a bereavement facilitator, I understand grief comes in waves and mine appear to be massive when they surge and replaced with peace as they wane.  I feel like I am stuck riding a liquid roller coaster.

I feel more compassion for my father than I can adequately describe.  I want to care for him.  I want to show him I love him.  I have groomed him, washed his feet, given him Reiki treatments, held his hand and had numerous one-on-one talks with him and it has made me feel so connected to him that I could cry over that feeling itself.  I look into his eyes and watch closely when we talk, when we are together and I feel in my gut that he is passing his torch to me.  As he retires his place as head of this family, I have come to a point of maturity and responsibility that I know I can not only look after the overall well-being of my future wife and our daughter, but of my immediate family as well and I believe my dad knows it.

My lil’ mija is due in early to mid-June and though I am heartbroken over my dad’s condition, I feel even more blessed over the arrival of my little girl.  The love that I have in my heart for this lil’ one has been amplified exponentially because of all of this.  Never before have I so seriously contemplated mortality or the frailty of life.  Never has it hit this close to home.  This is a lot to carry but I don’t feel overburdened, I feel determined to see it through, be strong, and do this without complaining — the same way my dad lived his life.  When there is enough love in your heart, you do it naturally and it showed with my father.

"I love you, pop."

“I love you, pop.”

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I used to hate cinnamon raisin bagels as a kid. Eating one right now.

The title is true.  Anyway, I’ve read that rubbing a banana peel on a mosquito bite can alleviate the itching.  More importantly, I don’t want to expand on that because I am defiant of mosquitos and afraid of fruit.

I tire of bargaining for the life of vegetables at the trade markets in my neighborhood.  Therefore, I intend on growing vegetables on my back patio in giant nuclear power plant shaped ceramic pots to avoid the stress of haggling over and proving the worth of bell peppers, jalapenos, green onions, and tomatoes.  Speaking of which, tomatoes — although a fruit — are nowhere near as threatening as bananas or other fruit.  They’ve received a waiver from yours truly and I view them in a less terrifying light.

Additionally, mint, basil, and a few other herbs that will not cross my mind because it’s flooded with awesome will participate in my food version of the League of Nations.  Hi Woodrow Wilson!

I am becoming domesticated, something slightly strange to me considering my nomadic nature and enjoyment of traveling and moving.  I like it, though.  Putting down roots the same way my vegetables are going to.  Mine will be better and stronger.  Capsicum annuum Spartans.

Aren’t bell peppers in the botanical sense considered fruits but in culinary terms considered vegetables you ask?  No more questions.  By the time this post is complete, you will have learned a great deal about food and my life.

This post is complete.

Hungry? You should be.

Currently playing: “Pursuit of Happiness” by KiD CuDi.

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St. Francis the praying mantis.

St. Francis the praying mantis hissing at me over my discovery of him.

 

SFTPM (his acronym) sliding down the front screen door like an ungraceful and awkward stripper. Upside down.

 

Right before his first leap, his rubbed his misshapen front legs together, whispering the word ‘precious’ like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. He then leapt from the door to the white brick road like some white supremacist’s version of the fairytale of Oz. Look at his eyes. Fucking alien.

 

He is running like I have a spotlight on him and all else is dark. He has not noticed me still watching him and is running for exercise, not for his life. Can he run his own life? Not like I am running it he can’t — ooooooo!

 

The angriest bug of all Bugdom. Once again, angry that I have found him, hissing and pretending to spew magical venom at me. Stupid mantis, you are the brontosaurus of the bug species.

 

After taking a swing at the camera, he ran off, engaging in things such as cockiness of the spoken word. I was going to step on him at this point but he yelled out, “Man vs. Mantis” in the same accent as Bear Grylls from ‘Man vs. Wild’. I was temporarily enamored.

 

Acting like a paintball assassin, as he creeps along the leaf line, trying to trap me. He is completely unaware that I am mocking him behind his back, much to the enjoyment of his peers.

 

Frustrated over my alleged absence, he slowly crawls forward to find me and hears me move. He freezes in place and waits, considering retreat due to my superior skills in stealth.

 

On his way back to the front door where his friends are, only to discover that they are laughing and praying at him. His reaction in one word? Shock. Hahahaha! Tell your self-esteem I said it’s ugly, Francis Mantis.

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Smucker’s, you fu*ker.

Never have apples & peanut butter been so dramatic, nor tasted so.  Do you see one of the arms growing out of the right (your left) side of the Smucker’s jar?  It tried choking me with those guns.  Normal peanut butter chokes you from within like a sleeper agent, which is cool on it’s own, but this?  Arms?  It went at my neck as soon as I released it from it’s safety seal!  I guess they keep peanut butter packaged up in these decorated glass jail cells for a reason.  It will never escape, either.  Peanut butter is incredibly lazy.  It’s a butter sloth.

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The magic of Arizona.

I fear I have driven tourism from the state of Arizona due to my incessant and vocal yearning to move back there.  That, or I am responsible for increasing tourism tenfold by sending to it hordes of unthinking masses, hell bent on experiencing that state in the manner in which I constantly describe my years there.

My fixation on that sun-struck state may eventually become irritating.  My grandstanding and dramatic odes to one of the few naturally beautiful states may eventually become irritating.  My craving to go back to the only state that has ever felt like home may eventually become irritating.  When I left, it was the right decision.  I wanted to……for the most part.  Expectations of a better life filled my mind as I contemplated going back east.  There is irony in that because so long ago, those same expectations filled the minds of those who contemplated moving west.

The bliss of the southwest caused me to forget why I left the east coast in the first place but I was promptly reminded upon returning east.  Here I am now, in my heart, trying to make the best of it, externally, talking about Arizona as if I am the sole discoverer of Providence itself.  Have I romanticized the west?  Surely not.

Fate must have had a love for me when it sent me back into the darkness that is New Jersey.  I remember the night I was struggling with where to move to get away from New Jersey.  Again.  New Hampshire, where my brother was living, or Texas.  It was a tense evening.  Yes, I make life altering decisions within a day but stand there like a participant of a flash freeze mob when looking in the frozen foods section, not able to choose between cheese or pepperoni Bagel Bites.

I chose of my own free will.  Right?  I vocalized the pro’s of moving to New Hampshire, of which there was one: family.

Dear Arizona, thank you for the memories thus far.

Beautiful solitude.

Sincerely, yeehaw.

Rugged=beautiful.

“Look at that view..”

Guide of Oak Creek.

Brothers of the desert.

Camouflage.

Southwest Elysium.

Signs are everywhere.

200 feet to Olympus.

Correct lighting.

For sport.

Rock & a hard place.

Memorable imprint.

The two towers.

The middle path.

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