Sometimes I get into these funks, in which I just feel down and not in a depressed sort of way either. In a way that the world seems to be on my shoulders and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to win. Of course, not that life is about winning or losing, but usually winning is a metaphor for being on top. So, I guess I would rather be on top of my problems or stresses than to be on the bottom.
I do consider myself a positive person with streaks of negativity here and there. I generally look at the brighter side of things. I always get up in the morning in a good mood because I know that it is a start of a brand new day. It is what happens within these days that can turn my spirits from good to bad.
Things that get me down can be anywhere from a stressful day at work to an argument with my wife. Generally, it is just fighting the fight everyday. Getting people to understand that we all have value in this world, which goes way beyond financial resources. The fact that someone like me can never truly be at the table to stop systemic issues that benefit the many and neglect the few. Then there is always the issues of finding my place in this world. These things eat away at the very fiber of my positivity.
I am like a battery filled with positive energy and like any battery, the more it gets used the more energy it loses. Sometimes I lose my charge. Thus regaining it in the morning. I guess you can say that today I lost a lot of my positive energy. Which is alright, I am not complaining about it so much. I know that when I put my head on the pillow tonight, that I will charge overnight.
Category: my life
I am a very emotional person. The very way that I write is based on that. In good spirits, or bad, my attitude and emotions seem to dictate what the subject is. I do sometimes wonder in which mood does my writing come out the best. One thing that I do know for sure is that the more emotions I feel, the easier I get in to that “zone”. Anyone who has been in that zone will know that words just pour out of you, sometimes at a very fast rate. There are times that I can type minutes at a time with out stopping.
I was going to write about something else today, but as I got into it I didn’t feel right. I knew there was something else trying to come out of me. So I saved that subject for later and is stuck on something that I have been thinking about. A few months ago I went rummaging through some stuff in the basement when I came across my old Mead Composition Notebook. This was my journal that I kept in high school. It was an assignment that I had throughout senior year English. I was completely stunned that I found this book. I briefly skimmed through it and just remember all the things that I wrote about. I left it down there to continue what I was doing.
Today I went down there to get my clothes from the dryer when I noticed it on the bin. I thought to myself, “you know, this was like my blog back in the day”. So, I decided to take it upstairs with me for a better look. The book itself is slightly bend from all the wear and tear. Inside is my woefully horrible handwriting. I am glad that I can understand it. Then I noticed something, that made me realize why I stopped writing in High School.
I went to St. Raymond’s High School for Boys, which is in the Bronx. Being a teenage boy in a school full of teenage boys is not an easy thing to deal with. Not when you are dealing with issues of self esteem or when your parents are getting a divorce. Some kids did not like me and I quite frankly did not like them. So, during one of the times that I was feuding with one of these boys, they decided to steal this very journal and insert gum into the pages. I am not even really sure if they read the thing or not, but seeing my journal destroyed left me very angry.
Since then it took me awhile to realize that writing is something that I love. I am assuming there was a subconscious reason why I kept this book because when I see it and read it, I realize that I was born to write. It is the one thing I can do that no one can take away. One of the reasons why I archived my blogs was because I need to keep a personal account of how I have grown in with my writings. This notebook takes me to the beginning.
I have mentioned that my father was a gadget freak. He is the type of person that just needs to have new things all the time. So for example, he has a desktop computer with a printer/scanner/fax. Not sure who he is faxing though. Then he has this machine that can convert vinyl records into MP3s. I wont mention the fact that he does not have an i-pod…yet.
His love for gadgets is something has been transferred to me. I look around my house and I can see the laptop I am writing this blog, the wireless printer that it is connected to, the Wii that my wife plays so much, the iPhone that I just today purchased…
I never thought that I would get an iPhone much less another ipod. The love for electronics and gadgets is clearly deep rooted! I mean it is not just for luxury purposes. I think about the type of stove I have or the washer and dryer. So the need for just new shit can be consuming. Clearly I am making fun of myself here, but i wonder what it is about shiny new gadgets that we have to get.
I struggled with a topic to discuss tonight. Depending on the day, it does take me a while to unwind from work. So, today being one of those days, I thought to myself maybe I should play some music to focus because I have come to the realization that this is what music does to me. I cannot explain it, but I can to school work or write a novel, all to music. Right now I am listening to some house music as I am writing this. Daft Punk to be specific.
Some of the students make fun of me because when they come into my office it is almost like a party. I normally have my itunes on shuffle so that I can listen to pretty much anything I have at any point during the day. I laugh because I had a meeting with a colleague today and we are having a serious conversation and in the background you can hear, “Brooklyn, We Go Hard”
It reminds of my days when I lived on South Campus when my roommate, Pop, would wake me up with music. That man would not let me sleep past 9am. So sometimes he would walk in to my room dancing to some new beats he got from one of his friends. I never considered myself much of a dancer. I mean I can do a mean chair dance. I have always been one of those people that would just bob my head to the music in a club. Unless, you put on some Salsa or Merengue, then it is on. Then I can cut it up!
Then there is the whole karaoke craze. I am not crazy about humiliating myself in public. However, I have been persuaded to sing a song or two. But, of course to me the Karaoke places that I have been to don’t really have the selection that I would like. Because I will admit, that if they have certain Michael Jackson songs…then may just have me jamming. I am talking about black Micheal. I am down to sing P.Y.T., or Off The Wall, or Billy Jean, I may even hit you up with Blame it on the Boogie or better yet, Dancing Machine! (I have a whole routine, I just need 4 brothers…)
I love music. If it has a good beat then I am all over it. So much so, that I have started a music collection that I am pretty sure that is so broad and I will never complete. I feel that my music collection is journey of my life. My parents would always playing music when cleaning, cooking, and driving. So, the music I heard as a kid is always something I have been interested in and will always look for. The tricky thing is that I am dealing with so many genres.
My father, to this day, is a gadget person, so back in the day, he had vinyl, 8 track, tapes, and even like old school reel to reel. I, of course, was not allowed to touch any of his things because I would destroy anything I touched. I do remember the number of records he had of Salsa. So many albums form Fania Recording Artists. So, he would make these tapes with El Gran Combo, Celia Cruz, Hector Lavoe, and I could go on. I am still looking for all those songs now!
My mother, while she was into Salsa. She loved Motown. So one minute I could be listening to Marvin Gaye and the next Diana Ross. I can never really prove this, but I think my parents went clubbing in the 70’s. Someone was playing Disco, because that is just another genre I cannot get enough of. Not to mention that I was an 80’s kid and was around to hear the birth of hip hop. My brother had a boom box! He loved him some Kurtis Blow, LL Cool J, and Run DMC.
He amazes me because he still follows hip-hop. I call him the oldest Jay-Z fan alive. His response? The Rock is in the building! (He was a Guy Fan too…so I sing “Groove Me” just to get under his skin)
Name a hot song and I might just have it. If I don’t have, I will get it…
This past week we have been witness to many things. Superstar Chris Brown beats his girlfriend and All Star Alex Rodriguez admits to taking steroids. Both events have caused serious discussions in certain circles and blogs about the severity of both events. It just makes me think about how we view the role of masculinity in society.
Lets view both acts as what they are, Chris Brown, for whatever reason wanted to asserted his male dominance or a female and A-Rod wanted to assert his dominance over the baseball diamond. Does that make them real men? Does a real man feel that he has to dominate another individual, or sport, or industry?
Men seem to measure how much of a man they are by the size of their penises. I want to state that obvious fact because I know when growing up I would always hear jokes about how big some one’s dick was. I would always ask myself if that was really necessary? The fact is that many males equate how manly they are by the number of women they can sleep with. While that may be fine to them, these may end up being the same men that women end up avoiding in clubs because he is too old to be there. The male ego is a very fragile one and once it is broken it is hard to repair. Those who have issues with self esteem or confidence have a hard time dealing with those issues.
In college, I would here about who real men were. Apparently these are guys that step and stroll and are a part of a Fraternity. They would be able to tell you who was a real man and who wasn’t. While I understood exactly what they meant by the sacrifices they made to become the men representing those organizations, I was sure if that was something that I wanted to aspire to. So again, I am left think what is a real man?
Lets start with best man that we know today: President Barack Obama. No one will question his masculinity. How is he a real man? He is a leader with vision that provides us hope. He is good husband with 2 beautiful daughters. An educated man that can take you out at a debate or break you down with a crossover. Clearly that is not a hard one to follow, but many men cannot compare.
So I will go with something simpler. A single father who raises his only son. Works tirelessly at his job to make sure that he can afford college for his son. He makes mistakes along the way because he doesn’t want raise his son in the same way his father raised him, with violence. His son graduates and the next chapter in his life is spent dealing with cancer that he contracted from working late hours in manholes that contained asbestos. I would say that my father is a real man.
A real man to me is a man that can lead the way when times are difficult. A real man is man that will not let an obstacle get in his way of achieve a goal. A real man makes mistakes and is ready to pay for them when the time comes. A real man also acknowledges these mistakes and learns from them while being able to cope with it. A real man does not need to assert his control on other people because he is confident in himself. A real man knows the difference between gentle and firm.
Once you recognize those traits. You will know who the real men in your life are. They are not perfect in any way, but they will always leave an good impression on you.
I think I have spent most of my life trying to figure out the definition of Friendship. As a kid, I always seem to call everyone (who didn’t pick on me), my friends. My father would tell me that true friends are there when you need them. I looked up to my dad so much as a kid because I thought he was one of those cool fathers who could slick back is hair and adjust his mustache and he would always look good. He had this aura about him that seem to attract so many people. At, times I thought her had literally a hundred friends. But, in his wisdom, he would tell me that all those people were not his friends. They were associates that only liked him because he had a good job and he was always willing to help someone.
This was always proven to me when my dad used to get into a jam, only few people would help him get out of it. He would look at me at tell me, “Now those are true friends”. Over there years we seems to have the same friends be there for him over and over to the point that when he retired, they all moved to same place in Deltona,Florida.
Now, if you have ever been to Deltona, you will know that it is a very fast growing community. Located about an hour from both Orlando and Tampa Bay. I call in “the little Bronx” because all the old school Puerto Ricans from the Bronx now seem to reside there. I am amazed about all the people he knows there. Every time I go down for a visit, I get introduced to another old “associate: that he used to run with. The conversations would go something like this…
Papi: Anthony, you remember Felix right? He used to live on Story Avenue by the firehouse
Me: uh….no…
Felix: Hey! Papa, remember me? I remember you when you this small!
Me: uh…no..
Papi: He used to take care you when you were little…Remember Carmen, his wife?
Me: uh…no…
Felix: Yeah man, I ran with your father back in the day on Eagle ave….
Repeat that about a hundred times and you will get my drift. Substitute Felix with Willie, or Oscar,or any Spanish name you can think of. Then substitute Carmen, with Lisa, Olga, or Jackie. When he moved, I thought I would be rid of these people. But I digress…
I am stuck in this notion of friendship because I am not sure I have a definition that suits me. Sure, I have friends. Some that disappoint me, some that I disappoint, some I actually love, and others that I hate to love. There also those that I have spoken to in a long time and when you finally have a conversation it is almost like a single day has not passed. But how does one judge a friend? There is no measure sometimes.
I cannot go by how I treat my friends, because I would drive myself nuts. Bad enough I am a Gemini who gets bored easily, which means that I may seclude myself until something excites me. But, I when I am your friend, then I am your friend for life. I may forget your birthday, but if you need something I am there. There will always be a point when I think about via a memory or a glance at your Facebook status (which, by the way, facebook is like crack sometimes).
So what do I ask in return? I am not that picky actually because I don’t expect much. I just expect my friends to be real. I have come to realize that this one thing is hard for some people to do! If you can’t hang out then that is cool, just say so. But the one thing that yanks my chain, is when people say they will do something and they don’t do it. I am not talking about offering to pay dinner or anything like that. I am just saying that I don’t like flakes in my cereal…lol
{Originally Posted on Blogger}
Changes…That is what I wish to focus on today. Changes. These days everything seems to be changing. The world seems to be darker in so many ways. The Tsunami Disaster is so unreal. It changes the way we think of things. Before this, we all thought that 9/11 was the greatest tragedy that our generation witnessed. This event has changed the way we view the world.
Changes…Even my job is going through changes. It is interesting to see how people react to change. It seems the older one gets the more they hate change. I have a couple of people who don’t want their cheese to be moved. Yet, when change happens, they will be left in the dust. Time will have passed them by. I can tell you my boss is a better person that I am because corporate training tells me to get rid of the resistance to change.
Changes…Even my team, The New York METS are going through huge changes. By signing the this year’s biggest free agent Carlos Beltran. I have not been this excited about this teams since they signed Mike Piazza sooo many years ago. I am even considering going down to NY to see a few games. That would be a BIG changes since I don’t go down there anymore.
Changes…I know that I may have risen a few eyebrows to my comment about Scott Peterson. I don’t think he should die. Think he should rot in Jail for what he did. So If I were the judge, I would sentence to him to life with no possibility of parole. Not only that…He should be assigned to GEN POP in a Maximum Security Prison where he will room with a big black buck named Mr. Zero.
Changes…So I was told today by a good friend that he cant hang out with me and my wife anymore because his wife doesn’t like us. Now there is no love lost there that is for damn sure. I was civil to her because that is my good friend’s wife, but lately she has felt the need to treat my wife like shit. There is only one person who can treat Josie like shit and that is me (kisses hun). So naturally the dumb bitch can rot for all I care. One day he will wake up and kick her lop-sided ass out the house.
New Year….New Shit….Peace out.
{Originally Posted on Xanga}
Today, I am mad at the world. I have been pissed off for the 3 straight day. I think it is very amusing that people in this world find it easy to criticize shit they have no clue about. How dumb can a person be to talk shit about me to my wife….like she wont tell me? That blows my mind.
The one thing I take pride in is my job. I love my job and everything that comes with it. Sure, there are bad days, but I don’t complain about them. In fact, I don’t complain at all about my job or the hours I put in. Well, other people feel the need to do this. They (it is really one person..but we shall say “they”) feel the need to complain about their job…the lack of pay…and god knows what else.
Yet, “they” can criticize what I do at work. Yeah, I am angry. I bust my ass everyday. I have been busting it ever since I graduated college all those years ago and I am going to get angry when some person (who has never worked a real job in their life) can talk shit about what I do or don’t do. I tell you all something…there are 2 things in this world you don’t do to me. One…never tell me I cant do something…because I will do it and shove it up your ass. Two…never rile me up…because I will outlast you…and then shove it up your ass.
{Originally Posted on Blogger}
November 1st!!! Wow, I cant really believe it. This year has gone slow for me with all this shit to do. Well I got up this morning, barely scratching my nuts, and I hear this noise. Drip. Drip. Drip. I go into that bathroom and the ceiling is leaking right into the tub!!! It is a minor leak so no big deal. My wife calls the landlord and tells him about how it is raining in the bathroom. So within 10 minutes he is at our apt. He looks at it and tells us that or upstairs neighbors never put the curtain in the shower when they use it….thus we get the after wash.
Now let me tell you about my neighbors. They are not from this country. I am thinking they are from India or somewhere in the Mesopotamian region. I know one of them from work. He is one of the computer techs. So ever since they moved in they have been mad loud. First, they kill my ceiling, walking like they are trying to kill fucking scorpions. I figured they walk hard because they are use to sand and they are now on wood floor. Second, I don’t know what the fuck kind a music they listen to…but I swear there is some belly dancing going on up there. Thirdly, one of them laughs like a gypsy. They must have a genie in a lamp.
So the other night, they were just unbelievably loud. My wife is in bed, so I rush upstairs. I though there were 5 or 6 of them up there. So I knock and the kid I know opens the door. He greets me and I am like “what the fuck are u doing?”. So he laughs and says…”have some cake!” I look around and there are only 3 of them. 3!!! all this time I am thinking they had a fucking village up there. So he tells me that it is his roommate’s birthday and they were giving him “birthday bumps”. Great, sounded like they were fucking him. Now to give you a feel for this apt..which was messy. It smelled like curry and feet! All 3 were barefoot.
To make a long story short, I had some cake and I told them to quit the shit.
Anthony Otero 