On Picos

I've heard so many times and in so many different venues and situations in my life "learning is a never ending process", that I end up thinking that that line was not completely accurate.

I used to think that there were things in life that you were able to learn and master and where there was absolutely no room for improvement whatsoever. I also used to think that once you've reached that point, the secret of knowledge is to constantly keep doing that learnt skill to the best of your capacities; it's like if first you learn how to master something and then you learn how to keep doing it that way.

That thought had been in my head for quite a while and I've always associated it with big topics in my life, such as school, work, tennis, pasta cooking, killing people in computer games, memorizing and retaining lots of information on many topics and so on and so forth. What I never EVER thought is that something as simple and as meaningful as un pico could change my whole perception on learning and its never ending process.

I never actually gave it a thought, but I always thought that my picos had reached the upper most point in the scale of development and refinement, and that there was no further room to improve them. After years of giving astray picos here and there, I always thought unconsciously [and consciously] that there was no other way on the face of this planet to give a pico [!].

But that thought was completely and absolutely shattered this last weekend, my friends. Many people thought that the Titanic could never sank, and it's now resting at the bottom of the ocean; for centuries humanity thought that we were the center of everything out there, and we've discovered that we're just dust in a corner of a grain of sand in the whole universe; and I thought that my picos had reached the apex of the pyramid, and now I know that I was so wrong: there is a lot of room for improvement when it comes to picos! Yes there is, you people out there in blogland, picos can be improved and the new and improved picos are a thousand times better than the old picos. Is not that I was performing Picos Version 6.1 and these are now Picos Version 6.2; what I'm talking about is picos that moved beyond the limits where they had been constrained for so many years and into the realm of a vrai bisou.

I was lucky enough to have the theory explained to me in detail, step by step, and sweetly and patiently corrected and explained over and over again. I was also able to practice the aforementioned new technique many times and I manage to improve it a little bit. "Lucky" is a very small word for this idea, but I'll say that I was very lucky to have une professeur that so patiently and wholeheartedly took the time to explain to me the theory and practice while at the same time holding the steering wheel with one hand and dodging Mid-Western traffic [I know that I really made *her* multitask while driving. . .].

If you've been brave enough to read this post all the way to this paragraph and you still don't know what un pico is, I'd say go ahead and click the "next" button on the upper right corner of this blog, many wonderful things could be waiting for you: I know *exactly* what I'm talking about. If on the other hand you think you know what a pico is. . . think again, you may have no fucking idea what a truly real pico feels like on the *right* lips.

Half Full or Half Empty?

The heavier the glass, the more difficult it is to determine how much liquid is still left in it.

I'm not using my regular glass but an acrylic red cup with my company's logo in it -which comes with a lit. It was given to me [and everybody else and their mother] few months ago, and this is the first time that it sees the daylight. I don't like it because everything you drink looks red: red water, red ice tea, red coffee, red Coke, red beer, red milk; even the wall behind it looks red.


Everything in life is practice and adaptation. If I use it every day, for sure that I could learn to tell how half full [or half empty] it is. And therefore I won't have to gulp down that incredible huge amount of whole milk I just had, thinking that the liquid was almost gone.

And this brings me to the question of whether the glass is "half full" or "half empty". I've always thought that you have to say that it's "half full" in order to give the impression that you're an optimistic. If on the other hand you say that it's "half empty" is because you're gloomy, hopeless or pessimistic. Like if there's really a lot of things to be optimistic about life in general. . .

I've always thought that it depends the direction where the liquid is going: if you're drinking it, then that stuff is half way empty because is heading towards being completely consumed; if you're filling it up, then is half way full because eventually it's gona be full. It's just some very simple math: first is full; you drink and it becomes half empty, drink some more and it looks like three/quarters empty; take another drink and is almost empty; and take the last drink, the one that makes you fall from the barstool and that shit is completely empty -and if it was a glass made of glass, it may even be shattered on the floor right besides your drunk ass.

And if you go back in time a couple of hours, right at the time when you walk into the bar with your clean and pressed shirt, your best James Bond look, and your throat completely dry and your stomach empty -maybe it could have some remnants of that cheese burger you had earlier during the day, but still empty. And once you start drinking, then your stomach becomes half way full and your bladder too. Even before your stomach gets completely full, your bladder had been filled and emptied several times, and if you're drunk enough, then you may come back from the bathroom with the bladder half empty, after really missing the target, and the other half had been emptied on your jeans.

Tonight I'm not half awake, but more along the lines of half-asleep: after sixteen hours being awake, I feel like Ulysses when he was being bewitched by the mermaids songs. . . but unlike him who tied himself to the mast of his boat in order to resist them, I ain't fricking tying myself to my laptop. I better go to bed to see if my *little mermaid* shows up in my dreams again -hopefully alone this time! ;-)

The Office - Now Playing on Saturdays

On my way back from the office today [yes, I had to work today, no rest for the devil down here], as I entered the highway a police car was right behind me. I remembered that I'd forgotten to stick to my license tag the little sticker that shows that I already pay my car taxes, and [mentally] crossed my fingers to avoid being stopped. It worked out, I kept an steady 60MPH while yielding into the highway and then the cop passed me and moved to the center line.

From that point on and for the next five miles or so, a huge amount of cars formed a "package" right behind that police car. He was driving slightly faster than the speed limit, but way too slow for the usual red neck speeding from South Carolina into North Carolina -and for your usual redheaded foreigner who has to work sometimes on weekends.

I got a kick out of that situation because a couple of drivers who hadn't seen the police car where clearly infuriated about those "slow drivers". One of them tried to use the innermost lane to break free from that cloud of red necks only to see that it could've cost him quite a few greens and stopped short of passing the police car. I thought about stepping on the gas of my little red car and showing not just the police officer but everybody around what 2.5L can do and what does it really mean when you say that you have "balls" [it would've been more "short circuited balls" in this case, but still balls nevertheless]; but I realized that I better put that money in an *airplane ticket* than in a speeding ticket.

And it was a good thing that I got a laugh out of that situation, because to call people at 8AM on a Saturday morning is not gona get you to heaven and is certainly not gona prompt someone to use their best vocabulary with you. I use to feel bad about it, but I've been growing a thick skin on that situation and I even get a smile or two out of that: I picture people with hangovers after drinking and partying the night before, maybe waking up due to a phone ring that is lauder than usual and besides someone they don't quite remember and who looks way heavier than the night before, only to be greeted by a foreigner who in other words is demanding them to "pay up sucker!". That's just the perfect beginning of a very bad hair day indeed - hehehe [evil laugh].

I've always thought that if one day I hit the jack pot of the lottery, I'll get on the phone on my last Saturday morning and will start greeting people with a very firm yet nice "Did I wake you up you cheap piece of shit?! I'm Beelzebub himself and you better read to me your routing number followed by your account number or a fuck in the ass would feel like a walk in the park compared to what is in storage for you!!". Oh, and this will be done at 0600 EST just to make sure I wake you up; and just to add a cherry on top of all that whipped cream, I'll unlock all CST, MST and PST and you'll certainly be brought current that very same frikking day!

Rule Número Dos

While I was at it today, I remembered the last time that it happened and a smile came to my face. I remembered myself, many-many years ago doing exactly what I did today, not knowing and not even imaging what the future would bring to me. Back in those days, I didn't even know there was a future and a present, and the known past was so recent that it was almost blurry. Back in those days I didn't even know that there was something called South America or China; didn't know either that the fundamental differences between boys and girls is what makes the world turn; and had no idea what Beer was. That's how young I was the last time it happened.

But I remember like if it was yesterday when it happened. I even remember what I was wearing: my school's uniform! I was around seven years old and I was maybe in second grade, or perhaps first grade; I even remember that I cried!

Today, March 8th 2006 I broke a rule in my life that I've had ever since I can remember. A rule that had been with me through elementary school, middle school, high school, college, graduate school, and that I even took with me to a language institute in another continent [Asia]! A rule that in all honesty had been easy to follow, but that there'd been times that was so fucking hard to follow it that I thought I was gona give up. There was times when I thought that I was not gona be able to follow it, but somehow I manage not to break it. In an extreme case I could've die, very extreme case, but thanks God I made all the way to my fifties in one piece and with that rule unbroken. And that was a rule that I even took with me through a whole variety of jobs and positions in different companies and countries, and that I never EVER broke.
Until today.


Actually when I was in third grade [around nine years old] I remember that I broke that rule but at the same I didn't break it. It's like technically I did break it, but once you know the facts you'll see that it was an extreme case and that it wasn't actually an infringement of the regulation. And just as in criminal law, it has to be proven beyond reasonable doubt that I had the intention of doing it, and the truth of the matter is that it got out of my hands. Otherwise I would've not do it. Hell no! that was a fucking accident and I still remember very vividly that moment; shit, you must be kidding me if you think that I did it on purpose!
But today that rule was broken.

Ladies and Gentleman of the jury: I confess that today I Number Two at work. . . and that is not a pleasant experience, let me tell you dat!

The last time I Number Two at school was back in the days when I was a poor little boy and I tried very hard not to do it, but couldn't. When I came back home that day I remember that I cried to my mom because that bathroom was smelling like shit [duh!] and because I couldn't wait to come back home. "That's ok" -was what my mom said and send me out to play with some friends from the block. But it was not ok, because for me there was only one universe when it came to Number Two: my very own bathroom! A bit more than a year later I was playing with some friends during break and I laughed so hard, I mean my friends, picture a red headed 9-year old boy laughing at the top of his lounges and multiply that ten times and that was me laughing and running and playing and I end up Number Two-ing in my pants. Oh, shit! That stuff can cut your laugh immediately; like being in a sauna and jumping right into an ice cold swimming pool. Good God, and the worst thing is that I still had a couple more hours to go before heading back home. . . talk about a long day before catching my school bus back home and those last two hours. But that was unintended, so I never count it as an actual "Number Two".

Today it wasn't really a matter of life and death, but it was a matter of getting rid of something that was bugging me. I could've waited, but I lost my patience and decided to give up to my body's own crazy clock and headed for the WC to meet my fate.

I went to the one closest to the main entrance that doesn't get too much traffic [good thing that I pay attention to details such as how busy restrooms are], and locked myself in the spacious boot reserved for the handicap. I'd never felt that bathroom so cold and quite as I did today, never paid attention to the white tile I'd stepped on so many times, never really took the time to detail the false ceiling, and I'd never paid attention of how much echo the company's bathrooms have! Not to mention how stoopid those automatic laser flushers can be; it's like if you can't convince those laser sensors that you're still there but that you're just shifting your weight from one side to the other, then it will almost flush you together with all the air in the restroom. And how about trying to convince them that time has come to do what they're intended to do?

But above all it wasn't an extremely traumatic experience, or at least I don't expect it to be the last nail in the coffin of my mental health going awry; it must've pushed me an inch closer to the straight jacket but I still can't see it without wearing my glasses, which is a good sign.

The only thing that I really didn't like about today's experience and the whole breaking of this larger than life rule, is that I didn't have my Calvin and Hobbes book or my FHM Magazine by me!

'night

I would like to call her,
and ask her how her day was.
Tell her about what happened this morning
before leaving for the office
and the smile that came to my face
thanks to her
and my very own despiste.

I would like just to wish her good night
que sueñes con los angelitos
and blow a kiss over the phone
my old phone
but a kiss nevertheless,
a brand new kiss.

And to tell her about my day,
shitty day,
that left me tired and in a bad mode
wanting only to go to bed
and in a bad mode,
very fucking bad mode.

Would like to ask her about cafeterita
and Mamma Cafetera
and if her cold is gone
or if is not quite gone
and about pilates
and yoga
and the steam room
and lizard boy
and Panera
and the snow that came down on her zip code.

And to tell her that today
I played some footage
of we both wrestling with our toes
and her trying to take my pulse
and me mentioning something
about an "upgrade"
and how short a day can be
when you're really enjoying it.

And just to listen to her
and her stories
her words
whatever she wants to say
I'd listen.

But this bad mode
has me in a very bad mode
and the last person I want to spread it with
is her.

I should call my sister
to say "hi"
and to give her a pound
of my mal genio;
but I know better
that it will eventually
boomerang to me
and other people around us.

So *good night*
flaquita linda
and sweet dreams.
Think that tomorrow
a red headed dude
will be thinking about you
from dawn
to dusk
and also during lunch time.

This is Dr. Jekill; and I'm Mr. Hyde

I know that there's quite a few things that are malfunctioning in me. I can't point them and say "here, this is what I'm talking about!", but I know that there's just things that should be different in my life; just stuff. And it's stuff that may not be life threatening but that bugs me and that I wish I could do something about it.

Take for instance the fact that I like to treat people right. I can stand quite a few slaps in the face before I put my fist in someone else'e smile; and even though I know someone is figuratively speaking slapping me in the face, I try to find a way around to solve the problem at hand. In other words, I would like to be able to be more aggressive when it comes to my job: to have a much shorter fuse for all that crazy fucking people I have to be on the phone with for hours trying to help them get their shit together. I wish I could use more intimidating techniques giving less than shit to what happens and happened in their lives that prompted me to call them.

"Your wife of 43 years passed away two weeks ago and she always took care of all the bills?". I wish I could come up with enough strength and cold blood to push people that are already close to the deep end even further and get payments out of them. I wish I could have enough nasty vocabulary to confront those people that filled their shopping cards not thinking that actually they have to pay for stuff they got [and I mean nasty as in nasty-allowed-by-the-law when you have to call them]. Instead of selling them the possibility to get their life back in track and stop the phone calls, I wish I could paint a picture of an imminent Armageddon in their lives if they don't follow my short and clear instructions immediately.

I can't threat people on the phone in order to get their shit together and by doing so my company's financial statement on the right track. I know that by not giving shit about their reasons and circumstances, my life could be much more easier and I wouldn't have to come back home all drained out and feeling like if a truck had ran me over. I wish I could be a little bit more devilish, more cold blooded, bossy, finger pointer, and above all to be mean as fuck.

I'm afraid of trying if I can get away with that side of me and if it actually could help me be "off the chain" when it comes to doing my job. I've always thought that in whatever task you're involved you always have to be you and find your own inner voice while at it, and everything else will fall in pace. And one of the reasons that hold me back for turning into a complete demon with goat tee, trident and tail is the possibility that that side of me could become more dominant and would eventually permeate to other aspects of my life, becoming nothing more than a human calculator able to see things under the magnifying glass of "how can this help me, me and only me".

And I've came to the realization that the longer I stay at this job, the closer things are gona get to me turning into a more bitter dude.

What's Planning Good For?

There's nothing more annoying than having your Sunday planned down to the minute with a whole variety of little plans and catch ups that you HAVE to do, just to have an unexpected visit that instead of the quick stop-by that you were expecting ends up staying for THREE fucking hours!

I was planning in going to the gym, hitting the bookstore to catch up with some reading of magazines and perhaps my book that has been collecting dust for weeks now, wash my car, do some grocery shopping and maybe some quality cooking for the next week, doing some cleaning/laundry/folding/unpacking of my suitcase, and so on and so forth. But now all those plans went to the trash can.

My friend Alexandra called as I was ready to go to the gym, and even though I didn't pick up the first time, she called back right away, therefore I had to pick up thinking it was some sort of emergency. I enjoy talking to her, but I have to mentally prepare myself to stay on the line for at least 45 minutes listening to her stories. Yeah, eventually she will listen to what is going on my life, but that will be maybe 3% of the whole length of the conversation, so I don't always answer when she calls.

Today she wanted to give me the invitation to her wedding, and to make a long story short she end up staying for almost three hours. She was waiting for her fiancé's phone call, who was coming back from Philly, so that she could pick him up at the airport. As lucky as I am, the airplane was late and she decided to camp out in my place! Why is it that some people just can't read body language? Not that you have to go down to every dot and accent of such form of communication, but just getting the main idea is enough. And I showed her [and told her!] about my plans for today but you just wouldn't believe how many details there are in a wedding. And no shit that she didn't leave out any of them for me this morning!

After she finally left I was fuming seeing all my plans at the bottom of the trash can, but a text message sent from an undisclosed location informing me that "It's snowing!" brought a smile to my face and all that bad mode disappeared.

Life is full of choices and priorities, and the phone call that followed that message and specially the person on the other end of the line was more important than the degree of doneness of the chicken and pasta I was starting to cook at that time.

Wich is a good thing, because I like when the pasta is soft as jell-o and the chicken very well done: almost "burned".