tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109036212024-03-06T22:02:43.797-08:00It's A Long StoryLife grows more complex and I grow more adept dailyAlfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.comBlogger377125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-83907077878286090652008-04-21T21:03:00.000-07:002008-04-21T21:05:25.809-07:00Moving again<a href="http://www.alfonsol.com">www.alfonsol.com</a><br /><br />updated those readers people...person...mom....<br /><br />*sigh*Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-88146775807902256942008-04-15T12:13:00.000-07:002008-04-15T12:27:09.440-07:00StrewnYesterday Team Red and Team Black took the court, together, to do battle. A number of trips to the nebulous 'out of town' area and a placid wall of e-silence left Team Red with only 5 players. Officially you are able, perhaps even encouraged, to take the court with only five players. It is not a good idea.<br /><br />But we few placed toe to the scrimmage to face their many. <br /><br />We lost. Badly. Worst loss in our history, one player suggested. Black adopted the only strategy they could: run up and down the court as many times as possible and then call in a substitute. His fresh legs run the same plan, over and over and over and over again.<br /><br />Twice I was mildly injured. By instinct I looked to our bench to inform a team mate that I should be taken out for a moment. No one was there. I could have been in the middle of a heated battle and losing ground, looked up hopefully toward the hill where my ally would have come only to see my last sunset. It was incredibly demoralizing.<br /><br />On the upside it was my highest scoring game ever.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-61244533415619817262008-04-13T23:39:00.000-07:002008-04-14T00:01:55.109-07:00No Games, Just Sport....or some suchThis post will be a drawn out cliche, it's conceptual entirety having been reduced to a phrase by Nike's advertising firm. Still, I feel compelled to record the thought.<br /><br />I like biking, both mountain and road. The hobby overflows with entertaining tasks outside of actual riding: Researching stuff, maintaining stuff, /buying/ stuff. For example today's afternoon was spent fixing my brakes. It was a very fulfilling afternoon.<br /><br />Then there are the numbers. Speed, average speed, heartrate, distance, cadance, air pressure, temperature, gear ratios, the list goes on endlessly. Heck, when you consider it fully, you'll start to realize that a bike is less a means of conveyance than a vehicle for useless statistics to obsess over.<br /><br />At the end of a ride you'll discover an intoxicating sense of accomplishment. You're bruised and cut (if mountain biking) or nursing a dull aching in inappropriate places (road) but you're finished. Chalk up a few more miles.<br /><br />Still, with all of that I enjoy the white serenity during a ride most. My mind ponders nothing. If you'll forgive a poor metaphor my mind forks off processes necessary to maintain speed and a path that doesn't involve children and I am left with nothing. Even while surrounded by the complicating artifacts of my admittedly simple life I don't think a thing.<br /><br />If one were to read my mind the emptiness would drive them to insanity.<br /><br />Cool, huh?<br /><br />Ok, every once in a while I break into song.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-19936245717378229612008-04-11T10:59:00.000-07:002008-04-11T11:13:17.534-07:00Yay Gmaps Pedometer.I'm sure there have been many versions of this for since the day google decided to make it a webservice, but I just discovered <a href="http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/">Gmap Pedometer</a>.<br /><br />It's cool! you can arbitrarily create routes on a map and save them for later. As an example here is the route we'll take to gasworks tommorrow: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1782500<br /><br />The next idea that I am sure exists is a digg-style site where people can bump up or down a user posted route. Then you can find good little routes to spend a day on. Slap on a forum, get some cred in the community and boom! You have a full fledged monetizable site. Though monetizing and cred are at odds with each other.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-54288834827871229262008-04-10T10:22:00.000-07:002008-04-10T11:03:28.235-07:00DulaneMost recently I flung a shiny new road bike over the yawning ledge of my aching emptyness. I've wanted a road bike for eons. And, as per usual, I researched them unrelentingly for months, looked at many, decided I did not need one and then immediately bought one.<br /><br />It was the test ride. I shied from the test ride. I averted my eyes from his penetrating gaze like a blushing bride. For I knew that should I allow myself one ride my fate would be sealed. And I was right.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3C4DjxJ9cuaUzRTEhsnetA8V0hUxz-O1kOPu7cwnx0NNFPIRqFtSVD7fthxsJbtNbM41PZ_XW4D81u6HUfPU8c-rxMyzHeRmHet7VXpLDG62s14WXdcTOE73GXzmh78WWjTKeg/s1600-h/IMG_0080.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3C4DjxJ9cuaUzRTEhsnetA8V0hUxz-O1kOPu7cwnx0NNFPIRqFtSVD7fthxsJbtNbM41PZ_XW4D81u6HUfPU8c-rxMyzHeRmHet7VXpLDG62s14WXdcTOE73GXzmh78WWjTKeg/s320/IMG_0080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187678547871782322" border="0" /></a>You don't ride road bikes. No, nothing so vulgar takes place. You and your bike have a conversation of minds. She knows your needs, you cooed them to her as she explored your mind through the door naked lust left open. You and she, in a state of one-mind, have but the single thought: Go over there.<br /><br />And go you will! My first couple of blocks are lost in a haze of mingled acceleration and exhilaration. The next couple of blocks left me truly afraid of what possibilities had been opened up. The remaining blocks saw a maniacal grin curl underneath tearing eyes.<br /><br />That was the first ride. I rode 3 in the end. The last being Dulane, the bike I had to have the store build since it wasn't on the floor. While riding I heard a sort of high pitched hum coming from the tires on the road.<br /><br />Like good lemon meringue pie, an insatiatable thirst for good movies or voracious readership, singing is a feature that, if found in a woman, I am immediately prepared to propose.<br /><br />My Bike sings to me as we go.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-82286578815407003022008-04-03T10:59:00.000-07:002008-04-03T11:00:23.919-07:00Cinco De MayoI've decided, just moments ago, that I will throw another Cinco De Mayo party. Why?<br /><br /><a href="http://fresh.amazon.com/product?asin=B0012ZYZ5I">This</a> is why.<br /><br />Also, I /really/ want to do a pinata this time.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-9603826940219935812008-04-02T14:17:00.000-07:002008-04-02T14:28:48.458-07:00I'm Not SureDid we ever really need Pastafarianism? It would seem that The Noodley Appendage need not serve as our allegorical beast of burden when we have, in the same world we live in, the CoS.<br /><br />If you were not shaken to question some of your more base assumptions by the ardent believers of Xenu then could an absurdist artifact possibly have a chance? I maintain no. <br /><br />Nothing, no matter how universally far-flung in concept it might be, could ever wrest Xenu from his high throne of insanity. Why? Because he was not conceived of to prove a point. No he has followers without irony. He will one day serve as figure head for a crusade.<br /><br />He is real.<br /><br />It so belittles the hyper-literate detachment the followers of the FSM carry so proudly as to make me wonder, explicitly, if perhaps I should go in for my free personality test.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-4004262902070929612008-03-28T13:00:00.000-07:002008-03-28T13:12:39.467-07:00SnooginsIf you've worked with me you know I am a comment whore.<br /><br />I just put the word "snoogins" after a comment.<br /><br />I can't stop laughing about that.<br /><br />I don't know why.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-3003785009167937382008-03-24T11:13:00.001-07:002008-03-24T11:28:18.822-07:00Strange CeilingI don't know how long this has been happening. On occasional mornings, generally when I wake naturally, I have a moment. This occurs as I slowly regain my consciousness, before I have made my first move of the morning.<br /><br />During this moment I am completely unaware of not only where, but when I am. So before I open my eyes I am given to slowly reconstruct my reality, if you will. It proves difficult to describe.<br /><br />I begin by realizing I don't know my current location in time-space. Before I can begin to deduce it I must clear a few cobwebs of "Do I need to study? Am I late for work?". Essentially every 'what am I sleeping through?' moment of my entire life.<br /><br />Generally those questions are put on the back-burner, unsolved, and I ask myself more deductive questions. "Am I next to Alice? Babs? No one? Are my feet on a wall?<br /><br />Perhaps some aural hinting: Is my mom making breakfast? Do I hear the traffic of china town? Or my sister snoring?<br /><br />I refuse to open my eyes or move until the wave-form as collapsed. As you might imagine I eventually settle on Seattle, 2008 and wake up.<br /><br />I thought it would be pretty damn cool, though, if I were able to do away with deductive reasoning and settle on a different time-place. Then when I wake up the shock of reality would be a neat rush. Imagine being a broke ass college student on the brink of a final only to wake with a fat paycheck, nice place and good job. And a Dog.<br /><br />Taking it further: what if I could get my Kilgore Trout on and spend a day or two in college, or in high school?Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-52922032884189818482008-03-21T14:40:00.000-07:002008-03-21T15:34:52.592-07:00EntendreI bought Rock Band as a Christmas present for my younger brother, Gabriel. From December 25 to January 1st, when I returned to Seattle, we played Rock Band constantly, only breaking for food and basketball. My Sister, with her power-pipes, on mic, Gabriel on the guitar, and me living out my dead fantasy on drums.<br /><br />By the end of that week I had taken my first timid foray into the 'hard' level.<br /><br />Then I bought it for myself last month, on a whim. With a little practice I can now call my self an 'expert' though I do drop into 'hard' when precision is important.<br /><br />Like DDR before it, Rock Band requires things outside my realm of physical possibility. Sometimes you just need to hit the bass drum too quickly for my 1 foot to do it. I've tried many configurations of seating and 'footing' to no avail.<br /><br />Then I remembered this jazz show I went to. Halfway through a marathon drum solo the drummer stopped all drumming except for the bass drum, which sounded like a rapid fire gun going of steadily. In a flourish he wiped his face calmly as this impossibly quick beating took place.<br /><br />Sure...but how? <a href="http://www.musiciansfriend.com/product/Pearl-P122TW-Double-Pedal?sku=448787">This</a> is how.<br /><br />Surely this would be trivial to construct in the world of Rock band. 2 pedals, an oscillator and some solder and bada-boom! Double pedal.<br /><br />I'll be at Fry's.<br /><br /><br />Edit: Of course the internet already has this as a thing:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1WbU6Hk-sxI&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1WbU6Hk-sxI&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-67165518425834914692008-03-20T22:02:00.000-07:002008-03-20T22:15:19.532-07:00Coffee?In a mere 30 minutes of reading/watching her web content I fell in love with <a href="http://www.elizaskinner.net">her</a>. <br /><br />Perhaps I am enchanted due to her beauty? Her wit? Her chosen vocation being my foregone dream?<br /><br />No, I believe it was due to her being very, very far away.<br /><br />See? I'm discovering myself.<br /><br /><br />Sidebar: She mentions her search referrals several times which leads me to believe if I can get people to click that link she might find her way here. So everyone click the link!<br /><br />SideSideBar: If you /are/ her. Hi. I'm sorry I blogged about you inappropriately.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-82884064911317432162008-03-17T12:00:00.000-07:002008-03-17T12:48:57.634-07:00I Think The Bard Said it"This above all else, to thine own self be true."<br /><br />A most noble goal. In reality it serves as the parent scruple from which I derive the many child scruples that comprise my entire....scruple....parentage.<br /><br />Recently, while thinking on this, I boggled at how awesome it would be to share a telepathic link with your significant other. <br /><br />Some semantics are required here. By telepathic link I do not mean to imply some form of active message passing during a game of win, lose or draw. I mean a passive empathy coupled with the ability to carry out unsolicited probes of the other's mind.<br /><br />What I mean to create here is a complete destruction of my ability to hide anything about myself. Because the one who knows your purest form and chooses still to remain is an incredibly valuable person.<br /><br />And lets face it! Every one hides the major part of their selves. In your entire social experience, if you took the sum total of what your friends allowed you to see about themselves you would have maybe 1 or 2 entire people, spread across hundreds.<br /><br />I expressed this sentiment to a few folks and each one, with no exception, blanched in their response. What a terrible idea, this. I wouldn't be able to hide anything!<br /><br />I've always considered my inability to be completely honest about myself as a shortcoming. A reason for shame. It would seem, however, that I am alone in this opinion. The small dataset I have indicates that folks view it not as an inability, but a superpower. A shovel, if you will, with which they have created entrenchments that they intend to protect to the end. Not even the girlfriend, or wife allowed in.<br /><br />I'm sad about that.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-18280379442156052032008-03-11T17:26:00.000-07:002008-03-11T17:27:09.721-07:00ExcerptI Love this Guy:<br /><br />"Ting-Tong," He chuckled, "I've heard many things."<br /> "Yeah? Like what?"<br /> "Ahh, just things, go on in."<br /> Tog turned and hesitantly opened the chamber door. This was a new one to him. If Art-Deco and a Victorian Designer had a love child that child would shit this room. The intricate patterns spewed everywhere were an outright offense to the eyes. He got in and was instantly dizzy.<br /> "Why can't any of these rooms be decorated tastefully?" He muttered to himself.<br /> "Exit To The Right" even though there was only 1 door. Tog opened it and stepped out to the Durazno collection.<br /> "Who the fuck are you? Do you fuckers need to send someone different every god damned time? Ah well, welcome to Durazno." It was said through a cigarette being lit. Ting-Tong was wearing old black jeans an a black tank top. From what Tog could see the man liked his tattoos. He wore a meticulously cultivated five o'clock shadow and no hair otherwise. The man looked like a rebel gone to pasture. Tog was surprised by his lack of sycophany.<br /> "Ting-Tong I presume?"<br /> "Say the name and god-damned if you don't get the man. You smoke fucker? I got these sticks from a guy I know in Eurasia. Fucking delicious. I'd give up mediocre pussy at least once a day for a pack of these." He offered Tog a cigarette, who declined with a wave. "Your loss man, offer stands."<br /> "Thanks" Tog was warming to this guy.<br /> "So you're here about a our shitbrick. Business as usual dude, the eggheads tell me I got fucking 55% to offer this time 'round. Ain't no bad shakes," he paused to remove the bouncing cigarette from his lips and exhale a puff of smoke that actually did smell pretty delicious, "You oughta pay out your fucking nose for that, but whatever keeps us running, y'know what I mean?"<br /> He didn't. "I'll need to scan it.."<br /> "Hell yeah, fuckers like me lie like a cheap rug. Mi casa and all that, fap where you want just clean up after. Follow me to the shitbrick." He left out a door and Tog followed him down a small path to the ruck. "Scan away dude, when you're done I gots some ladies coming in, y'know. They do this thing with a basket and spinning, if it don't make you bust your dick's broke. I could call up a couple more, probably get a discou..."<br /> "Thanks, but no" Tog interrupted with a chuckle, "busy day."<br /> "'nother day 'nother dollar, fuck if I don't know it man. If you get some off time you let me know and I'll get you every disease south america has to offer" He lit another cigarette.<br /> Tog took a moment to scan the ruck. 52 percent, Ting-Tong's eggheads were right. Tog figured he would send some slag Ting-Tong's way, he liked him and this was a very decent load.<br /> "Looks good doesn't it? Goddammnit I love this job," He spread is arms as if to embrace the giant block of ruck, "People send me their shit and I sell it. Fucking, I ain't a reading man, but there's got to be some sort of profound irony there or some shit."<br /> "It looks good, yeah. You want some slag?"<br /> "Fuck yes I want some slag. These cigarettes'll only go so far, am I right? Toss whatever shit you can my way and I'll find some use for it." He grinned and slowly brought his cigarette toward his mouth.<br /> "Great, I'll get you something."<br /> "Fuckin' A, pleasure doing business man, now leave or stay but I plan on getting down to business doing pleasure." He laughed deeply.<br /> "Have your man send it to Kansas, we're full-up in Persia."<br /> "No shit? You weren't fucking kidding busy day. And just so you know my tech is a broad, huge tits and the prudence of a turnstile. Say the word and I'll hook your ass up, she likes power, catch me?"<br /> "One day, Ting-Tong" Tog really liked him.<br /> ..end meetting ting-tong. I fucking /love/ ting-tongAlfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-91799067126592800832008-03-11T16:55:00.001-07:002008-03-11T16:55:45.770-07:00From Will's BlogMeme: "Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other." (Of course, I'm sure they meant to say "repost in your own journal <i>if you like</i>.")Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-50472809887196167632008-03-05T10:30:00.001-08:002008-03-05T10:56:41.231-08:00BioShockI finally found my way to the end of "Bioshock".<br /><br />I don't feel that my actions during the course of this narrative truly justify the 'evil' ending. I 'harvested' some girls, I did. And while that is, in all practicality, a way of saying I killed them for my personal gain I feel there are mitigating circumstances.<br /><br />You see, the little girls are protected by a...thing.. called a "Big Daddy". Tennessee Williams never created a character more suited to the name. Early in the game I had to take on one of these metal-clad behemoths with a /wrench/. No, not a magic wrench imbued with runic power by the Druids of the Under Keep. Just a wrench I found on the floor.<br /><br />While I ineffectually raged against this angered colossus of destruction this 'little girl', who, by the way, I had /just/ seen sucking some essence out of a dying man, this demon with an angel's face was cheering on the Big Daddy. I feel that it was at her behest that her pet monster patted me around the room like a cat's squeak toy.<br /><br />Given all that you can imagine that the adrenaline was running a bit high when I finally managed to fell this beast. Who wouldn't greedily destroy the helpless demon at that point? I defy you to withstand that temptation.<br /><br />And I only lost control 1 or 2 times. Out of the 25 or so little girls I saved did the 2 I ripped apart for my own gain really make a huge difference?<br /><br />I feel that I should have gotten the good ending.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-53500795982495019072008-02-27T11:41:00.000-08:002008-02-27T11:45:06.150-08:00Diabetes UpdateI don't have it. In fact given the acceptable range of glucose levels in blood, 70-99, my level of 82 is almost exactly mid-range. I've never been so satisfied with my mediocrity. *Glee*Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-43518022139133524922008-02-19T10:32:00.001-08:002008-02-19T10:33:07.826-08:00I Guess I Own A Car NowI paid off the honda yesterday. Woo.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-56997590787134685122008-02-13T10:22:00.001-08:002008-02-13T12:20:36.101-08:00Everything You DoHas anyone else seen this 'Profile Watcher' app on Facebook? While it is the first Facebook app whose primary purpose is not stark delineation of its own uselessness I must decry it's conception. I am utterly paralyzed, frozen between adversarial gales. The northernly being my overwhelming desire to internet stalk people and the southernly being my equally overwhelming desire not to be known as a stalker to those whom I stalk.<br /><br />Its a natural enough paradox. Since I take meticulous notes of your comings and goings to keep reverently in the leather-bound tome under my closet shrine constructed entirely of your left toenail clippings it would be natural to assume I'd like you to think highly of me.<br /><br />Practically, what has happened here is the wholesale banishment of Facebook profile visiting. I am saddened.<br /><br />Please, I would consider it a personal favor if you would update your status more so I can still, indirectly, stalk you.<br /><br />--UPDATE--<br />I added Profile Watcher. It's a Ruse! There is no profile watcher, only a picture of Ponch from CHiPs looking at you with lust in his eyes.<br /><br />Awesome Prank! I approve wholeheartedly.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-67035593092936150592008-01-25T17:36:00.000-08:002008-01-25T17:41:14.301-08:00Hearts of the Sons the the FathersThe place in my heart where my origins lie increases in size with my age. Despite the endless stream of jokes I make to the contrary I hold in high esteem my "people". I won't bother defining who they are, but suffice to say <a href="http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/localnews/columnists/molivera/stories/DN-olivera_22met.ART.North.Edition1.37aa7b6.html">this article</a> gave me warm fuzzies. My family is from Rio Grande City, and I was born there. It's gotten a lot better, but the area is still remarkably impoverished.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-5875214190399959592008-01-24T14:19:00.000-08:002008-01-24T14:25:45.278-08:00Gender Genie...is not just an oddly specialized magical creature. It's a site that can, given some text, determine the gender of the author.<br /><br />On a whim I gave it the contents of my book. Turns out I am male. I was very pleased with the result.<br /><br />On another whim I gave it the text to all my spam mails, most of which involve Penis' in some way. Be they entering a permissive young lady or confused young man, or typically flaccid or unrelentingly large, Penis' serve as protagonists in most of my spam.<br /><br />However, according to the Gender Genie the 1200 words I gave it from my spam are, in no uncertain terms, Feminine!<br /><br />I'm not sure what that means....Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-47934416905762092112008-01-22T15:21:00.000-08:002008-01-23T09:48:03.770-08:00Title.I hate cable. I hate cable much in the way one hates the beautiful, emotionally abusive freak-in-the-sack you can't bring yourself to detach from because with her you experience the most intense physical pleasure* of your life.<br /><br />Last night our power went out. Actually the power in the entire international district chose to provide evidence to Fate's racism.<br /><br />Mere minutes. Mere minutes without our televisions and the building in it's entirety was walking around and chatting with previously unknown neighbors. It was a most pleasant black out. Out in the courtyard gazebo several of us gathered in the dim sphere of my lantern. When the cold proved too much we wound up under an emergency light in the stairwell with several other neighbors. I even found time to meet, fall in love with, and subsequently grow to loathe an entirely new woman. In the televisioned world that took me nearly 2 years!<br /><br />The mind boggles at the immediacy of the effect. It's as if the power was a rope from which we hung, nothing but open air between us and the snapping maw of sociability below. When the power went out that rope snapped. And let there be no shred of doubt; television was a major fiber in that rope.<br /><br /><br />*I feel it is important to underscore the rhetoric nature of the 'pleasure' I draw from watching tv. Merely in the world of poorly constructed metaphors is there any sort of 'intense physical pleasure' to be had.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-16550999838453377732008-01-07T14:41:00.000-08:002008-01-08T13:47:25.117-08:00Next Weekend?In the past I have taken great pains and incurred considerable cost to enjoy the privilege of strapping planks to and hurling my body towards the nearest jut of rock that lies downhill. Whether I was originally drawn toward the sport as a means of maximizing the odds I achieve the 'splits' in an unsolicited manner or some other facet was more appealing I do not know. What I do know is that maintaining my balance on those damn skis proved more difficult than nailing jello to a wall.<br /><br />It would seem that immediately after developing a comfort on skis that deeply held part of my psyche that screams for death arrested control of my consciousness just long enough to strap both my feet into a single plank.<br /><br />It would be dishonest to complain. I can't help but love any activity that punishes failure with a thorough and unrelenting pain. The aches and bruises and chipped teeth function as badges of honor, as penance happily paid for the thrill of achievement.<br /><br />But I am dishonest: Snowboarding did things to my body. Horrible things. Things I wouldn't enjoy even in a sexual context. In this sport's creator you'll find a viscous dark so pure it would sear your retinas blind.<br /><br />This morning I could have liked nothing more than to stand neck-deep in a tub of Bengay.<br /><br />So now I am hopped up on Aleve and smothered in a 2 inch layer of icy hot. And coding =-D.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-37649775667179876002008-01-07T10:52:00.000-08:002008-01-07T10:53:51.266-08:00Close To Homexkcd cuts a little close to the bone sometimes.... <a href="http://xkcd.com/367/">example</a><br /><br />Ok..all the time.Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-42674479622403424382007-12-30T15:25:00.000-08:002007-12-30T17:01:10.431-08:00Go DaddyHas anyone else noticed that when you type Go Daddy's address into your favorite browser, you are also typing "God Addy"?<br /><br />I'll bet I could numerology this into a conspiracy theory.<br /><br />*Fun*<br /><br />-AlfonsoAlfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10903621.post-87060012060264176562007-12-29T11:51:00.001-08:002007-12-29T12:13:08.960-08:00Por Primera VezMany many seasons ago, when my grandmother was not more than perhaps a fond figment of imagination my great grandmother, Consuelo De La Garza*, wrote a song. Perhaps she was in the throes of first love or honoring her already steady marriage; perhaps she wrote it for another man. Either way I've seen pictures, she was slammin'.<br /><br />This was somewhere around 1910.<br /><br />When she wrote the song she didn't write it down, she just played it, at the same time impressive and terribly annoying to her progeny. She taught it to my Grandmother, who taught it to my father and his brothers and sisters, and even taught it to my mother. A cherished moment of acceptance to the, very large, family.<br /><br />I only heard the author of the song play it once, and I was very busy filling my diaper and didn't take the time to appreciate it. Still I heard it played many times including weddings, funerals, and sometimes just in the morning when my mom decided to play it. I think Crystal actually heard it at a family reunion.<br /><br />At one point Tia Linda, who has been mentioned here several times, sat down to transcribe the damnable song. The result was a noble effort but the sheet music we got our hands on bore only a passing resemblance to the song.<br /><br />Cut to today, perhaps 15 years later and you'll find my sister, Monica, standing in her pink pajama's in front of my father's printer watching the newly transcribed 'Por Primera Vez'. We even piped the music she generated through a Midi reader, and I can say, without fear of correction, that 'Por Primera Vez' is now very closely approximated on paper, well into it's fifth generation. YAY!<br /><br />Now I'm working on getting together an mp3 of it that I'll use as the theme to my upcoming hit movie.<br /><br />*Funny Note: Consuelo De La Garza, my great grandmother, married someone else named De La Garza, who passed away before she married Gregorio Garza, the great grandfather I knew very well. So technically you could refer to my great grandmother as "Consuelo De La Garza De La Garza Garza"Alfonso Lopezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04424493667582372588noreply@blogger.com0