Mr. Subconscious Writes...

What to Build On: Practice the Armlocks

2011-06-01T14:14:00.005-04:00

Lets keep this simple, stick with the Americana, Kimura, and Armbar armlocks. Thing is, you know how to do them on their own but you don't know how to piece them together to form that bridge. If Jiu Jitsu is a physical language, then all you know are words. Know your grammar and know how to form them into sentences. Know how to see beyond one technique.

You're on cross side, knees tight, body low, your arm lodged against his throat. You see his arm in front of your face and you try to go for a kimura. You must capitalize the moment he shifts his body to defend your kimura technique, and when he does, he'll most likely bring his other arm in front of him to hold onto his arm. If he does, go for that arm and attempt an armbar. If he rolls out, either stay with him in an armbar or attempt an omoplata if possible.

If you're on your back and in control, keep going for techniques. The moment you feel your control is in jeopardy, scramble to your knees/feet or scramble to take him down. Always have a plan.

YouTube - BJJ: White to Black- A Shift In Perspective

2010-09-07T02:30:00.004-04:00

I'm going to miss you, man. Have a good one in LA. I'll be seeing you soon.

Tak

2010-09-01T10:59:00.002-04:00

NYC Quote of The Day: I can feel the sweat drop running down into my ass crack. - Man at bus stop.

high of 96 today...

=/

2010-08-15T16:59:00.001-04:00

NYC Quote of the day: "STOP CALLING ME, C*CKSUCKER!" - 70 year-old Polski man in Greenpoint on his cell fone. Phone kept ringing afterward.

2010-07-28T23:46:00.002-04:00

i hate losing...

i just hate it... if only i could express how deep my heart sank tonight..

.. i was hoping for the day to hold her in my arms, to cover her with kisses, to sing her to sleep, to smile when she shines and to listen when she dulls... i wanted to be the one to bring her hope, happiness, and love....

... i'm happy that she is with someone who has proven himself worthy... since he's alwys been there for her..

.. but yet again, as history repeats itself, i come away with only a broken heart, buckets of tears, and where her heart should be within my palms, you will find lint and cobwebs ...

.. i hate having to be the one on the losing end.. and to note, i lost out to a military guy again.... goddamnit. this makes me angry at myself for some reason. and to fate and to god.

i'm going to try to sleep, and pretend that there's something at the end of this story that's damn well worth seeing... so long reality; here's to hoping that my subconscious will have a better movie for me to watch..

2010-07-24T00:13:00.002-04:00

*long sigh*

A heart that sighs has not what it desires.

I Miss This Part of LA...

2010-04-23T11:40:00.001-04:00

[edit] This embedding crops the video for some reason. I suggest you catch it on YouTube.

2010-03-25T02:32:00.003-04:00

2010-03-17T10:08:00.001-04:00

NYC Quote of the Day (3/16/2010): "I would tear myself apart, if I were her. Like really. Animal, man, animal." - Semi-tipsy White Collar Alpha Male referring to a "Hot Bitch"

2010-03-13T10:29:00.002-05:00

Avec un souffleur dans chaque rentrées de chuchotement de fenêtre de cave, les gens timides auraient le dernier rire.

With a prompter in every cellar window whispering comebacks, shy people would have the last laugh.

Marchie

2010-03-06T09:12:00.001-05:00

Today is looking special...

The Sandpit

2010-03-01T09:38:00.004-05:00

I don't think I've ever seen my own city through such a towering scope. Makes you think about the frailty and smallness of this world when we're in such a big place. Absolutely stunning.

The Sandpit from Sam O'Hare on Vimeo.

NYC Quote of the Day

2010-02-28T10:26:00.000-05:00

"Men arent life! Men arent interesting; there are other more intersting things in life!" - Seemingly bitter, SINGLE, Woman on fone

2/25/2010

2010-02-25T13:48:00.006-05:00

Hmmmm, bodyboarding season is coming soon (yeah i know, it's snowing like hell right now) Not sure what kind of board to get for myself this late spring/summer.

here's a short video of Marina Taylor from Spain's Genesis Bodyboards.

I think I'd like to have that yellow Raul Reguera Genesis crescent board...

Hmmm

2009-10-29T11:32:00.001-04:00

Can't wait for Halloween. Costume is almost finally together. So excited!

you're so it

2009-10-20T22:13:00.007-04:00

Stocky. L e g g y.

Yummy. S e x y. Funny.

Smoky. Tasty.

Goofy. C u r v y. Slinky.

Silky. K i n k y. Witty.

J u i c y.

Jazzy. C u r l y.

Beefy. Dusky. S p i c y.

Mushy. L o v e l y.

i <3 u

The Confession -- Film Set Photos

2009-08-18T10:31:00.006-04:00

A New Jersey shoot for my friend's film, The Confession.

Homeless Man

2009-07-11T23:27:00.011-04:00

Just sneakily shot this 5 second vid of a homeless man taking a break from his daily grind. After lugging the bags and cart, he quietly sits near the fire hydrant and rests for a moment.

Right after i stop filming, he gets up, throws a milk carton into the garbage can on the corner, and leaves with his luggage.

it's a bit sad in a way, but for some reason i feel that he's found some sort of solace in this moment alone. i'm sure in the back of his mind he doesn't want to be in the state that he's in now but in this moment he has taken a step back, away from the cans that remind him of who he is, and is just one with the city; probably happy to be alive and knowing full well that he'd rather struggle to live on his feet than to give up and whither away in an alley.

i see that this man has a perspective. Even with the city continuously toppling over him, he has a perspective and the will to move on. True soul.

2009-06-28T20:58:00.002-04:00

Had some amazing yakitori at the never-disappointing Oh! Taisho! on St. Mark. Tried to convince Kohei to have a bit of the takoyaki but he wouldn't have it. No one even wanted to try the chicken hearts. I asked but all I got were worried looks and 'no thanks.'

Kohei and I can't seem to stop reading each other's minds. It's weird. What if those 'moments' happen during very dramatic moments in our lives? Like, I wouldn't want him to know my worse "Number 2" days -- get my drift?

Well anyway, the waitress was cute, as always.

No Reason Why..

2009-06-17T18:27:00.002-04:00

I can't get this chick Kaela Kimura out of my head. She's a cute Japanese hapa singer who has a very

sweet voice and a great sense of style and spark.

This song reminds me of someone, so I'm posting it just for the hell of it to get it off my chest.

Here are the lyrics:

"There's no reason why

Don't try to work it out
Cos you won't work it out
There's no reason why
Life kicks you when you're down,
it's just the way it is sometimes

He's in the day room sits by the window
trying to picture how she smiled
He's going over the ways he loved her
she made everything worthwhile
And there's no explanation no one left to blame
He asks a thousand questions
but the answer's still the same

He talks about her and drinks without her,
holding on to what has gone
He can't understand it,
the way it ended he can't go back and can't move on
Cos there's no explanation no one left to blame
He asks a thousand questions
but the answer's still the same

Nobody knows you can't explain, give it away..."

Conscience on His Shoulders

2009-03-20T10:21:00.002-04:00

It was a cold and rainy Friday morning and I had just gotten off the bus where it had been cramped with disgruntled passengers, spitting out swear words in their whispers to unsuspecting patrons. With all the rain, snow and dark clouds over our heads, New Yorkers were feeling that very "lovely" tension in the midst of each other's presence. You could feel the steam rise from the heads of those you squeezed through before shooting back a menacing glare at you for carrying a full duffel bag.. and i was.. and for having the nerve to brush your arms against theirs as you slid through the long and humid bus. That's the worse by the way--when there's no AC. People become agitated; they become feral; anything that comes near their path, they'll acknowledge you just like any other piece of garbage left abandoned on the road and if you give them a reason, they will pick a fight.

Doesn't help that it's also Friday and it's shit weather out.

I sat my duffel bag down on the sidewalk, trying to put on my backpack, beside the rushing of pedestrians. Practically standing inches before the road, I was afraid of some looney cab to hit-n-run me but I quickly paid no attention to my surroundings when I reminded myself I had to call my cousin.

Sometimes this city makes me crazy. The people in this town has full affect on you; how you eat, how you think, how you react to things around you. It's probably one of the only cities in this country where being an asshole is practically a god-given right. Immorality, apathy and fear linger not just in the darkest of corners but also in dead sight on the streets.

They don't give change to the homeless, they gawk at schoolgirls' skirts, they give you a look and think to themselves whether or not it's worth it to take your innocence; this city, like almost any other, is dirty beyond dirty and to find someone who can walk through this mess with the cleanest of clean conscience is a rare find.

But after getting annoyed with the way a mother was talking down to her cranky toddler son, I couldn't help but think for moment, "what the fuck is this world turning into?" In my mind, in those few seconds, I rush past memories of my hatred toward the world and its inhabitants; I rushed past the thoughts of changing the world in the flick of a switch, the yearn to see no more immorality in this world and for the world to finally get the answer its been looking for. I was ready to burst out in anger, wanting to rid the streets whatever it was that was bothering me. If we're not getting an answer soon, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands. But in the instant of me reaching for the mantle, I noticed a person who may have been a sign.

He wore a dull green military-style jacket, buttoned and zipped to the very end; wore dark denims, a brown beret and aviator sunglasses and he emerged gracefully and with patience from the frantic souls around us. His posture was upright and at ease; his movement, without haste and his hands, behind his back holding at the wrist. He walked through the people without being touched and avoided eye contact, yet his mannerism seemed observant, surveying the world that he also has a connection to just as I.

But the most interesting little detail on him wasn't the jacket or the odd use of shades on a very cloudy morning or his calm expression, it was the brown leather gloves rested on his shoulders tucked neatly under the jacket's shoulder loops with the fingers pointing forward. It seemed as if some bigger-than-life entity was behind him, physically guiding the mute man through our world unseen, yet the only evidence of any such being would have been the hands rested on the man's shoulders. It was then that I thought the man was some sort of... angel. Some sort of clue to a possible answer to my soul's endeavoring questions.

Where could this man have come from? What has he seen? Who do those hands on his shoulders belong to?

I tried to avoid his presence by paying attention to a continuous ringing on my cell phone. The voicemail started but I stayed on and peeked around the bend of my frames at the man being guided by an entity. It was weird. He left not a trace, not one sound from his heavy brown boots, nor a scent of cologne. Nothing. He was merely a man guided by his conscience surveying the world just as I.

On the corner I looked behind me to catch a last glimpse of this mysterious fellow from the abyss and he was gone.

weird, huh?

Francisco's Beauty Bar B-Day Bonanza!@

2009-02-01T16:20:00.006-05:00

Last night, a ton of us kiddies went out to celebrate Francisco's 23rd at the awesome Beauty Bar down on 14th and 2nd.

It was a thrilling and exciting night filled with a great crowd, many drinks, some drama, a bday boy rippin' the dance floor and of course, great tunes. Will never forget the high octane energy that ensued during the Cure's "Friday I'm in Love." Absolutely brilliant.

Fate's a Funny Thing...

2009-01-17T20:35:00.004-05:00

I sat quietly on the lonely seat on the bus on my return home from a long and tiresome day with people; people who ran around in spirited acting exercises, ad-libbing funny lines and improving stomach churning awkward moments with each other. Being a member of the technical crew, I sat without utter and simply observed. However, the hours that went by of just spectating truly left me feeling faded with exhaust.

Which left me to how I came to be on the bus with a dash of melancholy in the air. Since it wasn't really a time for me to speak or to acknowledge the group session earlier, I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't being noticed. But it's alright. They were grooving to their work in preparation for the next day's shoot, so I didn't feel to bother. Yet still, no one had spoken to me or had looked me in the eye for most of the time and I felt alone by it.

My mind was constantly rewinding to certain parts of my day spent with the actors, my cousin, y uncle, and then would fast forward to my cerebral 'to do' list in the hopes of reminding myself of the unfinished tasks still at hand for the night. I kept doing this all throughout the long bus ride. At times, however, my thoughts would be overwhelmed by the childish banter between a young boy and his older sister about which of their favorite popcorn flavors were the best in the world. Sometimes my eye would catch the older asian woman white man couple sitting somewhat across from me--the woman always catching my short glimpses. Not that she was a 'dish' or anything but something about her timeless face that got my attention. What do I mean with, 'timeless?' Well maybe it had to do something with her glowing spirit that would emerge through her eyes. I dunno. I would continuously look away and then back at her in the hopes of getting a good glance without her noticing. I would do this for about seven stops.

When the bus came to a stop, I noticed a very familiar hat on the head of a girl whom I'd always see around my building. While her looks don't scream in high decibels, her beauty is of a quiet, hidden kind of gem. The dark curls would obscure her slender neck from any man's view. Her amber eyes were always hard to see because of the level of shyness in them. They would always find a spot on the floor on the bus or on the ground ahead of her as she walked. Her voice, however, is of a mystery still. Not once have I heard her utter a word--not the time she held the elevator door for me years ago, nor the time when I let her skip ahead of me in the grocery store, nor the time when I'd say hello to her and her mother when I'd see them exiting the building on my way in. And that's another thing... she's always with her mother.

I don't necessarily feel that we may share some unspoken connection between one another because of our relation in proximity or the coincidences of when she'd always appear when my heart would sigh, but I can never shake off the attraction toward mystery. The wonder that comes to my mind just aches me in the gut, wanting to know the soul behind those honeyed irises or the warmth that courses through the touch of her gentle hand. I always wonder but can never find out. I love the mystery in this woman but I feel the urge to just break the wall down. The struggle is just the very philosophy of the ideal woman personified through my own desires, I suppose. I wouldn't want to attain the glory if the journey is what I'm after.

I was the last off the bus, as always.

"Thank you. Have a good night." I always so-kindly say to the driver as I make my first descent off the step.

Even though I say this, I'm usually thoughtful enough to listen for a reply from the driver but tonight, with my eyes dead set on this girl, I cared not to listen. There might have been a low grumble of some sort from the elder man but I paid no attention.

She was with her mother, as usual and walking just within arms reach ahead of me. She was talking to her mother but god damn it, the FDR was just way too noisy to make out the sound of her voice. I tried quickening my pace around them but I noticed my shadow thrown on the wall ahead of me by the bright headlights of a speedy taxi cab. I jumped back behind the girl and her mother from avoiding a dangerously close taxi but I quickly recomposed myself and went back to walking passed them--but they were silent.

In the struck of Zeus's thunderbolt, as I was fast approaching the escalator, I thought to take the escalator up to the plaza deck to enter my building through the main lobby instead of through the street level. In doing so, I would perhaps catch an elevator from the lobby if the girl would happen to catch the same elevator first from the street level. I know what you're thinking--why not just go straight toward the street level entrance instead of taking the chance of being separated? The truth is, well, I wanted to test fate. I wanted to see if fate would bring us back together inside that elevator car. I wanted to feel, in this odd and sometimes lonesome world, that perhaps me and this mystery woman had more in connection than just the building we live in. I wanted to believe, for the first time in my life, that fate would be on my side and that my heart's aching would be answered in the form of just a simple and innocent presence beside me in the elevator.

I quickly turned and sprung onto the escalator step, watching the mystery girl and her mother pass me as they walk toward the street level entrance to my building. As I hopped off the escalator and hastened toward my building, I couldn't help but remind myself of a scene from A Very Long Engagement where Mathilde ran after a cab, hoping to catch a last glimpse of her beloved Manech as he rode off to fight in the war, never knowing if they'd see each other again. If you recall, Mathilde ran from her house, despite a limp, and through a wild field of wheat repeating the mantra under her rapid breath, "If I get to the curve before the cab, Manech will come back alive..." All this while Angelo Badalamenti's moving score roars through Mathilde's physical endeavor in this game of fate. Her breath quickens and the field grows wilder, seemingly with the only purpose in life to stop Mathilde from running ahead of fate, as she steadily approached the dirt curb around the mountain side. She finally passes a large rock and stops by the road, out of breath, sweating, and awaiting....

I wait by the elevators in the building lobby. The bag over my shoulder grows heavier and my cheeks burn from the blistering cold. I look around at the elevators, which were all in motion. A door opens behind me--Ah! Wrong car, I think to myself, knowing full well that this car doesn't go to the street level so there'd be no chance of seeing her. A delivery boy exits and looks at me for a quick moment then searches the hallway, seemingly in loss of the exit sign which shined in bright red above the corner. I hop in, half-accepting the loss and feeling that fate had won against me. But then my inhibitions disappear from the overzealous feeling of hope. I quickly hit a random button and step back into the hallway. The elevator door shuts and zooms upward. I hit the pad once again in the hopes of catching an elevator from the street level. I look to my right, Yes!, I exclaimed to myself. The meter read "A" followed by an arrow pointing upward, which meant it was coming from the street level and there are only two elevators in my building that are able to. But then the second elevator read the same thing. I now had to choose between two elevators if they were to stop on the lobby floor, but which ever she'd be in, I'd definitely choose to enter hers. I felt that fate had given me a rare opportunity to finally win on my side. I had felt that having this choice was going to promise me a slightly different edge over fate. I truly felt that I had won, then and there.

The first elevator ran passed the lobby. My heart's grip missed a crevice in the mountain and slipped but still hung on ever so tightly, not willing to die. I turn to look at the approaching second elevator coming from the street level. It stops on the lobby. I peer through the door's plexiglass and into the elevator to sneak a peek of the girl inside, standing where I had hoped to see her; to feel the air of mysticism that clouds the true nature of her being. I saw myself beside her, already, feeling our connection thicken and our unspoken love finally acknowledged. I crept back a bit, in case someone would come running out. The door opened.

... As Mathilde awaited, the sounds of the seagulls echoed from beyond the shores below the mountainside. The winds blew softly, causing the empty air to sound like the hollowness that grew inside Mathilde's heart. As her hope began to dwindle like the sun behind the cloud, an engine was heard. Mathilde turned to peer around the bend as the engine came closer. A car! A seemingly same make and model of the car Manech took to ride off to war. Mathilde's heart grew happily, not even able to see Manech--just the car itself had re-patched the torn seams that held together the pieces to her sighing heart. But just as the car came rolling passed her, another man sat in the seat of the driver's chair and no one else was present in the car with him. Different driver, different cab... no Manech. Mathilde grew silent, too still to move from the eerie sounds of loss and sadness amongst the chirping of seagulls and peaceful winds.

There I stood, before an empty elevator--one that has dirt stains around the punctured holes in the cold metallic elevator walls where a rail was once attached. The light from the ceiling flickered slightly when the door closed behind me. I pressed the button to my floor with much force behind it. Another loss, I think to myself. Another day for my heart to sigh even deeper. I lean on the wall where the railing once was and counted the floors that passed, like counting the days and number of times I missed the opportunities in my life and the ones that got away.

Hey... at least I'm an optimist. There's always another day to find a bigger fish, no?

Go watch A Very Long Engagement. I order you.

Seeing the Golden Stone

2009-01-14T17:51:00.005-05:00

Something has built up inside of me, or rather, a door has opened that has been ever present within the swirling world of beliefs and personal goals.

No room for doubt, for it will slow your feet and hinder your spirit.

It'll be a rocky road at it's calmest, like a furious ocean, but come the end there will be grass and wheat to replace the lifeless dirt road beneath my feet.

Time to turn that clock forward now from the starting hour. There must be progression. There must be a drive.

Quick! Catch up with your present! You're dragging away like the receding shores.

Prepare to face the snarling beast standing in the way of your golden stone.

No room for doubt.

Coming face to face with the dragon, you don't unsheathe the sword half-minded; you pull the sword out with full deliberateness.

You see your stone; now kneel forward and make like an arrow.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World In Here

2009-01-12T13:08:00.007-05:00

I’m getting mad, frustrated.

Seems like nothing’s going my way.

But i pray that sooner or later i’ll see that sun rise again.

No one answers,

No one checks.

No one asks.

this all makes me feel like a ghost in this world of lost minds

i touch but it doesn’t feel me.

I talk but it doesn’t hear me.

I look but it doesn’t see me.

What’s going on?

Am I not talking loud enough?

Is my voice drowned out by the clouds around our heads?

I’m getting mad, frustrated.

I feel i can’t reach out--

reach out in the way that gets me a return kiss.

I don’t know.

I guess my mask keeps turning peeps around.

It’s not up to me anymore.

My belief in life lies with fate from above AND below.

What frustrates me is believing that i’m not in control of my own life.

So I'm torn--

that it’s written somewhere,

told to someone,

but who? I'll never know.

Can't help but feel lost.

I don’t know my ending but someone

somewhere

in someplace

knows more about me than i know myself.

It’s getting me mad that i can’t find that peace.

Taking all these years for that someone to come

but in my head, i remind myself

‘it ain’t up to me.

You’ve got to let IT come to you.’

What next, then, huh?

If i am responsible for my life,

then it is ME who is fate,

not the unseen,

ever-knowing,

all powerful.

He’s too busy worrying about the world.

I’m getting mad, frustrated.

Life’s all about finding answers

but i sit here feeling like i’ll never come around to it.

Clock’s ticking away,

yet i’m still on the second hour from the start.

Time to make use of it all.

Time to open up my eyes.

Time to make this change from within.

If i’m getting mad at anything

it’s because i’m mad at myself.

Lose the anger,

make your stride,

find the peace.

Connection with A Nation -- Through Baseball

2008-12-18T12:00:00.007-05:00

by Takeru V. Maeda

The sites and sounds were awfully familiar; kids, grown ups, old people -- all fans of the game, seen ﬂocking to their seats with eagerness and excitement. I was only in Tokyo for a few days before we all went out for the ball game. In those few days spent touring the city, I started feeling somewhat in tune with my fatherʼs heritage but hadnʼt quite made a connection. I wasnʼt raised Japanese so I hadnʼt a clue about the culture except through some of its entertainment programs, movies, food, and some language which are some things that help you know the culture but donʼt quite help you with understanding it. After the ﬁrst couple of exciting innings after hearing the sound of the wooden bat connecting with the ball, I felt at ease and because of that, for the ﬁrst time on the trip, I made a deep connection with my own culture.

Understandably, I felt like an outsider throughout most of the trip whether I was dining at a restaurant, eating the same food as everyone else or whether I was just checking out cdʼs at the music shop. Either way, I was within a world where I didnʼt have a stable stance; where I didn't have a full grasp of customs and mentality. I was without conﬁdence even amongst the people whom I felt were similar to me, in a way; yet, my lonesome wanderings around the city reminded me of how much I wasnʼt connected with these people -- that is, until baseball came along.

Since we arrived early I had a while to reﬂect on a few things about myself and my surroundings. I remember feeling the uncontrollable enthusiasm for the game -- wanting to experience Japanese baseball since I had never watched a game in my life prior to this event. I thought about the fellow fan next to me, who mustʼve seen the gaijin (foreigner) look all over my face and clothes. His eyes would wander back and forth at times whenever heʼd hear my English when speaking with my brother. With all these clouding thoughts and insecurities, I thought I was just going to sit silent and endure a three-hour long game with reserved fans and receive constant staring from those around me. I soon felt the feeling of making a mistake by coming to the game. Boy was I wrong.

From the moment the Giants took the ﬁeld, the crowd took to their feet and cheered wildly, waving their ﬂags, beating their plastic tubes -- total hysteria. From that moment on my inhibitions and self-doubts subsided and was overwhelmed by the swelling feeling of excitement for the game. I roared and cheered loud and proud for the Giants amongst the fans, and for the ﬁrst time, I felt like I wasnʼt an outsider.

There was even a moment down by the concession stands where I felt like I was at home. The menu was obviously different from the pretzels and peanuts Iʼm so used to seeing back at Shea Stadium but nonetheless, I was very familiar with most of the food that they served and so, ordering wasnʼt exactly a concern nor was it a concern for enjoying it in my seat next to that nosey boy.

Since then, Japan and its people felt closer to my heart. This connection that I made, through baseball, showed me that almost anyone can connect with a culture through the context of sports. Sure, there are alternatives in engaging a nationʼs heritage and its customs but this is a much easier way, I feel, especially for someone who carries the blood but feels withdrawn. Sports, in general, brings people together in the masses -- so why not apply this to a way of learning?

*Note from the author - This blog post was written for The Chameleon blog site -- a branch site of Blendsphere for whom I write for. Please click the links and explore the multicultural/multi-ethnic community.

Song of the Month

2008-11-08T21:23:00.005-05:00

[edit] I just finished watching This Is England and came to a surprise when the film had a cover of this songs at the very end of the film. This just after I wrote this entry! I love things like that.

Just watched the last of the Extras - Christmas Special and I was truly touched by so many scenes. One scene that i really enjoyed was when Maggie left Andy at the Ivy and sat in her car in the lot. The Smiths' Please, PLease, Please Let Me Get What I Want cues brilliantly with this scene and i just had to listen to it. So here it is...

The Smiths - Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

Good times for a change
See, the luck Ive had
Can make a good man
Turn bad

So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

Havent had a dream in a long time
See, the life Ive had
Can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time

Back to the Future for My Ancestral Fathers

2008-10-29T21:48:00.016-04:00

Have you ever seriously thought about what it might be like if you were to go back in time and meet not only your father, at the exact same age as you are now, but your grandfather, and hisfather, and his father, and so on? All grouped together in a room set in some sort of timeless zone, placed anywhere in the world of your choosing? What would you all do?

If that's a little too much to think about, then lets settle for the one man we all knew (or for some, never knew) too well in our lives - the one who put the rules down, who whipped us guys into shape, our out of shape; who told us what not to do and what to do at any given moment, the man who taught us sports, how to fish, how to talk to women... the birds and the bees? Well, that story wasn't told by my father, sadly. That would've been way too funny to sit and listen to seriously.

If you've never thought about it, then what the hell? THINK, man. Fathom. Imagine. Just take a couple of minutes and conjure up the kind of weirdness it would be at first but the possibility of perhaps, being bitter rivals for the same girl. Or maybe teammates on the school's baseball team? Maybe even burger flippers at the local hop? WHo knows, right?

Screenwriter, Bob Gale - who co-penned the script, Back to the Future - first conceived part of the story after he found his father's high school yearbook in an attic. He browsed through the pages and learned that his father was the class president. Soon after, Gale and Robert Zemeckis (co-writer and Director of the Back to the Future trilogy) came together and formed a plot for the film. Gale's idea came about after thinking if he would've been friends with his father if they had gone to high school together. With a few ideas from Zemeckis and the greenlight from the studio, Back to the Future was born.

Papa Mcfly and sonny boy, seen together in their youths for the first time, onscreen. I loved the little hand gesture they do before Marty even realizes who he's sitting next to.. and their reaction to their names called out. AH!

Gale perhaps believed that him and his father might've been even the best of friends. Inseparable. Total loyalty to one another. Giving each man what they need from one another. Applying the balance to a relationship, u know? Heart-to-heart in the father/son man-to-man, brother-to-brother sort of way.

Imagine what it would be like to play a game of pool with each other, on equal levels perhaps; debating against each other in class or chatting up with the popular girls together, taking turns being each other's wing man and all.

Whatever fits your fancy, you have to admit that you two would find endless things in common. Possibly do everything together. Well lets not hope everything but certainly lots!

But what if your dad met your mum back in high school? And then you met her? And then she felt "differently" towards you, oh because... you're an 'absolute dream' to her? What if she had... dark secrets about what she'd like to do to you...?

... like having the hots for you.

I know. Absurd and unspeakable! Hush, Tak! ENough of this crazy hocus pocus! It's really weird to imagine and I'm sorry if I was taking this a little too far - but you can't ignore the possibilities that are out of your power. If in fact you do run into your mom, who's - you've gotta admit - pretty darn cute, and is your dad's object of desire, please no cock block. Let her go and let daddy have her. If you don't, or if you fail to get them hooked up at that important dance, then u know what'll happen to ya -

does, "Erased... from existence," ring a bell in there? HELLO!! Anybody, home??

No cock-blocking each other, alright? Lets get that straight. No friend should do that to his fellow mate. Never. Know when to respect your elders, especially dad, and let him have who he wants... especially if the girl's your mum. You don't want to erase yourself from your own present, now wouldya?

I recently watched Back to the Future and thought of the same thing Gale thought when he found that year book that belonged to his dad. I pondered for a while after the film and imagined me, with my dad, playing cards but with our ancestral fathers playing along just the same around this huge round poker table. Life comes in full circle. The youngest sat with the oldest of the family lineage and those in between. It was a wonderful thought. I knew it would be the way I'd learn more about myself and about my family. I figured, since evolution proved that life forms posses something from the past, what do we - us humans - posses in our soul that our ancestors once had in them? What got passed down and what got hung up? Who was the first to create visions on paper? or the first to make a living out of culinary? or the first who was thought of as the joker in the family? When did my mind, my way of thinking, first kick off? Who else is a Pisces amongst my fathers?

To know the future you must know the past.

This entire post just gave me an idea for a film...

Food Tip from Tak - Pesto Pasta w/ Chicken Breast

2008-10-23T20:48:00.007-04:00

Oi!

I got a simple dish for you guys that'll definitely impress your mates. What we have here is a rotini pasta dish toss/mixed in homemade pesto sauce with a side of "grilled" chicken breast.

Now if yall know how to cook some lovely breasts and boil pasta, then the battle is half won for ya. However, the secret in making this dish successful is the pesto sauce. Now you can always buy pre-made pesto sauce in the market but that just about takes away the rewarding feeling of awesomeness and success from making the sauce on your own. Sure, if you're a first timer, things won't turn out as top notch as you hoped but believe me, this was my first time making the sauce on my own and it was delicioso!

So, knowing how easy this'll be to make -- you game?

Pesto Pasta w/ Grilled Chicken Breast

Aight, well here are the necessary ingredients and specialty tools:

tools:

1) Blender

serves 4

1) Fresh basil leaves - 3 cups

2) Garlic cloves - 4 cloves

3) Olive Oil - 1 cup

4) Walnuts - 1 1/2 cup, crushed

5) Parmesan cheese - 1/3 cup

6) Salt n Pepper

7) Chicken breasts - 4 pieces

8) Rotini pasta - whole box (1 lbs)

First, you might wanna let the breasts season well while you prepare the sauce. So attack them breasts with salt n pepper and perhaps any additional seasoning that you desire. Might i suggest some thyme or even garlic powder. The simpler the better. You don't want the flavors of the chicken to overpower the rich flavor of the pesto.

Alright, once you put that aside, time to make the pesto. First, measure out and crush the walnuts, set aside. Peel and slice the cloves and set aside, then measure out the oil, leaves, and parmesan. Once you have everything ready to go put 'em all in the blender and blend that thing till it becomes a nice looking thick glob of goo. haha Trust me, the smell alone will make you want to eat the pesto with some italian bread.

That's the beauty of pesto, baby -- it can be eaten with a lot of things. Sandwiches, skewers, perhaps chip dip, etc.

Anyway, after you blend them all, pour it out into a bowl and stir in the salt and pepper. I haven't measured out the salt but you might wanna put just a couple of pinchfuls of each. You can always add more later anyway.

Boil pasta for 8 minutes and cook them breasts. Once the pasta's ready, drain, and then mix in the pesto over no heat. Make sure every single piece of rotini is slaughtered and stained with that sexy greenness of the majestic pesto. Once that's done, wait for the breasts then serve on the side.

Enjoy your meal!

A Food Tip from Tak

2008-10-22T16:10:00.008-04:00

Want a tip for an easy, quick, awesome lunch?

Mexican Tortilla Pizza!

It's quite easy. All you need are some simple ingredients.
1) 6 inch tortillas.
2) Any cheese of your choice. In this case, mozzeralla.
3) Green onions
4) Baby spinach.

5) Taco sauce.
6) Grated Parmesean.

If you're looking to have something that'll make you feel good and wholesome inside, might i suggest you double layer the tortilla and perhaps add some choice of meat over the bottom layer of the pizza.

Ground beef or chicken or maybe even just black beans can add that special stuff your tummy may be lookin' for if ya wanna spice things up, chop some bell peppers or jabaneros and perhaps throw in some cooked spicy Italian sausage with a bit of squeezed lime on the top. A little bit of citrus never hurt, eh?

Well anyway, the simpler the pizza, the shorter the cooking time. Without all that extra stuff (just the ingredients listed above), it should take less than 10 minutes to cook in 425 degree heat. Anything extra will take some more time -- but of course, you know that already, right?

Well now that you're done, CHOW!!!

いただきます!!!!

untitled

2008-10-18T22:50:00.000-04:00

I can't stand but sometimes feel like an ice cube melting in a glass.

This'll be a short story some day, i feel.

Subconscious Thought

2008-10-06T19:49:00.000-04:00

Out of all the places in the world, you showed up at my doorstep once again last night before my very subconscious. You walked in on my dream, as if walking into your apartment of 7 years - knowing the number of steps it'd take from the bathroom to the oven, like you're more familiar with my mind than you are with anything else. You know that movie Misery? Well, i'm no James Cann and you're no Kathy Bates but if you remember the pain and desperation on Caan's face, well then you'd understand how I felt when i locked eyes on you for the last time.

I was riding my bike and somehow bumped into you on the street by a lonely building. There was nothing said right off the bat, we were just so shocked to see each other. Seeing you standing there in the flesh - dressed in dark garb with a thick designer pea coat on and a grey scarf loosely wrapped around your neck - rendered me frozen. My grip was still tight on the brake levers, beginning to warm up into a sweat from my rising body temperature. You looked just as stunned as I did. Did our memories flash before your eyes just as it did with me? And how long has it been since? Maybe two years - maybe three? You looked as beautiful as always. If not, more than ever. You smelled of roses and light body oil. The aroma hit me like a wave, quickly washing over me and throwing my balance off until I fell flat on my back. I think our very first words were 'hi.' It was the only sensible thing to say, I guess.

I don't know why i went on with this dream. we just stood there frozen in time looking into each other's eyes. I'm not quite sure what this all means. I think i may have to say something to you that i feel u deserve. Something. I don't know. I'm feeling like mush right now thinking back on it all.

Yeah... i'll be seeing you later.

Takeru

CRIMSON FADE: REDUX

2008-10-02T16:11:00.002-04:00

by takeru v. maeda

There was a loud parade by the beach the other day. The air was cooled by an easy ocean breeze with the sun hanging high. Looking down from the peaceful view above, the streets of a once crime-ridden neighborhood were flooded with energy as locals and out-of-towners stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch the larger-than-life floats pass on by.

A young boy, no older than 7 -- whose expressions were hidden by a green paint of what seemed like a frog -- waves his bubble wand and watches in amusement as the weightless ornaments sail for the cloudless sky.

A middle-aged man -- dressed in peach shorts and an oversized blue tank top -- smiles and laughs while bopping to the jungle beats of a foreign marching band.

Nestled behind the sweaty onlookers was a tiny bar which looked as if it was shipped straight from a Waikiki resort. It was a little haven of the exotic, where people come to have a light drink to simmer the energy. August and Melinda sat together by the counter safely under the shade. Poor August couldn't help but feel swept away by Melinda's honey eyes and by the way her laugh sounded like a strummed harp. He gently grazes her hand, almost tickling her, looking at her ring. He runs his thumb over the crimson stone, gazing into Melinda's shy eyes, and with only a look, asks her, 'where is this from?' August's curious stare is met with a hesitant look. Melinda reaches for August's hand and guides him away from the bar.

Older men and young boys turn their heads to catch a glimpse of Melinda's beauty as the two walk away from the parade. Two old men, sitting right beside a red bricked building, fan themselves with with their hats. Their eyes fixes onto Melinda's shapely bronzed legs underneath her white sundress.

Melinda has an exotic look, obviously. Her skin is naturally browned; her eyes are light with a pair of long and dark brows. Her face isn't angular; just smooth and feminine. When she smiles she has strong creases that run down her cheeks which make great dimples. Her top lip is slender and sharp at the crest while her bottom lip is slightly fuller and pillowy -- which has made quite an impression on August for he's feeling the impulse to fervently press his maddening lips to her soft cinnamon kisser. She was always a lover even back in her childhood. Just before hitting her teen years, Melinda would grab her young crush and plant a wet kiss on the lucky boy's unexpecting mouth. Not knowing the fine art of lip locking, her kisses would usually follow with the boy wiping away the moistness of her saliva.

She'd make boys like August jealous because when boys like him would try to get her attention, she'd always happen to look away -- never intentionally to ignore them but rather as if by some greater power, they were never meant to come together. Melinda has always been a lover, always passionate, and at times, never able to let go. It was the Latin blood passed down by her ancestors which attributed to her compassion and flame. She always cared for her lover; ever faithful and had always provided the soft touch to her relationships. But boys like August would fall for her look so deeply that they couldn't care less about her current lovers. It was the way she moved her body on the dance floor; the way her body entwined with the flavor of the music made the men urge to their primal intuition. Boys like August fell in love quickly.

After Melinda would kiss her men good night, she'd leave them alone on her doorstep feeling like a flower without the sun. Her touch, her gaze, her smell, her laugh, and her flavor spun the hearts of many men. For those, like August, who were tormented in their stomachs, their hearts and souls could never rid the lasting impression of her burning aura.

August was a bit of a dreamer. The moment he learned her name, he was piecing together a puzzle in his mind, gathering thoughts of a lasting future together. He this way throughout his entire life. He never got the chance to meet a woman so tuned to his heart as Melinda. At first glance, he felt a jolt in his spine unlike anything he ever felt. He loved the way she'd say his name. It was the hint of Cajun in her voice that attracted him. He was a sucker for foreign women but they always thought he was weird and perhaps slightly misunderstood because of his dreamy ways. But similar to Melinda, August was a lover at heart. He only wanted a special person to share his dreams with. Even if a woman was in a relationship with another man, he'd never let that get in the way of telling them how he felt -- if he strongly felt anything at all. Strangely, he always had a thing for taken women.

August played the guitar by the pier some summer days and nights long ago. One summer, Melinda was visiting the city on her own from down south. On her last night she decided see the beautiful pier to have one last remaining impression of the city before her leave. August, being the at-times pathetic, lovesick, loser that he is, was singing his heart out about a lost love -- inspired by an ex who left him.

She sat by herself on the steps as pedestrians would periodically stop and listen before continuing on. He soon caught Melinda hanging on to his every word. August kept looking at her for almost the entire time she sat listening. It was as if they were the only two frozen in time; the way they glanced into each other's eyes. After he finished his session for the night, the two finally introduced each other. From then on the two could never keep their eyes off each other. They were together for hours that evening talking about their past, their present, and their hopes of the future, briefly mentioning love and relationships.

By the end of the night August had spent his day's worth of change on her dessert and the ride to her hotel, but then collected a free kiss on the cheek. However, like always, he fell in love much too quick. Not knowing she'd be leaving, August felt like returning to the hotel see her again. On his arrival -- with a flower in one hand and tickets to see a live concert in the other -- Melinda was getting into a cab on her way to the airport. August was heart broken, prompting her to gave him her home number on a fortune cookie fortune. She apologized repeatedly but August wouldn't have it. He wouldn't want her leaving with a bittersweet aftertaste. August smiled and said he'll 'see her again soon.' Feeling this urging passion from within, she kissed him on the lips. The kiss was so strong that their parting made a deep smacking noise. August even tasted her cinnamon flavor. That was the last time they had seen each other before today.

On the boardwalk, Melinda leans on a rail as August stands over her. He tries to inch forward with a smile toward her neck but she pulls back playfully. For August, his pain becomes deeper. He knows she's still in a committed relationship with a suitor down south in her hometown but he won't let that get in his heart's way. Melinda dawdles down the boardwalk while August follows in her footsteps, watching her calves contract with every step in her short heels. When walking by the side of your love, never walk ahead, for you may leave her feeling unimportant and alone; rather, walk by her side, letting your heart lead you. Melinda looks back, squinting off the rays of sun.

The parade is still thumping soundly but the sun's hovering lower over the western horizon. The streets are just as lively as when the sun first stood directly overhead. The sidewalks are littered with plastic wrappers, carton cups with burnt fries, and sprinkled mardi gras beads spilt from broken threads. A float carries a full band playing energetic music. Their speakers bump to the sound of eclectic sounds of caribbean steel pans, latin drums, and electric guitars. The onlookers dance in the middle of the street. The lights from nearby shops and amusement park illuminate the area. There is a beautiful array of multicolored lights from all corners of the street.

August's hand finds its way resting nervously on Melinda's thigh as they embrace, gently holding onto her face. Melinda leans back on the bench, letting August's body come over her more. No one's around except for the seagulls perched on the lamps beside them. The bumping of their rhythmic hearts overwhelms the sounds of the music of the band from the float. A young girl, no older than 8, and her friend sees August and Melinda and run down a ramp exiting the boardwalk, seemingly shocked yet running with giggles. Hearing the laughter, August looks up for moment to survey the area. Melinda tilts her head back over the back rest to look as well. Seeing her naked neck makes August swell up and he can't help but peer at her perky chest. Melinda glances in August's eyes and sits up. Not one word has been said for hours and the first we hear is her telling him she has to go.

He looks softly into her eyes. Her frozen posture gazes back at him. He knows what he wants to say but hesitates in fear. Melinda studies August's puzzled look. In his mind, he practices the words repeatedly for what must've been his 5000th time he's been practicing for this moment.

He feels the muscles in his lips move, about to shoot out the very words but Melinda's words come out first. Several words really. A say so hurtful that he loses sight of the words that hummed passionately in his conscious. A silence grew over him.

As the sun hits the horizon, the parade slowly dies out. The floats disappeared. The crowds disperse leaving their heap of litter behind. A large clean up crew are scatted around the long street gathering empty cups and fallen beads. The young kids lay asleep on their father's shoulders. The man in the oversized blue tank still dances to his own tune with a woman of the same age.

Out on the boardwalk, August sits alone on a bench. From far away, Melinda is seen walking away from the boardwalk - far far away from it. She enters a cab. August, practically destroyed, picks himself up and walks toward the exit ramp. In the silence, a couple of seagulls, who sat perched above him on the lamp, flee with a loud calling.

He trips on a stride and falls toward the ground. His fall slows down with the ground seemingly getting further away from him. The ground opens up to a black hole. He feels no fear of his end, upon seeing the darkness opening up below him. His fall throws him down hard through the abyss without a scream heard. At the bottom of the hole he sees a rough-looking cement ground lit by the street lamp from above. He looks down at the ground almost wanting to hit the ground sooner -- thinking if he'll ever land. He hits the bottom and in an instant, he awakens from his sleep.

August sits up in his bed with all sense of life and joy having faded away. He leans back on the bed, missing the woman he never met and feels the cold pavement of rock bottom as he lays among the shards of his broken heart.

the end.

Waterless

2008-09-24T14:04:00.000-04:00

The apartment is lonely. The blinds are pulled shut. The lights are all off but from underneath the blinds, light leaks in. Nothing makes any noise except for the droning air conditioner set on low. The popping bubbles rumble from the turtle's tank and in the corner, Kuma lays rested on a lonesome rock. She's in the middle of a good dream, it seems. My fingertips tap lightening fast on the keys, making the only noise without consistency. It is in my typing where we find the only thing with moments of pauses, of thought, and then recommence of movement. Ah - there is life, then, in this lonely waterless apartment.

At 9am this morning, the maintenance crew shut off the water in my building only to clean and disinfect the tanks. I sit here waiting for life to run back through the pipes. In the mean time, I've been trying to entertain myself without having to resort to drinking my daily two liters of water or without going outside for an adventurous bike ride through the west side bike path OR without practicing my tennis. Still, it is in this peculiar - yet not unreal - situation where I find myself having a really relaxing time.

After I forced my lazy body up off the bed, I dragged my feet to the kitchen and helped myself to a bowl of honey nut cheerios. At the table I sat dazed, reimagining last night's dreams, while my brother and mother tumbled around groggily and edgy. A typical weekday morning at the house. Kohei was racing around like a lost mouse looking for his papers and folders while Ma was getting dressed, helping Kohei find his school work, and sneaking sips of coffee all while curling her hair. Straight up chaos.

Might I add, most of us could never be better off without our mums. Where would we be without them, eh?

Anyway, a little after 8:30am I was finally alone in the apartment. The noise had subsided and the chaos stormed out leaving a trail of dust and rubble behind. The shower head bursted strong streams of hot water making the bathroom fill up with vapor and humidity. Boy did it all feel good. Nothing better than feeling bodily cleansed. Your head feels lighter, your skin smoother, and your spirit lifted. The funny thing about after getting out of the shower was hearing the pipes of nearby neighbors in use as well. If you listen carefully, you can hear the pipes of flushing toilets and the sounds of running faucets. It was somewhat musical in its own strange pipe-way.

I sat on my bed with the tube turned on to the weather channel, all dressed in the simple garb of denims and a tee, and was still able to hear the pipes in use. I looked to the clock and to my realization, it was minutes away from 9. Several stories down, perhaps even below street level, was a team of maintenance members and tank operators standing idle by the tanks while the point man held his stop watch in one hand while the other hand held onto a humongous lever to shut down the whole shebang. I can imagine them now - disgruntled, single, 30-somethings, standing in a moldy creepy cellar in their wrinkled uniform pants and paint-stained uniform polo shirts half-way tucked into their pants. It's as if they've been waiting for this moment for months to get back at the tenants. Evil men, they are down there. How dare they take our water away from us.

From my room, the pipes got a little quiet. Because the walls are so thin, I can sometimes hear my next door neighbor sneeze or even conversing over the phone. Today, I heard her shower die. Total flatlined. I couldn't help but think 'the end is near.' Feeling a little anxious and in hopes to get my day going, I emptied my bin into a garbage bag and walked out into the hallway. It was there that I experienced something very spectacular. Sounds that were almost orchestrated in a way. At nine o'clock on the dot I stood outside my apartment amazed at the aquatic orchestration of running water from the apartments around me.

My Hungarian neighbor, Stephan, at apartment J, was running water in his kitchen, for I heard dishes clattering in the sink over the loud daily shouting between him and his wife and their teenaged daughter. Perpendicular to my apartment, down the hall, was another neighbor who was possibly taking a shower with his door open. As I walked further along the corridor towards the incinerator room with the garbage chute, I hear a shower head on full blast from the apartment in the center of the hallway. She was even singing along of some sort of east Indian tune playing from her stereo.

Water, water, water! It was being used everywhere and all simultaneously! It was the tenants last hoorah before letting the Evil Maintenance Men take control of our source of hydration. Our last stand. I don't think I will ever forget the magic of the apartments running water all at once. Something like this just doesn't happen all the time.

I walk back into my apartment, wishing to quickly cleanse my hands before time had run up. I twist the knobs open and water comes blasting through the faucet. I get my hands wet by a quick rinse and grab for the bar of soap. I comfortably took my time rubbing my hands over the soap as the foam built up covering my paws entirely. I drop the soap into the sink and shove my hands under the water. Before I was able to wash all the soap, the faucet goes dead. Total flatlined. I twist the knobs around trying to find an answer. Nothing. The time has come; the end is here. The Evil Maintenance Men were probably laughing maniacally down in the cellar, raising their arms in victory while chanting war cries, applauding themselves and patting each other on the back and nodding off in satisfaction as if they're righteous. Oh, they'll get theirs someday.

I stand in the bathroom and in less than a couple of hours, the water will return. I flush the toilet after a long ensued pee session. The water twirls down the porcelain easily but not as noisily as always. The pump can't get any more water into the tank, obviously. Thanks to the E.M.M. But my optimism takes a hold of me. I approach the sink and look at the faucet. I shake my head in disagreement and twist a knob on the sink. Nothing.

Just a couple of hours more (>_<)

First of Everything

2008-09-23T01:13:00.000-04:00

Hello, folks

And welcome to my very first blog. Now It's a little late for me and I don't have much to say at the moment except for the fact that I am very thrilled to have joined the whole blogging scene.

I will most definitely write about almost anything that wanders from the highest peaks of my thoughts to the darkest corners of my soul. Anything - and perhaps everything - will be exposed. Hopefully I will be dishing out something new and interesting for you to read or let you in on a little secret about things here and there, to and fro. You never know.

Whatever it is that I write on these future blog installments, I wish that you readers walk away from my writings with some sort difference - no matter how small of a change.

Anyway, hope yall have a good night's rest for you east coasters who are still up.

Tak, out.

>_<