An L.A Story

I am thankful for small blessings and eternally grateful for the larger ones. In the five hours I spent in L.A I was able to see the enormously famous Hollywood sign, Huge Hefner’s mansion and Tom Cruise’s home. I didn’t photograph the dwellings because some things are best left to the imagination and also they might be very disappointing in reality. Hey, that’s probably a good definition of a playboy. However, what I did find most interesting is the numerous would-be actresses everywhere you looked, and I looked everywhere. I didn’t do a survey but these young girls looked seriously would-be to me.

In Hollywood and Beverly Hills looks and impression are everything. Nobody could be trusted and nobody is. The place is big, bright and full of life. True, it’s probably not meaningful life but still full of it. There are parts of Beverly Hills which has a strong resemblance to the upscale suburbs of Trinidad such as Goodwood Park (or is it Good Wood Park), Fairways and even parts of St Augustine. The other amazing feature of L.A and Beverly Hills is the numerous amounts of exotic sports cars driven by equally exotic girls talking on trendy cell phones to outdated lovers. Both the cars and the girls looked well maintained and slick. I could probably write a story about every one of these girls but it might be the same story for all.

Nearly missing your connecting flight triggers a type of excitement which can only be savored days after the fact. I was grateful that my bags were lightly packed and my stamina was in good standing. The boarding of the plane, which wasn’t full, made my muscles relax and my eyelids heavy. It was about 9:00pm when the pilot announced that we have been cleared for takeoff. It was 9:15pm, when the pilot then announced that there was a mechanical problem and we had to return to the hanger. It was 30 minutes later the pilot finally announced the problem was fixed but some cargo had to be left behind. All the standby passengers and their luggage had to be removed. What? The problem was fixed but cargo had to be removed? Obviously the problem was not fixed completely and I didn’t feel too encouraged by this hidden admission that all was not well on this flight. Also, since when are people considered cargo? Granted, there were a few people who did look like cargo but the pilot shouldn’t have announced this publicly. As the pieces of cargo made their way down the narrow aisle, I pretended not to bother but still noticing the embarrassment on the cargos’ faces. That’s called adding insult to injury. It was another two hours later when the plane finally shuddered into the air.

I like flying but it takes five long hours from L.A to Miami. To pass the boredom, the in-flight entertainment that night was the movie Herbie: Fully Loaded and a snoring old woman in the seat in front of me. I couldn’t sleep because who could sleep knowing something mechanically was amiss at 36,000 feet above solid dirt.

I also observed that flight attendants are so well trained I can imagine them making that dreaded announcement that the aircraft was about to crash. “Ladies and gentlemen the pilot has announced that all engines are now hopelessly on fire and we should be hitting the ground much sooner than expected. A life-vest is located under your seat but it won't be of much use to you on land. We sincearly hope that you listened to the safety instructions given before takeoff because we are not going to repeat them. Please fasten your seat belts, have your chairs in the uright position, and your tables cleaned and locked away. You can assume the crash position or scream like a mad man, it won't make a bit of difference on arrival. On behalf of Captain Nearly Sober and the rest of the sobbing flight crew, we hoped you had pleasant flight and thank you for choosing Crash Test Air as your number-one carrier. All cell phones should be switched off at this point and do have a nice day.”

to be continued? …….maybe......maybe not.....?

Airportee

The closest thing to a perfect one-stop-shop for an alien on a modern human-collecting expedition would be an international airport. In fact, if an alien landed at an international airport probably no one would even notice. The rumor mill has it that this has happened a few times before but the aliens were denied entry because of some mix up with their visas. That’s why I love airports; they are the best human zoos and causes of confusion on the planet.

An airport is a place where people of all nationalities, languages, races, colors, ages, waist sizes, genetic defects, gender disorders, and incomplete immigration forms, converge on the lost-luggage counter and take turns strangling the attendants. For just the cost of parking you can be senselessly entertained at any airport on any lazy Sunday afternoon. It is what I like, and what I do, that’s why I am called an airportee.

To be honest, the airport has more of the appearance of a circus than a zoo but I prefer to use zoo to describe the airport, and circus to describe the government. On that Sunday afternoon, with the temperature high enough to melt the coldest stares a woman could produce, I smiled to myself as insane people always do. There were the South American girls who turned faded blue jeans into a work of sculptured art, and the couple who walked into the immigration lounge with no less than 36 boxes of KFC. There was the French-looking girl with the see-through top and the drooling guys loudly thinking in silence “look at me.” The see-through girl probably had this thought running through her head “Ils sont gentils. Vous les aimez?” and I probably had this one “Oui, oui je les aime beaucoup!”

I have also been observing airhostesses over the years and noticed they are becoming more functional and less attractive. I suppose airlines have discovered that pretty girls are very useful but a girl who can push a food cart up and down a narrow aisle for five hours, and row a life raft full of people from the middle of the ocean to the nearest land mass is a rare find. I think it was George Carlin who first pointed out airhostesses are a much maligned bunch because of the fact they continuously walk in and out of cockpits. I think that gave the public the wrong impression as to their job function and it begged an answer to the question “What is really a cockpit?” Since there is an increase in the amount of female commercial pilots the name “cockpit” is to be changed but I have no idea as to what, or even why.

As a trained airport observer I have to say that the finest samples of female human life congregate there and not at Club Zen as previously thought. At the airport the skirts are as short, the jeans are as tight and the tops as transparent as those of Zen. The only difference is at the airport the people are more varied, the drinks are cheaper and there is no music, but at those prices you can’t complain.

The airport could be my home away from home but security had my cot towed away, and burnt.

Violent Clouds

This scene is frighteningly beautiful. I have always been fascinated, intimidated, overwhelmed, terrified and painfully attracted by beauty. There is a hidden power in beauty which chips away at the protective layer of the soul, and leaves its nerve exposed and vulnerable. This appreciation and vulnerability is not a sign of weakness but a sign of being truly alive and I am glad to be alive.

Time

Time - can't live without it

Silent Explosion

I don't know what this looks like to you, but the first thought I had was "explosion." The entire "cloud-explosion" happened over a twenty minute period at around daybreak. Another bloger pointed out to me that the cloud movement is also interesting. This animated-gif is made up of twenty two frames.

Blogers-block and Other Non-fatal Conditions

Gonzo

A creative bloger is one who has no sense of bloging purpose from the first keystroke to the last. Being confined by a sense of purpose, order, spelling, grammar and hideous rules of composition will only stifle creativity. The only rule for being creative is that there are no rules. Creativity is the art of letting the neurons be themselves and letting them have fun. Neurons are like children, they grow and flourish when left to explore. Naturally, I wouldn't recommend children play near a cliff which is unguarded nor would I let my brain be artificially simulated by substances know to be neuron-unfriendly. Ok, that'’s a rule, so what? I am being creative.

Some complain about suffering from blogers-block. I have also suffered from this blockage and now realize there is no single cure. This is no laughing matter since a blocked bloger can wreck havoc on the planet in search of the perfect creative laxative. I unfortunately can offer no real hope since I have recently taken up the dark art of blog-commenting rather than bloging in my own space. I reasoned that blogers-block is caused by the idea we must have something meaningful and worthwhile to say. Don't be caught in this trap since life itself is struggling to find even one universal meaning and any blog is likely to be more meaningful than that.

I have seen meaningful blogs in the form of an eye drawing, the observation of dry to green ferns, and the dressing up of feet with foot gloves and then snapping it with a cell camera. There are no rules and they all make perfect sense.

Blogers-block should never happen since the easiest thing in the world is to have nothing to say and then just type it. Can you imagine what would happen if a bloger did have something to actually say? I shudder at this thought :)

p.s. this blog is subject to change without notice for reasons never to be revealed to the general public and itergalactictic friends.

It Breaks Every Day

Daybreak

"If it ain't broke don't fix it." These are words of wisdom born from ages of experience by those who broke many things and whose wives, girlfriends, or lovers have had enough. A day breaks every day and that is natures way of telling us he answers to a Female. He? Nature has a Male side? Yes, yes and yes. Father Nature does exist and is responsible for daybreaks (day breaks). Mother (or Female) Nature ensures that it happens more or less on time.

I took this series of pics from my front porch today. They were taken over a 6 minute period sometime around 6:15 a.m. My philosophy is "if you can't sleep then snap."

My Doughnut Comment

Dangerous Nut

This is the comment I made on a very inspired blog called Sirius83's Journal of Insanity under the heading A donut with a rash . I have recently become an uninspired bloger and I decided to draw on my comments on other blogs to tide me over until my normal level of abnormal creativity resumes. What lies below was hardly modified to fit this blog.

Over the years I have become quite sympathetic to the plight of the doughnut, not only locally but internationally. This up-and-coming modern-day food group has been subjected to the most despicable treatment by food sellers and food buyers alike. This affectionate food has been callously dunked, sprinkled, jellified, choclified and now appallingly fungerised, much to the indifference of mankind, and certain educational intuitions. But all is not lost.

Hope is once again on the horizon since a lone bloger, Sirius, is raging a one-man campaign against food-group abuse. In Sirius's latest book, Doughnuts - The Hole Story, several hundred appalling cases of doughnut-abuse are documented. This graphic book also lashes out at the TTSPCF and accuses them of sitting on their collective butts while doughnuts are mercilessly squished and squashed by two-faced doughnut lovers. Some even go missing, never to be found. He is also championing the fight to extract finances from various notorious sources to help fund research into the cure for doughnut fungus and selected jelly diseases. Donations can be made to the Save the Doughnut fund by calling 800-DNUT, and you can be rest assured that the money will be very well spent :)

Cloud Formation

For reasons unexplained, I captured this rain cloud formation on a Friday afternoon. This can be considered time-lapse photography. I think it looks scary but exciting. It looks like life, coming for us, whether we like it or not.

The Rice Mother

A great book is one which causes the reader to think about it long after the last words are read. It is a book which makes you forget you are reading and throws you through the pages into another world. The Rice Mother by Rani Manicka is one such book. This book drained me emotionally at times but I don’t know how it did, or will affect others.

Before I finished reading The Rice Mother, I started to think about my ancestors and realizing even more there is merit in understanding our relatives of old. I don’t only mean understanding them historically but also emotionally. This is not about dwelling in the past but about understanding the struggles which brought us here today. You may find out that you are a chip from some old blocks, a replica of a good soul, or a completely new but unclassifiable branch of the family tree.

In every family there are skeletons in the closet but some families have more than the average amount of skeletons and, as a result, closets. However, what is more important is appreciating the day to day burdens which people endured in order to ensure the future generations are born, and hopefully into a better life. It is important to understand where the skeletons came from. Studying our ancestors may show that we are a product of both kindness and cruelty, and sometimes to the extreme.

While reading the book I kept asking the perennial question; how could the same two parents raise children, some whom came out as angels, while others ended up as perfect examples of strife and family shame? The reality is that no two people are alike and parents are rabidly judgmental about their children. Life is never fair and parents even more so. Yes, in the end both parents and their children are responsible for their own actions but when one family member takes misguided action, the others members also suffer, and shaped or distorted by its results. Whether we like it or not, a large part of who we are today is a result of who our ancestors were, the choices they made, and the fate they were handed. The rest is our history to create for the future.

p.s.1 - This book was recommended to me by Tunks :)

p.s.2. - I took the photo above during the wee hours of this Sunday morning. I clicked the shutter while the book lied captivatingly on a table which, incidentally, might be Malaysian :)

Night Lights

The night lights of St. Augustine

I took four photos last night (22nd. July, 2005) using a 2-second exposure time. I actually took more than four shots but the choosen four were shot from the same position on the tripod. I was trying to capture the streaks of light (white and red) from the passing cars. I then put the pictures together in an animated GIF file. I think the inspiration to do this came while flipping through the pictures. The effect created is almost the same as a movie flip-book.

Bin and Bomb

Humor masks our greatest fears and an event yesterday proves I am still full of it, the fear I mean. This blog is my mask.

Blame it on a sick sense of humor and fear, but I laughed when Shelly Dass on TV6 reported that the police were still investigating what caused a "garbage bin to blow up in down town Port-of-Spain on July 11th ". I laughed when a friend told me that the police was now on the hunt for Dust-Bin Laden. I laughed all the way to St. Anne's.

The reason is not important, but only the fact that I had to take a trip to mid-town Port-of -Spain starting from somewhere on the extreme west of Park St. My regular route through Victoria Square soon turned into a nightmare when I suddenly noticed that I was surrounded by bins upon bins (see illustration above). If the amount and the placement of these bins (poor attempt at small circles on the drawing) were typical, I could not say because like most people, I never paid attention to garbage bins before. Take a look at the drawing. Wouldn't you say the amount of bins and their placement are strange? This had to be the work of a sanitation engineer gone mad or the Government.

Gripped with fear, my mind, independent to my brain and body, told me "get the hell outta here." The only two other people in the Square were vagrants. I made this assumption because they had that very calm, not-a-care-in-the-world look about them and their sense of fashion begged to be forgiven. Their calmness was reassuring but their distance from the bins weren't.

As good fortune would have it, I came out of the square physically intact but mentally shattered. I couldn't help but wonder if I was the only one in the country who reacted, and is reacting this way. I think not. My humor only hides my fear but my ski mask probably does a better job.

Imperfection

This is the first real drawing exercise in the book. The actual drawing from the book is much better and much less flawed. It's strange though, how people admire perfection, never realizing the better part of interesting is the imperfection.

Flat Glass Bottle

I distorted this image using Photoshop while waiting for the ever-popular Tropical Storm Emily to either hit, or not hit. The original image was that of a flat glass bottle. Yes, such bottles do exist and this image is partial proof of that. The full proof is on its way, threatening to silence the skeptics forever.

Hitch Upon a Star

Shouldn't a blog tell you something about the bloger? It should, but what is says is not always useful. I posted this blog to prove my case.

I decided to collect ticket stubs from Movietowne because years from now I hope to retire and live a lavish, and occasionally vile lifestyle, on the vast sums I will have made from the sale of these collector's items. The future is brighter than I could have ever imagined, as you can see from the preview of my collection above.

What's the saying again, Hitch upon a star, or is it Wish upon a star? I could never remember but that’s what I have done.

Q.E.D

Girls of Red Square

I captured these shots from the DVD Paul McCartney - In Red Square. This photo montage I put together could be called Girls of Red Square, The McCartney Red Square Concert Girls, The Cameraman Likes These Concert Girls or Aka's Picks. The pictures were sewn together using Corel Draw 11. The DVD was called a concert film, but since there is no film in a DVD I prefer to call it a docu-concert. The DVD was put together by the A&E/History Channel people so that should give you an indication what the DVD is like. Amazing; that's my opinion.

half -a-brain

Almost three years ago a small but rebellious bunch of brain cells, nestled somewhere in my head, formed themselves into a pressure-group. This seditious group immediately jumped into action and complained that I was unbelievably boring and I didn't seem to support neuron growth. With my ego shattered, feelings hurt and sedation wearing off, I listened to their grievance. "What do you do in you spare time?" the loony pack of neurons asked in a most neurotic tone. "You sit around waiting for the sun to rise with a Canon strapped to your eye. What is that about, its boooring, that's what?" "Don't you get it? It's the same sun everyday. You point and click, point and click. True you play around with a few settings, a few angles but so what. Move on, do something different, get a life." The truth hurts but not as much as the headache these poor excuses for a thought process were giving me. This headache forced me to take up an interest in peace and neuron growth. This also led me to take up drawing, not because it would be a challenge but because it was something I was sure to fail at. I would show these neurons who was the real brains!

What this fore-paragraph is leading to is the book "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Dr. Betty Edwards. I bought this book because it was designed to make non-sketchers into sketchers by using a revolutionary method of right-brain activation. Apparently learning to draw is learning to see and seeing is not as easy as I thought, especially if you have only half a brain.

The sketch above was one of my early and few efforts. It represents me trying to reproduce a sketch I saw in a book called "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark." (This book is a challenge because reading in the dark is not easy).

The yearning to restart this journey into the right side of my brain, after a three year absence, was inspired by Words Unspoken, and also my insatiable quest to cause public outcry. The reason for bloging about it is to put myself up for further public ridicule if I slack off, or not.

A Simple Sample and All That Jazz

A picture is worth a thousand words, but a picture of a desktop is worth considerably more, especially if it was painted by Picasso.

I have a feeling that the lost art of desktop-reading will soon replace toothbrush-bristle-reading as the number form of fortune telling and psycho analysis. "Show me your desktop and I will tell you who you are. Give me a hundred dollars and I will tell you what you want."

What can you tell about this bloger by a simple sample of his desktop? Simple Sample is the latest method used in the psycho analysis of the distorted mind of some Blogers. It is based on the theory that things are arranged on the desktop as it is arranged in the mind. You allow things to happen in the physical world as you do in the mental world. This has to be true since there is mounting evidence which suggest that I do have a set of headphones and a pen precociously lodged among my neurons. You see, I have been hearing things that nobody hears and writing things which nobody reads. These writings have turned up mainly on my blogs and lately as graffiti in washrooms of certain alien spaceships. These sounds have not turned up at all. What else does Simple Sample reveal about the Bloger in question? Wonder no more - – it says the bloger has the writing ambitions of a master storyteller, the smile of a 21st century female jazz singer and either looks like a Russian or a used Post-it. It also says the Bloger quite likely has the IQ of a used ticket stub. But all of this is only on the surface, and what lies beneath is even more disturbing, and yellow.