Joel's not-so-monthly book review

Stephen King's From a Buick 8.

This book I read some time ago. I was walking down the street, today, and I thought why dont I write something about it... and here it is.

I remember being doubtful of buying it. I remember not buying it right when it came out (as oposed to other of his books). I would say to myself: "That book is not good. How interesting could a Buick 8 be?". As I'm not into old cars I was apprehensive to buy it. So, then, after a very long time, after seeing it in the bookstore shelves for a long time I finally bought it. Then, as it always happens to my books, there comes a kind of quarantine, the reside anywhere in my room waiting for an exact place in the bookshelf, and waiting, of course, for me to read it. So, it was one of the books I took with me to Orlando, I read it there.

I regreted buying it.

It is the slowest most annoying book I've ever read... well, not actually, there has been other more painful books..., but Stephen King?! I was surprised. I'm not going to tell the story because there isn't much to tell. The whole thing is a flashback, and everybody knows that movies (or books) that are a big flashback are not very interesting, for some reason. There is this Buick that is like a transdimensional gateway. It begins very nicely, a rare Buick that if you scratch it it heals itself, and the radio buttons are just made-believe, like if it were a prop, the steering wheel is dispropotionate to the dashboard... The car was abandoned by a "russian" with a black cloak and a huge hat (I imagined a black mexican sombrero with like argentinian finnesse, kind of like the one El Zorro would use). in a gas station. And then the story lingers on describing the car over and over, and telling stories that revolve around the car, but dont lead to anything really. Creatures jump from one dimension to the other, people have disapeared from this dimension, but nobody really does anything about it, the characters just accept it as a weird common thing (of course after a long time of keeping the car)... The story even says: "this story doesnt have a middle or an end" (or something like it), and it really doesnt.

At the end, I got some gruesome pictures of an alien-thing which i cant describe now (its too alien) and the death of the dog was interesting. But I think Stephen King could've done so much better. Maybe he should've killed a person instead of the dog... (my sick writing mind is working). The book is a picture of reality, there is no story (and the story knows there is no story, but it doesnt say that until you have read like three-quaters of the book), there are only happenings without any drive.

I love Stephen King's books, ALL of the ones i've read so far are great! Bag of Bones, Hearts In Atlantis, Carrie, Pet Sematary, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon (its hard but good), even Dreamcatcher is a wonderful book (too bad the movie is awful)... Read them! but please, please whatever you do, do not read: From a Buick 8, its just not worth it (or read it, and try to change my mind!).

Hurricanes: Beautiful. Deadly.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love Hurricanes. I cannot help it. Its Nature making itself visible. Hurricanes are the bellring for human beings that this planet must be shared, not taken. Of course, there are other natural catastrophes: volcanos, tidal waves, tornados, earthquakes... But they do not compare to a hurricane. The difference is in the wait. Volcanos and earthquakes are not predictable at all. Tidal waves and tornados offer only minutes to react. Whereas a hurricane... they are menacing. You can see them in the news DAYS before strike, and still people don't take cover.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love Hurricanes. And I cannot help it. I myself have only experienced earthquakes, and minor ones, the only thought of a volcano, a giant wave or a tornado gives me goosebumps... But hurricanes excite me. And they do because of the fact that you can SEE them coming, and you can take shelter, and you can enjoy them in the relative comfort of your refuge. It is the only time you can see the wind. You can see the water splashing everywhere. You CANNOT see in front of you, its like a veil of fog, but its actually flying water. It is amazing. The sounds, deep gutural sounds, to loud whistling noises. The sights, the candlelight, because there's no power, the grayness of the day, the darkness if the hurricane passes during the night. I've been through many of them. They're beautiful, but they're deadly.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love Hurricanes. And if they didn't, they know it now. I shiver at the thought of not knowing when an earthquake will strike... But hurricanes? I'm not afraid of them just yet. (There will be a time in my life when I will face one so close that it will leave a mark on me... I hope that day doesn't come... but if it does, my opinion of how beautiful hurricanes are might change, and even though then I still have doubts. That even after I have lost everything, I will still like them. Of course, after some time of hating them angrily and grieving my possesions). I like everything about them. First, the wait, the preparations. Second, the strike, the experience of the power of something bigger than human, a rushing storm. And Third, the aftermath. It sounds awful that I also like the aftermath, but I don't like everything from the aftermath. I love the no-electricity nights (or days), they bring the families and even the communities (that never speak to each other in weeks, months or years) together. I love the freshness of the air after a hurricane, it is so clean, so damp, so pure, removed, oxigenated. The bareness of the landscape, its like renewing itself (lots of people don't see it like that though), the uprooted trees, the leafless evergreen trees, the leaves stuck onto all the walls, onto the streets. The sense of union that the aftermath brings onto people, as they root the trees back into the ground. I love the silence of the aftermath. The breeze of desolated legs of the storm. The sense of being reborn.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I love hurricanes. But I hate to see people loosing their entire houses, everything, not even their family pictures. I hate to see the people living in shelters, or swiming away from their flooded streets. I hate not having running water in the plumbing (no-electricity is fine, but no water? no-uh). I hate seeing people stealing (out of desperation, most of them, or that's what I want to believe), and even more so, I don't like seeing the SWAT team on the destroyed streets, trying to keep people from stealing. To see that people have died trapped in their houses, by falling rubble, or by raising water. That is just unspeakable. I don't want to be judgemental, but I believe it is also the people's fault if they get hurt in a hurricane. Because the hurricane will give you a warning, you can see the monumental white spiralling thing on the news, and still people don't take proper refuge. I don't know.

This post comes from the hurricane that struck Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi and Florida two days ago (and just now I get to know about it). Its just awful to see that 80% of New Orleands is under water. Eighty percent. Who builds a city on a below-sea-level ground in the first place? Maybe they didn't know. I don't want to judge. But if I lived there I would be very angry, with myself, with my ancestors, with whoever built the city on below-sea-level ground. Seriously. I cannot put myself in the shoes of those people, I have not experienced loss like that, but I imagine myself loosing everything I've worked, and cared for (including people) I know, I would be devastated... Sorry.

At least the dolphins are OK.

Picture 1. Hurricane Katrina's eye over New Orleands, Louisiana
Picture 2. People running away from flying debris.
Picture 3. Prisoners being held at gun point on a curve.
Picture 4. Self-explanatory. If not: SWAT team.
Picture 5. The broken levee or dam which lead to the floods.
Picture 6. Evacuated dolphins swimming in a pool of a hotel.
Courtesy of Yahoo! (the pictures, that is)

Partying it out

Hmm.

Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Four nights in a row. That's unusual for me. Not like I haven't done it before... But its been long since ive gone out to party 4 nights in a row. Altho i cant call them real parties. Wednesday I went to Café Culebra, a very small, dirty, but cozy bar. There was nobody but us, which was great, we played pool, we drank a little. Thursday I went to Moorings, a more sofisticated kind of bar, but not sofisticated enough for me too wear more than jeans and a t-shirt. I went there to see the wrestler girls of WWE, which was here this weekend, and probably that's why I dreamt of wrestlers the other night. Anyway, Friday I went to another bar, called Kruggers, not far from Café Culebra. There were so many drunk people singing on the kareoke. After that we walked down to "Blend", but we couldn't get in, we were not old enough, can you believe that! And Saturday i went to a Farewell get-together at a friend's house. It was great to see all my friends together after seven months. But then, two of them are leaving this week to study in US.

And so, I was happy to see them, we had such a great time catching up, discussing music videos, being dorks as we are, haha. And so, I was sad, because after this week three of them are going to be gone.

I'm next.

One of Many Weird Dreams

For some reason minds always invent these huge fantasies...

Ok.

I was in the middle of a battle between professional wrestlers. I came to this yard, at night, with the wrestlers from the WWE. It was the yard of a two story building; if you looked up the wall, there was like a small protuberance of concrete (like a small floor) under every window, and opposite to the building there was the sea. Anyway, for some reason I arrive to this place with the wrestlers from the WWE, Triple H was there (if you know anything about wrestling you'll know, if not, www.wwe.com ) So, i arrive to this place with them, and, as curious as I am, I wandered around the building to just see where I was. It so happens that on the other side of the building were the Puertorican wrestlers... And they were armed. They took big guns from big duffel bags, and then one of them saw me (Ricky Santiago, if you want to know, or that was his name as I remember when I was younger, I dont know now because i dont watch local wrestling...). So then, it happens that I have the ability to jump very high. But I didnt know I had this power, so i was kindda learning how to use it when they started chasing me. So I jumped on the "small floors" under the windows, screaming. When I see the American wrestlers they too had weapons. And they started shooting at each other. I jumped higher, to the ceiling but for some reason I couldnt reach, so, i grabbed onto the corner, dangling, until i fell.

I guess me falling and hurting while I was standing up made them stop shooting each other for a while...

But then, the most horrible thing happened. Im rubbing my back, and when I look up to the dark sea... a hugeamongous airplane flies like 6 feet above the water. And the only thing you see is the glare from the moon on the side of the plane, and the lights and the fire on the turbines (there was fire coming out of the turbines, ok). It was almost beautiful. So then, I think to myself, that plane is flying too low. And then, the plane takes a curve, but it doesnt slant to the sides... it just turned as if it were a big truck on the highway... and then I see a hand out from the cabins windows holding a flare and thats when i know...

"Look at that plane!", i yelled, "its flying too low!" And just when I finished saying that the plane sinks into the water like if it were a torpedo, the wings break and it rotates into the water... the water slams over it as if the plane was a whale submerging. And then it explodes! Water and Fire!

I closed my eyes. When I opened them, there was half of the plane next to me, next to the building. The interior was burning, i saw through the small circular windows. So with so much courage (i never knew i had so much) i went and opened the emergency door of the plane (tho the people should have just ran out through the big hole where the plane got broken), they all came out of the door.

Then, there was a glass window and people were just sitting on their chairs on the other side. And i bang on the window and i scream "get out, get out!" but the people say: "we're rescuers" and i stepped back and i saw that i was banging on the windshield of a rescue golf cart. I must have been blinded by the smoke.

Then, i see rafts in the water and i grab one to go to rescue people in the water, but the rescue people took the raft from me....

And then i woke up. Feeling good of my good intentions, but frustrated that i couldnt do more, but glad that i have a cool, random story to tell.

(surprise!)

HAhahA! YOU CLickeD! HahAHA!

The day I rode the train

If you are depressed, just ride the train. It'll make everything a whole lot better.

I dont know why. Maybe ive been wanting to ride this train for too long (the train has been in construction for like 7 years now), or maybe is just something else. When i rode the train this Monday i found that everything was going to be ok.

Puertoricans will sarcastically say to me: "of course, the train is going to make everyones life and everything a lot better" (because altho it is a good system, the construction was super expensive, and some of the stations are located in questionable places, instead of in a place with more flow of people...).

I care not. When i rode the train I looked out the window, I saw my home from a different angle, and I saw that it was very pretty from up there. And I smiled. I hadnt smile with such gratefullness and passion in the days before, remember i was (am) still grieving my depart from Orlando. But I thought, I could get used to this.

The trip was so smooth and quiet, except when the track has a curve, thats when it gets bumpy and noisy. It made me remember the subway in New York. The stations are so dirty, hot and old, but they are so efficient. I wondered if our train will ever get like that. Sooner or later the buzz will stop and the goverment is not going to care anymore... (right now they care because it was so expensive to build). But I will see it decay, lights out, roofcovers dangling, rusted beams, trash on the track... That day will be sad. But when i get into the train and ride, when i see the ceilings, the top of the trees, it will all be worthwhile.

Of Love, of Emptyness, and of Whatever Comes After.

The past four/five days have been hard for me. I've hit my head trying to figure out mi life. The results are not encouraging.

After I came back from Orlando I arrived home, of course. The first day I was taken to a "criollo" (local) food restaurant, of the cheap ones but good. So good to be back in Puerto Rico. After that I was taken to see my grandfather.... There is not much to say about that. And then I was brought to our house. After living in an appartment of super extra white walls, with 100 watts light bulbs, with a green carpet all over the floor, and absolutely no decorations: I realized that mi house is a mess of useless objects. (And the lighting is SO dim). After living (and living well) for almost eight months in another country without accumulated objects, ive realized how materialist (is this a word?) I was (or am), including my family. I want to throw away half of the things there are here. But I'm not allowed, so I'll throw away half of MY stuff, but i dont know where to begin; but i WILL do it. How is it that people keep trinkets every year and in the end they all end up piled on a corner? Many times we keep things for their sentimental value... but most of other things dont have any sentimental value and we still keep them.

Anyway. Among all the mess in my house i found an emptyness. An emptyness that i couldnt fill. Its more than one emptyness. I have the emptyness of leaving my roommates, to whom i can say they are more than roommates. The emptyness of not know what to do now that I've finished school and dont have a job. The emptyness of being stuck. What comes after? What do you do when you finish school? "Find a job, i guess", said my roommate (my friend) the last day that we were togheter, and he said it in the last minutes we were together... but i'll tell that story in a second... Seriously. What do you do? School teaches you to study 24/7 for 20, 21, 22, 23 years and then it, simply, doesnt want you in the classroom no more. That happens to me for being undecisive! So. To not feel useless i went to the university to take a chance, I asked a professor if I could take her French class as a listener, and she said yes, altho I shouldnt expect much class participation, and in my mind I said: "sweet!", thus i dont have to be embarrassed in front of the class, like everybody, and learn nontheless.

Then, as i was saying, the emptiness is emptier because i left extraodinary people. I wish that something like that wont ever happen again (leaving people, that is). I wish to think that I will find such great people again. Whom I loved (love). My roommate Joel (yes, his name's Joel), he was the one who said: "find a job". But the subtext of thta was: We were making conversation in the food court of the airport, because the sadness was eating us inside, the sadness of not being able to see each other the next day. Until, finally, the time came to say goodbye. We didnt want to look directly into our eyes, so we hugged, and then, when we did look, our eyes were flooded in tears. We didnt say much. He said: "I love you, Joel" I said: "I love you too" and then we couldnt speak no more. He said something else that I dont remember, and we hugged again. We couldnt let each other go. We have gotten so close in Florida. I cried all the trip back on the plane (I think i even did when I was asleep, which was almost the whole flight), I cried much after that, and even now when I write this (and when I translate this too) a tear rolls down my cheek.

At the end of all things, I think im going to be just fine. I already have class and thus something to do. If i dont find a job quickly i might go back to Sizzler. I'll start throwing stuff away very soon... because i have to have a fresh start, without clutter. And i made a promise to go visit Joel in Las Vegas, thats something to look forward to, altho i always wanted to go to Las Vegas, specially to see Celine Dion, but now i'll go to hang out with him, and Im not going to be bothered if i dont see Celine at all.

Is home where the heart is or anywhere but here?

This post is a response to a friend's question about "where home
is". She is leaving Puerto Rico to study in USofA and she's worried
because she doesn't know whether if she is going to wish to return
to the (quote) "fucked up island", or if she is going to stay
somewhere else.

And I thought, "well, this applies to a lot of people right now; so
Im going to share it". And I am. Hopefully she wont get mad. And
hopefully the email will make sense to everyone. That is why i
gave you this little back-info along with the statement that Im
living in Disney now and I have, as of today, 3 days left and then i
go "home" (meaning Puerto Rico, you will see why I make this
emphasis).

enjoy.



dear_______

Just the night before i read this messege of yours...


I noticed that the paper towels that we have here in the
appartment said "home is where the heart is", and i noticed
because we were out of toilet paper so I had to use the paper
towels. And i almost cried because these are the last weeks we
have here and it is just unbearble. These people whom ive been
living with are such great people. And it is going to be so
heartbreaking to leave them, with the fear that I will never see
them again... or with the hopelessness that if i do it will be for a
very short period of time when we will not be able to fully enjoy
each others reencountered company. Am i making sense? Maybe
i am.

And it is true that people DO come back to the fucked up island.
But it also happens that french people want to go back to france,
that people from nevada want to go back to nevada, and chinese
people wanna go back to hong kong and so on and so forth. Why
you ask? Its because home is where the heart is. Everyone will
say that their home country is the best, regardless of however
fucked up the goverment is, or how dirty the streets are, or how
nasty some people might be, or however high is the criminality
rate... none of it matters, what matters is that thats where you
lived your better years, which are those years in which you grow
older until you cease to grow physically. There are memmories
attached to that place. Memories that pull your body
involuntarily. You dont even realize it is because of memories.
No. You say it is because there is where your parents are, where
your friends are... But what are parents and friends? They are
walking memories. Your country you know it by heart, you know
where youre going or where not to go... its just a sense of
assurance that drives you, that pulls you and brings you back.

Im telling you this because I want to go back. Badly. But there is
also this thing... "home is where the heart is". And the bad thing
is your heart will split appart. You will give it to other people.
You will put it in other places and it will stay, and it will grab
onto them, and it will tear your body in two whenever its time to
go.

Like it is happening to me now. I dont want to leave. But i dont
want to stay if the people that are here, right now, leave; as it is
going to happen in a couple of days. I dont want to deal with it,
but im gonna have to, because life has to go on, and in this ever
going road, all hearts have to be broken, so it can be mended
once again. Hopefully i will see the people, that i have been
living with here, very soon, and i will hug them so hard whenever
i see them, and i will hug them so hard when i leave them.
Because when people recide in your heart with their kindness
and love, there is not way you will forget them, there is no way
that your heart will leave their memory.

And yes. The fear of change is what keeps people in places. But
its not actually fear of change, i believe. It is fear of loss. Which
is a change nonetheless. So i guess it IS fear of change. But it is
true that when you travel, the people you leave behind DO
change to your dislike... Dislike because you were not part of
their change, and you did not change with them, and now
theyre different when youve returned, and you have to adjust.
But. What about the people you met in the travels? Their lives
have been tottally changed because you decided to touch them,
and you changed with them... And thats when sadness comes.
It is just such a lonely place to have changed and then not
finding someone, right away, to whom to relate.

But, what can we do about it? Huh? No one said life was an
easy thing. They should have had a disclaimer signs in our
mothers vaginas that advised: "if you dont want to hurt, dont
follow the light" followed by "now that you came to the light
and ignored the first sign, be advised to keep your heart
inside your chest, and dont let it out".

And the day we die we have to get another sign saying: "we
told you so", and you will say, "it was all worth it"

and you will smile under the dirt.

Things DO work. They have a way of untangling (detangling)
themselves sooner or later. You will all see, too bad noone's
able to tell the story.

Home is wherever youve set your foot on, and fallen in love,
and no matter what, home will always be in more than one
place, and even better, home will always be in more than
one special person.

Good night.

Joel.

There's a first for Everything

This is the first time I have a blog. I think it is time for me to start one. Hopefully people will read it. Hopefully people will comment on it. Hopefully I will not be offended, hopefully people won't be ofended by my words.

This is the stupidest post ever.... bear with me people, im just testing this thing!.