To IG or not to IG - that is the question...

..and the dilemma. We should have seen it coming. Of course, the usual course of things once they’ve grown from their humble beginnings is to protect their interests and keep a firm hold of their properties, even others’, in some cases, unfortunately, or not.

To illustrate, let’s say a toaster suddenly decides to merely warm a slice of bread without the bread owner’s permission. (For simplicity’s sake, let’s not ask if the owner is actually the baker, or we’d complicate the picture and mess up any allusion herein.) Or let’s say the same toaster suddenly starts burning all the bread that enters its slots without the owner’s permission, and the owner happens to be the same person who put the toaster to good use in the first place, which is really a sort of employment; and if that toaster could speak, I would highly suggest that it thank its person. Now the person finds himself/herself in a jam that should have never occurred in the first place, since it could actually have been helped, if only the toaster hadn’t entertained any wild ideas. Plus the person doesn’t even like jam in his/her sandwich.

So should the owner stick with its toaster and their shaky relationship due to the latter’s questionable reliability, and perhaps suffer even more severe burns in the future? Remember, anything is possible. Or should the person dump the toaster, which has become too big for its own good, and sever the bond they once shared. Now the toaster claims to have ownership of the owner’s bread, and God forbid it goes for the person’s head next. If it were your bread, what would your person do? Keep your head in mind as you figure this out.

One way to deal with this knotty situation is to take a different slant. Let’s take a look at creativity, for example. While thieves, impostors, and copycats continue their acts of thievery, forgery, and all manners of trickery, all the real creatives—the true owners of original artistic expressions, executed through various mediums and under the guidance of their creative visions—will have only been consumed by their own new projects. They’re always onto their next novel thing, innovating while trying to keep up with and stay true to their visions. True creatives are carried ever forward by this creative flow. There is no stopping this natural creative process. It is an endless overflow that only goes towards the direction of its own unadulterated, creative spirit; and that, my friends, can never be manufactured nor fabricated. ‘It is what it is’; creativity is, though you have to forgive me for the tired, old cliché.

Then again, reality hits and gravity holds our feet to keep us from our lofty ideas and ideals. Maybe I should sleep on this one after I create a few more images over milk and cookies, and a pot of Joe. Then I can decide if I should stay, or I should go. What do you plan to do with your Instagram account, knowing that it is now Facebook's property?

Organic nocturne: Cool world.

by: amica paige

She heard the radio play Spacehog's 'Space is the place', which took her down the memory lane of her underground days. Cool World was the place to be then.
At least if you chose not to jiggy with it elsewhere or retire early at home with the remote control or a tome, or hang out at a friend's rat hole after the last coffee shop had closed past ten, and should you have chosen to delay your trip at a 7-eleven beside the gas station for warm nachos yellowed by melted cheese from the pump. It was where you danced the remainder of the night away freely and someone else began to sway beside you without smug imposition, and you two ended up organic...dancing together through dawn's wee hours, with neither a strategy nor an agenda. It was where you met both cool and ugly people, and those that made you want to sleep with the bears, if they let you, rather than suffer another drab company; and those that perpetually slumbered, literally, on the stained couches leaning against the adjacent walls in the corner: perhaps the last three characters slept with each other there, though she couldn't say for sure. She never even saw their true colors—the couches—since the only source of light in the scant place were the few moody spotlights in the ceiling that casted shades onto its nocturnal floor and occasionally flashed hints of the fetid, sullied sofas defiled by butts, smokes, beer, puke, armpits, and sweat.

6th Degrees of separation: Michel Gutsatz, Via Roma Pizza, Steve Jobs, Truman, Willy Wonka, and My Coffee and Me

“Each of these private brands was structured like a real national brand: they carry a story, have a strong graphic identity ... and are presented mostly as independent sales displays, giving them even more impact. Via Roma is in this respect, a real success: it conveys authenticity, proximity, fun ... and not the nth 'Italian brand" of the market (all the visuals are pictures of the inhabitants of an Italian village” — okay, stop right here, unless you’re into marketing strategies and product branding, in which case you’d want to go to both the picture's and quote’s source, Michel Gutsatz, a Brand Strategy Consultant. Otherwise, let’s keep it plain and simple and stick to the real topic here, which is food.

I’m going to assume that Friday night is pizza night for most Americans regardless of ethnicity, unless you’re out partying with one hand clasped around a Heineken’s neck and the other too busy raising the roof in some nightclub. So, this evening led me to A&P in search of some wholesome pizza. Okay, two points need clarifying. One, I know that wholesome and pizza don’t really mesh, but please don’t knead me, I’m trying. Besides, you’d be surprised at what you’d find at the grocery aisles now, even with the usual barrage of sinful munchies that should forever be exiled from our reaches to preserve our health and will power; and yet you shouldn’t be surprised at all anymore in this day and age, especially when Steve Jobs has already unveiled what once were mere imagination and impossibilities. As an aside, I wouldn’t be too surprised either if a few years from now Apple takes over our entire planet’s kitchens, or simply the entire planet, making the tele-transport of food, or anything else for that matter, possible. Imagine instantly getting a hold of something that you ordered just seconds ago through your TV screen. And the shoes you’ve been wishing to see on your feet, yes, shoes!—imagine that!—or pizza, since we’re still very much on the topic—picture them materializing right in front of you without actually having taken a trip to the store or waited for your internet or catalog order to arrive. Again, we’re at a time when the tele-transport of things through the TV screen has just been made very possible, which quite possibly is the very next thing on the techno giant's agenda. Think of a Truman and Wonka merger; I’m not sure about Truman, but Willy would surely be proud.

My second point is that Via Roma Pizza is just simply deelish, and that’s saying a whole lot for pizza found at the grocery aisle, with it’s fresh tasting mozzarella, savory sauce, and tender whole-grain crust—if you cook it just right; I find that baking it for 20 min at 400 ends up charring it, as is the case with most directions, so ease up on it, follow your guts, and just eyeball it through the oven door around the 12th to 15th min of baking, keeping your eye just close enough to the door to see the pizza—no, we don’t want your eye getting burned itself by the hot door.

I’m quite surprised by the pizza's high quality for it’s low price of $4.99, more than I am with the whole Apple revolution, which I’m actually starting to feel a wee bit wary of— honestly, just what would be the point of going out if you could do everything right on your TV; it’s bad enough that we now have more car accidents for forgetting that we’re actually supposed to be driving the car while driving a car, instead of using our cell phones. But just what do I know. The world will continue to spin in this virtual velocity that it has already far been catapulted into. I just hope that this virtual and technological force that we’re in doesn’t implode in our faces down the road. Hopefully, the old fashioned things, even in their restored or renovated forms, will come to the rescue.

Anyway, here’s to Via Roma pizza. And maybe a glass of wine—to you, because I can't do wine. My stomach turns, so blame it on my guts. But I do coffee, anytime, all the time, on the rocks.

Summer Music at the Park

With all the madness going on in the world, it's good to sit back once in a while and hang with real musicians, such as these folks who entertained onlookers at Washington Square Park in the summer of 2007; where was I in the subsequent summers of 2008 and 2009?—I wonder. Too bad I didn't come up to find out the group's name then. Hopefully, they'll be out there again this summer. The prospect of great music at the park for free is too good to miss, even if later you should feel like dropping a bill or two in their container. It's still a breath of fresh air from all the mess around us.

Mo Willems and Lou Ferrig-who? at the N.Y. 2009 Comic Con

The three-day New York 2009 Comic Convention that commenced on February 6 at the Jacob Javits Center was quite a hit, or so I was told. My husband took my son, who met the nationally acclaimed Brooklyn author/illustrator, Mo Willems, the illustrious creator renowned for his clever children stories and straightforward illustrations, dominated by offbeat characters, such as the utterly wily pigeon, who repeatedly carries out his antics in a series of attempts to gain your trust in “Don’t Let The Pigeon Drive the Bus”, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late”, “The Pigeon Finds a Hotdog”, and “The Pigeon Wants a Puppy”. And was Mr. Willems rather pleasant to his supporters, I’m told. He didn’t charge a penny for a snapshot with him.


***Video courtesy of cnet.com

On the contrary, Lou Ferrigno, the former green monster guy, named The Incredible Hulk, who underwent a grotesque transformation every time he was overcame with fury, apparently had his head stuck in green once again at the Con, well, metaphorically speaking. And no, I don’t mean that rage overcame him all over again. Mr. Ferrigno was somewhat possessed by a different sort, or shade, of green, as in dough, the cash kind, in which case, you might as well take his green obsession quite literally, I suppose. You had to hand him both a Jackson and a Hamilton for a picture with him. Now, that’s incredible! And I don’t mean that in a cool way. No, not at all. Now, whenever I’m reminded of the dated green guy, I think of this hideous “green” guy—and definitely not the Hulk of our current times, Ed Norton—for charging my son who had actually been excited to meet the green monstrosity with his dad at the Con.

Dismissing this not so incredible facet of the Con, the event was pretty awesome, my son reports. By the way, Mo Willems’ website, mowillems.com, and his ironically famous but nameless pigeon’s site, pigeonpresents.com, offer smart amusement and a totally cavity-free treat.

You're special just the way you are...well, until you start to resemble Emperor Palpatine

“I’m like so fearful of getting wrinkles, so I’m buying all these…”, I heard the lady next to me say loud-enough-for-anyone-not-eavesdropping-to-hear-anyway on her cell phone, as she ogled the wide array of beauty potions at Walgreens. Meanwhile, I was there for dish washing detergent, as the store had a buy-one-get-one-free—nope, I refuse to fall prey to that let’s-cut-the-words-really-short-to-the-point-of-grunting-forget-succinctness-just-because-we-all seem-to-be-in-a-constant-mad-rush-in-this-hyper-information-and-hypo-attention-span-age “BOGO” term; this time, acronyms just won’t do for me—special (each came down to 79 cents, can you believe it?!#*!?...lower than the dollar store junk!#%*!), splenda (same case here, $2.99 for 100 packets and I had a $1.00 off coupon as well), facial tissue which the manager gave me a rain check for should the next shipment arrive sometime in 2025, and, yes, a tried-and-true, good-old’-fashioned, no-fuss St. Ive’s facial lotion just because my face felt so tight and cracked, like I needed lip-balm all over my face…well, that’s just it, I needed a face balm. Not that I don’t secretly detest old age when it comes, because I bet my still fresh rear that 50% of women on earth really want to keep their youthful appearance, some of which haven’t realized it yet as they are still very young and in their diapers, and the other 50% are in their graves with the worms, their bodies or bones sans skin rather, with their spirit elsewhere. My point is, “Lady, could you be a bit louder and more blunt when broadcasting your rhytiphobia and gerascophobia (fear of wrinkles and old age), because being subtle is simply out nowadays, especially when everything is in, like men who aren’t gay but dress like women anyway, and old women who think they can still parade their sexuality by the way they dress and act. Am I being sarcastic here? Am I? Am I? So, people, won't you please announce all your thoughts a little louder already? Tis the day of confessions and testimonies, remember? Forget about whom you’ll affect, such as children—especially yours…when they come, if you don’t have any yet, as you constantly remind them the joy of being yourself because they’re special just the way they are, but only while they’re still young and they must fight those damn wrinkles when they come, and better yet, help these kids be proactive now and get that nose, lip, or chest job while they’re still fresh. Take them to the doctor for a nice set of pouty lips like those of the Bratz dolls. We’re in the day and age when we’re just going to be real, so come clean already people! Say, I will fight old age until the day I join the worms in the dirt and eventually become dust myself. By the way, while others prefer the more natural olive oil, my mom prefers Oil of Olay for its fighting capabilities, battling the 7 signs of aging. I’ve yet to find out which is a better remedy for banishing wrinkles. Maybe, a really effective potion, even a magic wand, would be discovered years from now, to forever vanquish old age. I’ll be crossing my fingers for that one. For now, I rejoice in my St. Ive’s face balm. And just maybe, I’ll later join the fight against old age.

Maher and Morningstar, or Mike—the headless chicken,

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The answer is it only takes six weeks for them (chickens) to live, from the farm and onto your plate in whatever fashion—grilled, barbecued, or fried—according to Bill Maher in a recent interview featured in New Jersey Life Magazine. Meat consumption apparently tops factory and car emissions in heating up the earth; cows produce an incredible amount of methane. Also, it takes more land to raise animals for consumption than grow crops that can feed a greater number of people. In addition, the growth hormones that these animals are injected with for speedy growth pass on to us.

To eat or not to eat?—that is the question. Like most people, I’ve had a general idea of our dominance over animals in the food chain just swimming in my subconscious. But hearing it again—I was vegan for two years five years ago until my will yielded its power back to the irresistible baby shrimps in the scrumptious Chinese fried rice, then to the delectable baked salmon drizzled with olive oil and lemon juice, to the sweet bits of reddened, roasted pork in Chinese fried rice, to the tasty gyros, to the yummy McDonald’s chicken nuggets, egg mcmuffin, and Big Mac, and Burger King’s Tendercrisp chicken sandwich and Whopper, and Chinese sweet and sour chicken, and finally to the Chinese fried pork dumplings, which taste similar to Filipino Longaniza (sausage) in its sweetness and spices. Notice the progression? Blame it on the baby shrimps, then the fish…and so on and so forth. Meanwhile, the egg remains incognito in the delicious Chinese fried rice. Maybe it’s the tempting Chinese food’s fault. You get the picture. I rest my case—and hearing the details of the process and the consequences of meat consumption that not only adversely affect our bodies, but the health of our planet as well, makes me want to think twice about, and perhaps never think again of, eating meat.

I will consider this further over an egg muffin breakfast or chicken nugget lunch at McDonalds, if I’m not already mulling it over at BK with a Tendercrisp. Seriously, I’ve got to face my demons before I can power my will and say “Goodbye, you and I are kaput.” I probably have to brush up on my tofu burger, sauteed tofu, and tofu with pasta. Wonder if my son can stomach them…I’ll just feed him loads of McCain fries; they’re cooked with canola oil—yeay! One thing for sure, those vegan burgers, except for a few exceptions like Morningstar’s, should be banished from the health shelves/freezers since they taste no different from seasoned styrofoam, how I imagine it—the styrofoam—to taste like, anyway.

Life’s full of quandaries. But tofu accompanying it, instead of animal excretions turning our earth into a virtual oven to bake us and potentially harmful, artificial growth hormones to plague us, seems more inviting. My fruits, vegetables, hearty breads, potatoes, rice, pastas, olives, and a host of other flavorful foods shall keep me company...when I...if I...decide to...go vegan...again. At least, then, I’d be able to ruminate on “The chicken or the egg” philosophical question.

Zipping through happenings that zipped by

Zipping through life leaves me befuddled, aside from breathless. So, for my sake, as this blog is practically my journal—I record more of the thoughts my reeling mind churns out here and also on pieces of paper and napkins than in my actual, old-fashioned, hard bound journals—I need to log a few things that happened this summer, and maybe even events that took place in recent years, that they don’t just become random fragments floating in my already cluttered head and promoting further congestion. I need to unload them here.

First, The Hudson County Waterfront Clean-up. It was such a hot day in June at the park by the bay. But it was also such a pleasant thing to help clean a small part of Newark Bay with other responsible, earth-conscious individuals. My family's looking forward to participating again next year to help reduce the garbage defacing our earth, right here in our small part of the world, because every little effort, every little hand, and every little heart counts.

Next is Liberty State Park's 34th Annual Cultural Arts Festival, which The Hudson Artists of New Jersey participated in. Here’s the always delightful chairperson, Marge Colavito, who is a truly remarkable artist and also the association's chairperson. She holds painting classes for anyone interested at The Upstairs Art Gallery, where she also offers services such as framing and art concession. And here’s a glimpse of my hand-painted shirts for a sample sale. Of course, the event showcased many impressive works by other artists, one of who had his paintings printed on shirts, and I, being an artist who likes to support other artist/artisans who passionately put their hearts and souls into their handmade products, just had to buy a couple of those creative shirts, one for my husband and the other for my brother.

Speaking of my brother, he is also an artist, and is quite exceptional as well, especially for someone who just recently graduated with a Fine Arts degree and hasn’t had any professional experience. Here’s a glimpse of his work in sculpture and the eagle in the Senior Art Exhibit 2008 poster pictured below. He had already bequeathed three of his original pieces to me—the eagle done in graphite (shown in the picture), a pelican in pastel, and another bird in acrylic are all perched in my hallway. They look so realistic that I could almost hear the birds sing. Well…

Anyway, here's a video of him painting with his class at the University of Guam. (I envy their al fresco ambiance; which painter wouldn't be inspired to paint the colors of nature? Surely, the bright and boundless nature can always spark something magical to transpire. You just have to keep your eyes open...and you'll see the guy, with a white shirt and a full head—thick hair—standing while he paints; that's my brother :)

Finally, Fourth of July was nice and relaxing this year, just like last year, and unlike in 2005, when we camped at Liberty State Park and trekked back to the light rail station when the fireworks were over, which was quite grueling with all our packs burdening our backs as we guided our son through the exodus in the dark. There was one consolation. Yoda communed with us...

This time, we just sat by our town’s Waterfront Park while the fireworks fascinated us. See…

On my next posting: trip to Salem last year, coffee shops, Strands Bookstore, Gray’s Papaya Hotdogs, summer at the Washington Square Park in the village and Ocean Grove beach, this year’s Halloween, and a few other happenings yet to be mentioned...I hope...

On twits who mind your flabs

The comment below was supposed to have been for Urban Recluse's July article, "Getting Through Saturday", but the site had a glitch when I tried posting and I eventually forgot about it until recently. It's been a while since that event took place, so I'm not even posting this comment on the original article. However, it is a relevant issue which many of you can probably relate to. So, I'm posting the comment here instead, for those who has experienced the same tragic torment by people, supposedly your kin or even friends who casually throw remarks about your physical appearance, especially involving your weight, when they see you again in a social setting, especially in a social setting.

And I thought that only my culture (Filipino's) is notorious for this social blunder or just a clear case of tactlessness, bordering on rudeness, of bringing up someone else's weight, or anyother flaw on one's physical appearance. If I were to attend that party in your place, I'd tweak your mom's finesse and flavor it a bit with George Carlin's bluntness spiced with sarcasm.

For example:

(Uncouth) Godmother: Darling, you’re living a fine life, aren’t you, as I can see that you've been eating rather well.

(Refined and Feisty) You: Why, thank you. It’s nice of you to notice (with an exaggerated smile and full eye-contact). It's always a delight to see you. How are you? Well, you don't seem to be having any difficulty yourself. You look rather lively and well-fed as well. Now I hate to cut this short, but you'll have to excuse me, as I just can't resist another round of those mouth-watering hors d'oeuvres.

Or:

U.Godmother: Honey, either my vision's oddly increased the size of the things I see or you've swelled six sizes since the last time I saw you (with gaping mouth).

R.F.Y: Oh, (Ill-bred) Godmother, it's always a delight to see you. How are you? You look healthy! Do be careful leaving your mouth hanging as the bugs are out at this time of the year. And oh, by the way, have you seen the international news headline at all? Well, apparently, someone was severely punished in Singapore for casually making a rude remark at a social function. The person was made to sit on the buffet table like a pig, bare-naked with an apple on her head as the high official's daughter aimed knives at it—the apple. As it turned out the high official's mother was the one who had thrown the party and the pig on the buffet table who had "unintentionally" thrown an insult to the host's daughter was the godmother. Anyway, I thought I'd update you on that current event, since it's been the talk of town. Now, I must leave you for those irresistible hors d’oeuvres (with full eye-contact, an affable facial expression, and intensity in recounting the fabricated story to discourage any interruptions in the form of your disturbed godmother's responses). You get the point.

I commiserate. I experienced similar situations, from both shallow friends and annoying relatives with peas for brains. Other friends of mine, even one who is of another culture, also had tragic experiences like that, enough to not only humiliate but dumbfound one in a social scene. Show up with dignity and enjoy your little time there with your mom and the food and the wine and the rest of the company; it can't possibly be that every guest turns out to be a pig. Then leave when you wish. Allow yourself that fleeting peace by tuning out those nasty memories and letting yourself go. It gets easier after the first few minutes. Anyway, you might just have a different experience this time and end up having a good time. Also, it will pass, as with everything else.

Apparently, the event did turn out fine for Urban Recluse. Still, it never hurts to be armed with smart, yes even sarcastic, retorts to twits who temporarily lose their wits whenever they see you.

Artsy Etsy

For a while now, I’ve had great ideas for dolls—that is, how I’d want them to look if I were to buy one for some reason or another, one of which is to play, though rather cruelly, with my husband who cringes at the mere mention of having another baby, a girl that is. Not that I’d be ecstatic at the prospect of going through the whole period all over again, from pregnancy to the toddler period—though at this age, the little creatures are so insanely adorable, well, minus the crying bouts and diaper sessions—to grade school, of which we're currently still in the process with our only child, our son. Yet, I’ve always imagined myself having a baby girl, though I love my son dearly. I guess my longings for caring for a girl can be traced back to feeling deprived of that motherly love as a young girl, that the promise of giving my own daughter that tender affection automatically grew in my subconscious. Anyway, I wanted to see if anyone else out there already has the same ideas I have before I invest my time creating the dolls, so I searched the web and stumbled on what I can only described as an invigorating artist haven. Etsy. Have you heard of it? You probably have, if you’re creative and have been creating and selling, or even buying original products from other artists and artisans like you. It’s not only a market place, but a community, for artists and/or anyone who has a heart for truly unique and hand-made things. If you haven’t, I know how overwhelming, even intimidating the creative communities could seem, let alone market places, especially for a budding creative person who has been itching to create something distinctive and looking for a stimulating place to belong. My advice is, check Etsy out. I haven’t signed on, but I know I will be when I have enough pieces to show. So get busy with your wares artists!

Here’s a bit on Etsy—"The Handmade's Tale":

And since I've always enjoyed making things for gifts, as well as occasionally purchased original creations by other artists, I'm actually quite glad that

This is a sign that though I can never fully separate myself from the world, I will always cherish things creatively made with bare hands, inventive eyes, and passionate hearts.

Harry Potter Theme Park for Us, Minions and Muggles

Yeay! And another big treat for us faithful followers of Potter. (Sorry it isn't Ms. Potter of Hill Top this time, though her own inimitable heritage shan't ever be forgotten so long as Peter, Benjamin, and their mates continue to flourish and frolic around at the Lake District; see previous article below on this subject) Of course, I'm talking about the other Potter, and his mates, who have surely captivated our society and managed to evolve from mere cult to prominent mainstream and, as it appears now, to an all-time classic, for his minions anyway. November 21, 2008 will quench us with the first part of The Half-blood Prince to be followed by the second part sometime in May of 2009, if I'm not mistaken. Then, the really big treat arrives in 2010, when The Wizarding World of Harry Potter Theme Park opens at Universal Studios in Orlando. Sweet! Imagine being inside the immensely significant settings: Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Three Broomsticks, with an Owl's Eye View! The books are fantastic, the movies have been incredible, and the novelties, including the websites and events related and/or strictly devoted to the Harry Potter mania, abound. But these just aren't enough. They'd never gratify enthusiasts such as those who have followed the Harry Potter saga, as in us, minions. To be able to walk in a scene as the characters did in the story would fulfill both the muggles and countless minions of Harry Potter. Let this announcement from Universal Studios in collaboration with Warner Brothers confirm yet another major forthcoming Harry Potter event. This will be massive. Professor Trelawney's prediction is rather unnecessary in this case.

Hoboken Arts and Music Festival, Wicked Monkey, and May is So Over because of hasty June...

May is gone and June was hasty. School already ended for most students and as anticipated by many, summer is here. (The last time I checked, I was just watching the 4th of July fireworks dazedly; I need about another month to catch up with July which is a couple of weeks shy of being kaput as well, so I’ll put that subject off until then when I’m entirely there.) Apparently, time just zips by, leaving me utterly winded…there’s never enough of time to do anything much with and, much less, everything. So I’ll just have to make a minor adjustment and forget about all of my plans this summer. There. That should take care of this funny business of hyperventilating. And to think, I was even so ecstatic about this fiery season during the spring showers…

Blame it on May. It—my ludicrous perception of summer euphoria—all started with May, which I’ll return to shortly since this posting is supposed to be about my spring events, an account of which is already two months delayed, thanks to the flower power that is May and its onslaught of activities. May subliminally instigated my blasted, out-of-control summer notion that is almost uncanny and not funny at all. She (May) is the culprit that spawns events in an incredibly rapid succession, leaving one with hardly a break in between to heave a second wind, and spews them to an already swamped and robotic yet still very acquiescent society who knows naught but to mechanically nod through their overscheduled days and recite phrases like “What time does it start?” for confirmation—such confirmations are sure to satisfy man’s insatiable need for affirmation. (Wake us, George Carlin—such a loss to society, who shall continue your reason and your fight-less fight?—and those of you who are brave enough to act on your grumbles, Wake us!—us—mindless drones of mankind drifting listlessly, though fully functional like robots, in a world submerged in a mass hysteria for “filling”. Forget about doing—there is great and inexpressible spiritual sense in the doing of something that is united with the heart. Otherwise, it is only filling… gorging… hording. We have an enormous craving to fill a huge void—an immense, dark hole that is man’s unquenchable thirst for approval. Hence, the birth of palm pilots—aha! The power to connect, confirm, and ultimately organize—or control—is in our hands. Once again, we have achieved instant gratification for our immense need to belong, at least for the time being. And palm pilots are almost archaic due to the speed of our technological advancement. We have moved onto smarter, sleeker, more sophisticated technology that boasts more features and functions and buttons; buttons are easier to push, never mind the ancient levers as they require more physical work like playing with a stick that requires more mental exertion otherwise known as creativity. As Carlin clearly expressed his thoughts on society and its children, albeit abrasive his views are, children aren’t allowed to play with sticks nor stare at a tree anymore; they are far too busy to merely commune with nature and stare and think and wonder. These children are now a new breed, highly advanced and ambitious. They are a class of their own, a modern hybrid that needs to belong, attain, and win. They are serious and focused. And they mean business, or their parents do, at least. Hence, the emergence of after-school, weekend, and summer programs, because the normal schooling just isn’t sufficient to hone a child anymore, and the adults at home are crammed (their palm pilots say so) to engage with their kids with as little as a mere glimpse, never mind a conversation which requires too much mental effort. In fact, the standard school’s performance is now substandard, so there is only room for higher expectations and excellence by providing more school assignments and activities. And the adults are of course extremely concerned. They can’t take their invisible eyes off their kids as they wade through their pool of commitments. These children are going to be our future leaders, so there is no time to waste. There is only enough time for grooming these youths to perfection—we need future leaders like Bush and Clinton, and majority of the government officials that currently manage our society. Doing more is the only way to keep up. And make sure that you fix others and their backyards first before your own. Keeping up is the only way to prove something—to gain another human being’s admiration and approval to ultimately mean something. Because “God is never pleased”. A catholic church newsletter said so. Wait something feels awry. Eerie actually. Maybe it’s just my neurosis.

Okay, maybe I am just connecting dots and being totally neurotic. But listen, it is probably really April’s fault. Perhaps, she is the one liable for this sort of event obsession with her spring and Easter hype and, also, whoever it was responsible for making March cover Easter too, as if there were not enough leprechauns and clovers to manage its merrymaking all through another month of craze. And weren’t we still suffering from the hang-over that was valentine’s madness and its colossal stuffed teddies that lined up the store shelves?

Now back to May. What happened in May…hmm...oh, I remember now. It was my son’s interview for another school on the 5th, his birthday party on the 10th, his friends’ party on the 16th and the 25th, also the day of our friend’s get-together, Hoboken’s Art’s and Music Festival on the 4th, and oh, mother’s day on the 11th. The month was also stuffed with school activities such as field day, fun night, and early dismissals. And as if that weren’t enough to keep me panting on all fours and trying to hold on to dear sanity for the third grader living with me—forget about the roses on mother’s day, I definitely had no time to smell them…wait, I can’t even remember if I received any…I remember going to our friend’s get-together that afternoon…I had breakfast in bed, courtesy of my thoughtful son, assisted by my husband (check); cards (check); lunch at Houlihan’s and having on my dainty, chiffon, light pink dress (check); and Chip Kidd’s edition, Peanuts: the art of Charles M. Schulz, a treat from my husband which I absolutely enjoyed, because Sparky’s work is truly remarkable, and I consider him a genius like Theodore Giesel. So, I hope to write more about this special edition of the Peanuts in another posting.

Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, as if the excitement weren’t enough to last well into the summer and past it, both Indiana Jones and Narnia happened to emerge from their creators’ closets on the same month. So, we packed our weekends with events that included the movies, like we were packing for a long vacation overseas. (How I wish it was actually a vacation overseas in a tropical oasis, like last year’s in Guam.) Fortunately, Iron Man was released around the time of my son’s 9th birthday party, so we took care of seeing the movie and having the party simultaneously. Ahh, what joy!—one stone took care of a couple of birds…there really must be something to be got from aphorisms... My son was allowed to invite a few friends—a few meaning as much as the fingers on a set of normal hands, because the day of inviting the whole class, in my book at least, had culminated in 1st grade—to the movies which was immediately followed by a party at our house. What else could you do for a 9 year old boy? Clowns were creepy, and arts and crafts a little too cheesy for these slightly older children, most of which were boys. In previous years, we had been there and done a Veggietales’ pizza party, Star Wars with Darth Vader as a special guest, and Sam’s Green Eggs and Ham a year after Bob the Builder turned the cake into a nice yellow property with sugar grass. No way could we have snuck in time for cloud-watching or tree-communing for the kids. Sorry, George. Ah, but for us adults, my husband and I, at least, did I mention having squeezed in time at the park before sundown for our sanity’s sake and for planting on Memorial Day, the 26th , too? All these activities happened in one deep, long breath that is called May, which was also crammed with schoolwork and karate classes every week. And that’s just my son’s life which apparently overlaps my husband’s and mine.

And by the way, as those events transpired, I was also in the middle of unfinished paintings, shirt and bag designs, and unpublished writings. In fact, I’ve been in the middle of all these projects for a while now. It’ll be a great relief if I could complete a dozen paintings for a small showing at a bookstore, café, or other similar venues, and definitely a huge treat to have prepared a good amount of shirts and bags to sell at future art fairs.

Before I cease babbling, I have to talk about the Hoboken Arts and Music Festival that took place on the 4th of May, Sunday. It was somewhat enjoyable. Detecting a hint of boredom in my tone, don’t you? Well, I don’t know if it’s just me and my self-detected ADD, but the event has become tiresome for one reason or another. Maybe because I was not given a chance to prove that, unlike most of the silly shirts that currently plague our malls, there is real art in my shirt designs to the snooty phone lady, who had rather tersely replied during my application inquiry that “they”—the mysterious and sacred festival committee—would just “ignore” my samples,. The festival air also reeked, not of art and music, but lifelessness and the unpleasant odor of mere business hullabaloo. This is not to disregard the market’s role in the creative sphere at all, otherwise the artist wouldn’t be able to cultivate his craft and carry on. But once commerce undermines the creative process, the very heart of creativity is lost, leaving only a creative mirage with the stench of commercialism at its core.
Okay, on the other hand, I did enjoy the Wicked booth, its lively staff, and promotional perks, which included sunscreens and a free snapshot of you and your group complete with props and backdrop. And my son enjoyed the foot long hotdog, as he always had since he started coming along and been able to consume a hotdog of that length. And since I began coming to this event twice a year in spring and in fall, my husband and I have started collecting a souvenir or two. So far, we’ve acquired jewelry, an African musical instrument, and toys such as a pirate marionette, a set of wooden bow and arrows, a wooden rubber-band gun, all unique, and absolutely hand-made. We even tried some delicious dips. This time I decided to pick up another musical instrument, which was some type of a Mexican recorder or flute, in addition to my son’s second marionette—a blue-eyed, lavender alien. That’s just the point of these festivities, to discover, celebrate, and support artists and local musicians, and sample a variety of international foods. If only the foods are a little less pricey and the music’s turned down a notch, these treats could be appreciated more, while the people get to enjoy their food and conversations with music in the background. The $5 tin cup of old fashioned soda poured out from wooden barrels was a real treat though. And other than wishing that I saw more people supporting the artists by buying their products, I actually am looking forward to the autumn event. Do I really wish business to pour over these artists, my counterparts? I do…I have to, as it is also one of my deepest desires for my art to be seen, appreciated, and ultimately purchased for my official validation…
Ay, humans…so simply complicated. Can’t live with or without…just like summer.

Sushi?

Nope, these figures laid on the table aren't mannequins. They're real people just like us-yes, you and me, but models, of course. I came across the article about this scene on The Urban Recluse, another writer's blog, which is as interesting as a box of chocolate, or feel free to replace the chocolate with anyone of your other obsessions, because we all have our special favorites.

Anyway, as I commented on the article, this only proves once again that there's no end in man's genius and creativity. And this is only a morsel on the tip of the iceberg of man's brilliance. We haven't seen anything yet; there's undoubtedly more behind the curtains, or in the closet. But we will behold all of man's brilliance, in time. We will, because we are a progressive class and we're the highest order. And we'll always find ways to economize. Forget dinnerware, tables, clothing-especially clothing, it's hard enough to keep up with the rising cost of everything nowadays. Save your money for rice and gas; rice is currently being rationed as it is and gas is just ridiculous. Rice is more vital, especially for sushi. Hopefully, one day we won't need gas. That's what our feet are for. It would be like Eden's paradise again. There's no doubt we'll get to that state in time. That would be when our refined culture fully fuses with our primitive nature. It's the ultimate liberation of the self, when we finally refuse to separate our human traits apart and accept them all as our one, true selves. It's perfect freedom. This is real ART we're dealing with and discretion has no place in it. It's as raw and real as life can ever get, like real sushi. However--yes, there's a pause here, because what follows is extremely important--however, there'd always be a place for shoes. We have got to have our shoes. It's one thneed the lorax can't deny our society. Shoes are made for walking, remember? Modern and primitive in total union, it's utopia. The onceler has to keep making this great thneed. We need our shoes. And soap. We need to continue producing soap. Soap is good thneed. It's among our basic necessities. Shoes and Soap. No, Shoes, Soap, and Sushi. Now, that would be a great topic for me to write about, if it hasn't already been covered by another great mind.

Earth Day, Community Date

April just passed. However, and despite my thousand and one preoccupations, I still have to talk about our 2008 and 5th Earth Day celebration here at Hudson County, NJ--check out the link here and on the side, labeled "Hudson's Home" under the heading Earth On You if you care for more info. Anyway, it was a really beautiful day at Liberty State Park, by the Hudson River and overlooking Manhattan's skyline. The event hosted various activities. It was kicked off by the adult race, which I sorely missed by a few minutes, and the fun run for the kids soon after; luckily, my son with the black shirt and red pants in the picture was able to participate. There were music for all, al fresco; children's games both outdoors and indoors at the ferry terminal; and tons of giveaways, including school supplies, toys, plants, information on numerous social and earth conscious organizations of course, and food galore!-from bagels to donuts, bananas, oranges, drinks, and even 100 calorie snacks--a Nabisco promotion, which I think is very clever of them to advertise that day. I'd definitely have to remember to skip breakfast next year because I can catch it there with loads of other treats, after participating in the early run.

This is definitely one event I've looked forward to every year since it started. It reminds me a lot of the cultural festivals held every year in the mall in Washington D.C., a few of which are the Taste of D.C., which I just found out,while writing this bit and wanting to link the event's site, to not have only been temporarily suspended, but unfortunately terminated...makes me wonder about the budget on events like this for the community...hmm..., the Smithsonian Craft Show, and the Cherry Blossom Festival. Anyway, let me get back to Earth Day. This event is truly enjoyable and informative. One thing though, I just wonder how much stuff is procured from China for freebies, like the chip bag clips or the letter openers, with Jersey City's mayor's name on them, for this event. I hope it's not an excessive amount of stuff...I mean wouldn't that defeat the purpose of the event in a way? I better end it here before my thoughts steer me elsewhere. I do love the baby blue toothbrushes and the herbs. And my son loves the owls, the oversize, sponge golf balls, and the pencils. And of course, my husband loves the food and makes sure he doesn't litter.