jesse boy

Inconsistencies.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Mon, 12 May 2008 19:32:33 GMT

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, because it's an inconsistency I think about a lot, but it's worth noting again. Jim Harrison once said that the bathroom was the only place where you were really in control of your life. Howere, in the novella "Revenge," a character (who has it coming) is stabbed to death while using the urinal.

Also: knowing as we do the meanings both of "corporate" and "charity," doesn't "corporate charity" sound like the best thing ever, instead of like a golf tournament?

my doorman: "this neighborhood's a little messed up." Well, no me freaking digas.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 04:58:33 GMT

So the other night, some joker tried to rob me. I was walking home from some friends' house a little late and all of the sudden this guy was like "Oh no you aren't!" with his hand on my chest and wanting me to give him all of my things in Spanish. My strategy here, which I plan on employing in the states as well, is to not understand things which will cause me displeasure. So if somebody is like "that's not a free sample, dude," I'm like "Sorry! I didn't understand that, and good luck next time on catching me before it goes into my mouth!" Also, if somebody's like "Give me your money or else," then I'm like "I already know the story behind today's national holiday, but I appreciate your efforts to communicate it."

Anyway, when he started getting into cognates like "Celular" and easy-tourist words like "money," I realised I was going to have to deal with him. So I was like "You've got the wrong guy;" and proved it by having like four advertisements for psychic friend-finders and four pesos in my pocket, along with a small notebook and a guide to the bus system (which still smells a little like puke.)

But the guy was like "oh no, I couldn't possibly," and just gives me the four pesos back, stealthily pocketing the psychic friend finder brochures. As I walked off into the night, and then into the waiting arms of young Patrick Frazier, I thought of about thirty ways I could have handled the situation better. They all involved training beforehand. The next day, though, Tito gave me a truly heartwarming rundown on how to really deal with the situation next time it arises. Feel free to use this advice yourself, when dealing with a would-be assailant.

"Touch him, and look him in the eye. Eye contact is very important. Say 'My brother. My brother, I am a working man, like you. I too am a working man.' That way he'll know that you work for your money, and he'll respect that. 'My brother...'"

You gotta go for the water-works with these guys.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 00:42:07 GMT

Two items of business:

1) In Guanajuato, we got off the bus midmorning, stretched our legs and looked around. We took our pisses in the trees beside the station, avoiding the payment of bathroom entrance fees on grounds both fiscal and moral. Guanajuato was the site of a series of silver mines in the mountains 200 miles northwest of Mexico city. Eventually, the city was built around the mines, resulting in a bunch of steep cobbled streets which wind around each other without any apparent plan, sometimes ending abruptly and sometimes carrying you all the way out above the city, to a road which lays above it. It is wonderful. Patrick, immediately upon pissing, strides up to the group, sizes up a nearby mountain, and says "We could sleep there, you know." And we did, even though I whined about it quite a bit on the trip up. We could see everything from where we ended up camping, and thought ourselves solitude and handsome, a bunch of badasses in on a secret, until the morning, when we woke up surrounded by a herd of cows. Yeah, cows. So we lowed each other up, and gathered our wits for awhile before saying so long to the shepherd and climbing back down to the city. The next night, having enjoyed our bovine friends so much, we returned only to find that the gods had turned against us and decided not only to send a storm, but to arrange our sleeping arrangements such that only a tamale I had ingested in Ciudad Victoria remained dry. It was miserable. I mean, it was great. You know how it is.

2) The house we live in here has no floor, no windowpanes, beds and no kitchen. It has, in fact, no rooms. I have purchased a table and chairs, and Josh a cushion to sleep on. We've made friends with our neighbors, who own a pila (which is a concrete sink/washboard, used both for cleaning clothes and dishes. We live just down the street from a fritanga, which is a table on the sidewalk in front of your house from which you sell food that makes a chele faint with desire. Gallo Pinto (Nicaraguan rice and beans), Yuca, Papas, Manuelitas (pancakes rolled up with sweet cheese crumbled inside), and Frescos (home-made fruit drinks sold in tied-up sandwich bags. What do you do to obtain such heart-stealing deliciousities? Well, you wait in line, you ask everybody how to say things, and then when the woman behind the table calls you amor, you say "cinco de gallo pinto, tres de yuca, y una manuelita. y dame un fresco." She scoops your food into a banana leaf, ties it up, and then you pay. You carry the food home to your house to eat it, and then afterward, I sit at our table (which is wood, white and brown, and beautiful), pull open our door, which is big enough that a car can drive through (you see, our apartment is a garage), and read and write. Usually, though, I´m not at that long until I decide to go outside. Everybody tells us to be careful in our neighborhood, and I believe them. It´s by the bus station, for crying out loud. But there are always people on the streets, walking around or riding bikes, and the gigantonas are always walking around, with boys who beat on drums and sing "dance, gigantona, dance!" It is the mocking of a spanish bigotry that didn't let their daughters marry nicaraguan men. The superior spaniard is the giantess, and the nigaraguan man is a normal-sized boy with a giant-size head. It´s done by boys of 10-13, all over the city, after dark this time of year. We're in Leon, by the way. I like it.

After a few months on the road, our hero looks back, sees stars.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 18:17:26 GMT

Well, we´ve been a while across the border. The books I took:

-The Sounds of Poetry, by Robert Pinsky (Man, this was a pretty nice choice.)
-The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White (everybody made fun of me for this one, but it has by far been the most-read. I mean, what was I thinking with King Lear?
-King Lear, by Shakespeare (Seriously. See above. When you´re night busing it through southern mexico, this is the last book you want to be reading. Hell, night anythinging it through southern anywhere. With Albany: Glouster´s eyes?)
-A Collection of poems written between 1850 and 1950 (Check.)
-The Tempest (A much better choice.)
-The New Testament (Double-check.)

All in all, I did pretty well. Let´s keep in mind here that when I went to Spain, I took like twenty something books, sent them all home for seventy dollars, and only ended reading the first half of The Idiot and a lot of trashy romance novels the whole time I was there. So nice work, son.

We went through Mexico in only a week, instead of our planned month. This was mainly because when we got to Ciudad Victoria, and it was raining, and really nobody spoke english and it was obvious that the last person to be white and wearing a big backpack there was a had been beyond the time of remembering, we thought: ¨holy balls, let´s get out of here.¨ This exclamation really carried us to Guanajuato, which we made after many consecutive hours of bus travel. We slept on a bus our first night in Mexico. I arrived in Guanajuato blitzed by language change and lack of sleep, after having spent most of my bus time reading King Lear and working on the verb ¨ir.¨ It was actually a pretty great couple of days. From Ciudad Victoria, we got to San Luis Potosi at one AM. We saw that there was a bus leaving at four, thought: let´s get a little farther from Ciudad Victoria. We split our time in San Luis between the all-night cafe, the bus station, and the thirty foot stature of a national hero who had been canonized by freeway loops and was entirely illuminated by their streetlights. We fabricated a century or so of mexican history around the sainted general, and then split to Guanajuato.

A brief gallery of non-mexican Heroes:

Patrick ¨the big one¨ Frazier: The instigator of this trip, sometime runner, Jui-Jitsu expert, Chess Champion. Biceps like a slugger, but with the heart of a fan. This new-age grecian appreciates the poetry of Shel Silverstein, the glorious contortions of the dancing-floor, and large portions at reasonable prices. Ah, Patroclus!

Josh ¨Spinoza¨ Renfro: Josh holds the St. John´s single-season record for extra-curricular study groups attended (Undergraduate Division, Southwest Region, L.A.S.). Josh´s finely textured eyes are too beautiful to be enjoyed by the public except through a small glass window over each. He is pleasured by Matt Damon, embarrassing honesty, and a good bottle of cream soda.

And yours truly, who is yours, truly, anytime you´d like a private biography.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 01 Sep 2007 19:12:43 GMT

Well, I'm sitting in a motel ten minutes from the
border of Mexico, getting ready to cross. A brief
excursion into Matamoros last night showed me what I
probably already should have known: I don't really
speak Spanish. My dad, who does, took care of most of
our business.

It's a little early in the morning to go on about
crossing today for good (for a while). What I will
say: Already the prices and flavor have diverged into
a drastic inverse ratio. Freaking great sandwiches for
2.50 in Brownsville.

I was talking to Seth on the phone about Montessori's
directive, educationally, not to give more to the eyes
than to the hands. Decided that was good traveling
advice.

I'm starting to miss the kids from the camp I worked
at this summer. Dong Hoo doing the play by play by on
connect four: "Oh, that's good. What! Oh no. Uh oh.
You lose? You lose, teacher?" Well, it was pretty
great live.

Anyway, Patrick is dividing up Clif bars on the motel
bed. He takes this job pretty seriously. Yesterday, he
ordered two lunch specials at the mexican restaurant.
One right after another. Josh is having to leave
behind the selected works of St. Anselm of Canterbury,
so he's packing it in while he can. I did the same
thing, I guess, with a juvenile fiction book I'm
leaving: Habibi, so long.

Dad drove with us down to the border, and today he'll
drive back to Austin. It's been nice having him. I
will miss everything, I know, in about three days. I
will have the most vivid daydreams you've ever seen
about something like going to Wheatsville and ordering
an orange dream.

The other day, I got six shots, and now I can't raise
my arms any higher than it takes to plead ignorance.
Celebration has been taken from me in exchange for
immunization. The nurse told me that a symptom I could
expect from my shots was "general malaise." She also
warned that the Typhoid immunization might cause some
problems with paragraph breaks. That's just what she
said. I don't know if it's true. Patrick's nurse told
him that one of his shots would make him incredibly
grumpy in about two weeks. Just for a day. She
actually said this.

Cara's got a friend in Mexico City we'll stay with
when we arrive. Until then, Cuidad Victoria,
Guanajauto. Well, so long fluency!

Mowbray, in Richard II:

The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native english, now I must forego;
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony...

So long, English!

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 02:33:03 GMT

Raymond informs me that a friend he has on television fell asleep with a grill in his mouth. My condolences, son.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:15:33 GMT

That last one was probably superfluous. Best of luck to you all.

Commemoration 2006, cont'd:

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:14:38 GMT

Probably also deserving are doors. Without doors, there could be no knocking.

Commemoration 2006:

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:13:26 GMT

The tennis ball is one of the foremost balls of our generation.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:12:07 GMT

Raids:

-Protestantism (sneak attack?)

-Catholicism (Probably not, but..)

-Roaches (Size could be an issue, but with a cannon, many of these difficulties could be overcome)

-Fences (Talk about a suprise attack)

-Neighbors (As the second part of a two part attack, maybe when they come out to see what all of the cannon-fire is about)

-The Good (Concept attack!)

-The Attack (This could present problems. Perhaps best to avoid concept attacks altogether. Still, worth looking into. Could slow down other potential attacks.)

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:06:43 GMT

Also, a small raid would perhaps be a fruitful subject of collaboration.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:05:58 GMT

Also, I was wondering if any of you all were interested in going in together on a small cannon. I'm not quite sure how the logistics would work out, as far as a timeshare goes, but I think it is something worth considering. It would be useful for party tricks, costuming, raids, et cetera.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 06:04:07 GMT

To all protestants thinking of attempting a raid on Catholicism:

Don't do it. It's just too big. You'd never make it through all those drawers, and you'd feel bad about all of the ones you missed.

And St. Ignatius has a long reach.

In which our hero uses quickwitted dental references to earn himself a manly dose of profanity.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 05:40:48 GMT

Tyler: I have had probably twenty thousand dollars worth of dental work done.
Me: You must be a great kisser.
Tyler: Oh. You'd better fuckin' believe it.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sat, 15 Apr 2006 03:21:10 GMT

It is closely approaching one million o'clock.

PIG-WILLICKERS

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 08:08:16 GMT

1. HOGWASH

2. HOGWILD

3. STOP HOGGING THE BATHROOM, I'M TRYING TO TAKE A PISS!

Talking rapunzel down from that tower when she's nervous

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 07:23:21 GMT

Rapunzel, rapunzel, oh let down from me
that long golden braid of liquidity!
Consider the works of man's energy:
the faucet, the sprinkler, the beer brewery!
Remember the rivers that lead to the sea:
the Hudson, the Nile, the Mississippi!

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 07:18:01 GMT

Have you read the scene in the novel "Revenge", by Jim Harrison? The one where our hero follows his quarry into a restroom, stabs the crap out of him in a urinal, and then leaves? Imagine this scene when the financial manager of the dining hall walks into the crapper as I am standing there fuming about the No Soy Milk And Crappy Peanut Butter Policy they have introduced to woo the public. Imagine me turning, seeing him, and then with seething politeness interrupt his urinary revery with polite questions about dietary needs! Imagine him making some foolish remark and then me jamming one of those little soymilk carafes into his stomach! Pow! Right in the fruitstand! He swears he'll give me free meals forever! I shake that carafe like it's got a life of its own, and then --whoops!-- soymilk comes pouring out! I guess I just misjudged my own strength and thought it was empty! Sorry, Johnny!

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 07:08:08 GMT

It has come to our attention that the password for this livejournal account is facile.

The livejournal people and I both appreciate your restraint in not overcoming what is pretty much a symbolic fence, a cut-out of a man leaning against a house who only scares at a distance, and then again once you're in the housse and you start to think that they might have gone out of their way to purchase such a cutout. That, friend, is when you start to wish you'd said no to that second plate of dominoes. They were real! You've just eaten two plates of dominoes! You should probably go visit the nurse, or lie down or something. Okay.

Dorm meeting, eh?

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 07:01:25 GMT

There will be a dorm meeting this thursday after seminar (9:30).

Agenda:

Love
Trash
Kickball
Lullabye for Ezra

Please Attend.

JJ

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Sun, 19 Feb 2006 04:46:21 GMT

So let's talk, livejournal. Because, man, it's been a while.

No, seriously. How are you? Kids? No?

Have you ever heard the harmonica riff on "Me and the Major", by Belle And Sebastian? The one that it starts with? How does that make you feel? Me too.

The other day I picked up one of those little liquor bottles they sell in airplanes. It was empty and it had a bug in it. And so ends probably the worst story ever. But I've got this whole album to listen to, so life on the whole isn't too bad.

Realistically, probably a forgettable little entry:

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Fri, 10 Feb 2006 23:45:46 GMT

So today has been pretty nice. Drove down through Glorieta Pass to Pecos. Went to the house where a girl named Jesse claims she was "practically born". This was slightly confusing, but I soothed myself with the knowledge that it was in the middle of nowhere and right on the mostly-frozen Pecos river.

Followed that up with a restaurant serving the best pie in New Mexico. Yes, friends, life is whistling through its teeth up here. And now, maybe a little something something for the school of great books and great computer labs.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Mon, 06 Feb 2006 23:22:03 GMT

So all of you are probably wondering what ended up happening between Humphrey Bogart and that twitchy woman with the big black bird. Well I'm not going to tell you. Rent the film yourself.

In related news, the Symposium seminars, long weekend, and Valentine's day occur within five days of one another for perhaps the most debauched time of the year!

Also related, I'm going to go write a paper! Wish me luck on the handy-dandy staple free binding I learned in math class!

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Wed, 14 Dec 2005 07:26:02 GMT

Willickers! Who is ready to be back in Austin? My mother told me today (her birthday!) that when I got back I could go through my room and throw things away. This is actually one of my favourite things to think about, so as if there needed to be any fuel added to the ol' homefires, the prospect of crates full of my things being shipped to the cedar park library is it.

And why am I not sleeping? Because My teeth aren't clean!

And why am I not talking about how it snowed? No excuses.

hoteljesse@yahoo.com — Mon, 12 Dec 2005 16:39:29 GMT

Cameron, on Pascal's assertion that "The weight of the mass of the air causes the flow of milk to nursing infants":

Count on it.