Real Life Bubes

Just some completely random clips from the digital camera. Lots of Bubes and Simkos.

Poochy Risk Assessment

I walked outside with a leg of chicken and noticed that my dachshund was following me intently. She goes gaga for the pollo. I decided to see how far she would follow me down the street with this piece of chicken in my hand. I walked halfway down the road and she was right behind me the entire time. I could hear her little dog nails scraping the dirt more rapidly as I picked up my pace. By the time I got to the end of the street, she became a bit more hesitant. I could see the dilemma I had created for her. She realized that I wasn't just taking a walk out on the driveway. I continued to walk on the cross street and then turned around and watched her cautiously take baby steps toward me and stop, then look at me in the eyes, then walk a bit more, and repeat. I gave her a little comfort and said "Come on, girl." She must have been reassured by this because she ran toward me and caught up with me, still looking for a bite of chicken. We got a good twenty feet further and then she stopped again. Her little brain was probably processing the pros and cons of this uncomfortable situation. On the one hand, she could continue on this wild chicken chase for many streets to come, or she could turn around before she was hopelessly lost and too far from home. I tested her more and rapidly walked further down the street. She turned around and ran home. The chicken wasn't worth the risk. My dog assessed the risks. I saw her do it and I laughed.

Sometimes I think I know exactly what I want and, like my dog, I chase after it without understanding the situation. When I get to a certain point I then wonder to myself, "How far do I need to go to get this proverbial bite of chicken and is worth it?"

The Refrigerator Spoke to Me Today.

As I was shuffling through the crisper drawer, I started thinking about how global my refrigerator is. My cupboards, as well. We've got something from pretty much every part of the globe sitting around in my house and it's hard to recognize that when I am so used to simply having these goods at the local grocery store.

I could not imagine being limited to what grew in Nuevo or the immediate surrounding areas. So many fruits, vegetables, spices ,and even animals are not indigenous to this area, and yet we have most of them within reach. I also think about times before globalization of crops, seeds, animals, fabric, metals, wood, languages, ideas, inventions, news, races, and people in general. Things are so overlooked and underappreciated, but I feel like if we lost a lot of these little items, we would notice quickly.

Salt. Something seemingly simple like salt (sorry for the alliteration) was once a prized possession and commodity. Even the origin of the word salary has connections with salt. In Rome, a soldier's salary was originally salt. Who could imagine getting paid in salt? A nice big bag of salt for working all day. History has a funny way of giving you perspective. It's easy to lose it.

Yep. We've got a lot and I hope we can realize how fortunate we are for the wealth we have. Most of us live and eat better than old kings. We've got the whole globe at our disposal.

I Called You, Fool!

Also, I am not sure what it means to be "called" to do something. And how does one know that a calling is legitimate? That can be both beautiful and scary. Are impulses callings? Are impulses to be trusted all the time? Do you answer calls all the time? I sure as heck do not. Especially on my cell phone! Just kidding, but really, this confuses me.

Write something if you have any input. I'd love to hear it.

Going Through Files

I can't wait for it to get foggy, cold, and dark. I think I tend to make more things. I also tend to make stupid videos like this when I am by myself and the camera is on a tripod apparently.

Foolish Wisdom

Sometimes, the most foolish decisions are wonderful. Yesterday, Fat Jame, Jer, and I all decided to make a "quick" bike ride to Perris and back. So, we sat in the garage and spent at least an hour just messing with our bikes, tuning little things and tweaking gears, and then we took off. Since we have lived around here for our whole lives, you would think we understood the flora and fauna of Nuevo and that we would wisely assume the terrible tribulus terrestris, or sticker plants, would probably give us flat tires. We didn't. Our whole childhood of having this happen to us and we still moved forward without a portable pump, slime, extra tubes, or tools. We barely brought anything but a couple of water bottles, and luckily, my wallet. So, anyway, we made it to Perris no problem, but the damage had already been done. Thorns found their way into Jeremy's thin, skin-like road bike tires and that was that. We assessed the situation, and decided that Jamie and I would ride to the nearest Auto-Zone and buy some slime since the gas station had air. We did that, and thought all was well. Jeremy slimed up his tires, and filled them up. We even said "Hey, we should probably ride around the gas station a few times after we slime these tires to make sure they hold air long enough for the ride back home." We didn't and we knew better. Jeremy got barely a quarter of a mile down the street before he was completely flat again. We just gave up and started walking with our bikes down the street hoping somebody would drive by and either a) laugh at us or b) pick us up and save us. As we were walking, I realized that we had learned a lot about ourselves, and lessons couldn't help but embed themselves deep in our brains. Sometimes, the only way you can really, really, really learn something is by failing foolishly. I enjoyed the walk, though. Luckily, there was a breeze, and we had each other's company. When we got by Nuevo Ranch, Tony Nunez graciously saved us, picked us up in his truck, and brought us home. We then made a bunch of fish tacos and Keaton and Phylicia were at the house with their cute as heck kid. Fun times.


Preparation. Preparation. Preparation.

Meet My Friend, Medium

EXTREME!

EXTREME!

happy medium.

EXTREME!

EXTREME!

Old Man Ray

I dug holes when I was a little gipper. That's just what we did. We dug holes, sat in them, and carved out neat little corridors to hide a tin of baseball cards, a few bucks we made washing the neighbors' cars, snacks, and the bad kids hid tattered dirty magazines and cigarette butts. No, don't worry, of course I didn't.

I remember one particular hole above all others, though. This hole should have been featured on Modern Marvels or one of those numerous Discovery Channel programs that praise human ingenuity and skill. A full work day of laborious shoveling and scooping was our pride and gain. It must have been ten feet deep and it had beautiful structure and form, fit for Caesar, if Caesar had desired a hole.

All the while, Old man Ray across the street had been prying his fingers between the blinds, doing what bored old people do best: watch kids play and then go outside and cause unnecessary tension. There is a constant battle between the upset old man and the group of kids. Ray couldn't handle the hole, or better put, the wonder. Our hole was better than his life. It was better than the humdrum TV show he was watching while we were digging it. It was better than his wife's banter about getting the new prescriptions. It was better than his lazy boy, his prim lawn, and garage full of power tools he couldn't pick up. Better than his khakis, cigarettes, and varicose veins. Better than his cat tearing up the couch, his new kitchen, and caged screaming birds.
We were livin' and he was dyin'. We were diggin' and he was sittin'.

He came trotting out of his dungeon and we knew what was coming.

To this day, Old man Ray will not wave back to me when I pass him on the street or ride my bike by his house. Did we dig one hole too many? Can we get past this hole issue?

Summer Nights

1:00 in the morning should feel later than it does right now. That's scary.

Moving Music

This is a wonderful interpretation of Clair de Lune. I love the violin accompaniment. I love this song. I would love to play it on the piano.

If I asked somebody to do me a favor and they quickly and honestly replied, "No," I would not personally be offended and, quite frankly, would be more satisfied with this response. A genuine "No" is something to be valued. This is also something I struggle with. Rather than giving a genuine and assertive "No," I will either become ignorant or figure out a way to justify my "No" when there really needs to be no justification. Being real with myself can't hurt. I mean I do know myself and what I want just as you do. Also, when I think about it, I do not want to have somebody do something for me who is not exactly up for it or is giving me signs of resentment. What's the point in that?

Don't get me wrong. I love to do favors most of the time, but there comes a time when, for the sake of enjoying this short life, you have to make decisions that you know will make you happier, healthier, and an overall more enjoyable person. I think that people who constantly aim to please and accept everything that is offered to them start to lose a piece of themselves and after a while begin to negatively impact those around them rather than lift them up. A healthy, rested person is generally a happy person. People taken advantage of are, from what I have observed, on edge, depressed, and confused. Take some time to think, clear your head, ponder something, look at the stars, read a book, lay down, and mentally/spiritually/physically/emotionally prepare yourself for your next deadline, event, or task so that you are enabled to excel and accomplish that task with great fervor rather than barely finish it in a slumpish, lazy, resentful manner.

I guess I have gathered that there needs to be a fine balance. I'd say strive to be a servant where you can be an excellent and productive servant, and know where you are needed. At least that's the way I see it for myself.

That Ol' Sixties Carpet

My carpet is golden yellow, stained up, and genuinely thrashed. I have known no other carpet. I took my first steps on this carpet, spilled my first cup of juice on this carpet, and slept on it. I am assuming it is the original carpet put in to the house in the sixties. One only has to look at it to make this assumption.

I always wondered in my self-conscious youth why my parents didn't just get new carpet. I knew they made enough money. I was blown away. Everybody else seemed to get something new at the first sign of wear and tear, or when their material was just "out of date." This goes beyond the carpet really. My house is a time capsule. Anybody who has been here knows this. It has changed a little bit over the years, but it has that genuine sixties feel because it really is that genuine sixties feel.

I now understand, though, why they have never gotten new carpet, or new shelves, tile, cupboards, sinks, couches, and the list goes on forever. My parents would rather have a stocked up refrigerator, shelves overflowing with food, money to spend on things that counted, a healthy savings account, investments, and in brief: FREEDOM FROM DEBT.

This is one of the most important principles I have ever learned. You truly don't need the newest thing to survive and really, it makes a house great. When people can come over and accidentally spill some beverage on the carpet and we all say "Oh, don't worry about. It's just an old, piece-of-crap carpet anyway!" there is a sense of comfort and freedom from worry of breaking something, or messing up something. People can sleep wherever they want. There isn't that stupid "parlor room" old woman have that serves no purpose. There is nothing more uncomfortable to me than one of those fancy pants houses with untouchables and breakables overflowing. And, of course, there are the two stressed out parents looming over, worried sick about you destroying their valuables purchased on credit. And, of course, when you are there, you end up destroying their most treasured item and end up feeling like COMPLETE CRAP. Is it worth the stress to have these things?

That house sucks. Plain and simple.

Oh, yeah, and that house, ironically, never has any food. Lame. They bought rims for the Hummer instead.