Why Sometimes You Just Need to People the F*** Alone

No, I'm not talking about blonde transvestite and YouTube sensation Chris Crocker's emotional rant on why you should get off Britney's back, but the sentiment's the same.

I'm talking about Jani Lane, former frontman of Warrant who wrote some good music and then some not-so-good music. See, Warrant was one of the big players of glam metal in the 80s, a genre that represented all the decadence of rock music portrayed in the worst neon-pink light in the world. It was a parody of rock and roll that served only to show how cool the drugs, booze, girls, and money were in the industry (see second half of the 80s records by Motley Crue, Poison, Ratt, Whitesnake, Cinderella, etc.).

The musicians in a lot of these bands actually started out as decent musicians who wanted to rock out, but just like the boy bands in the 90s, hip hop in the 2000s, and pre-pubescent teenage heartthrobs in the 2010s, 80s metal eventually became, as Twisted Sister's Dee Snider said, "processed (and) refined", and basically a huge fucking joke created to appeal a wasted youth that fed on catchy guitar riffs, long hair, hair dye, leather pants, no shirts, overloads of makeup, formulaic ballads, and a plethora of sexual innuendos (I promise this isn't just a rant against 80s metal--I'm coming back to Jani Lane in a second).

Although it's easy to point fingers at the faces in these music videos, a lot of these musicians had record deals that kept them on the hook with these labels that pressured them to change their style radically, or simply write songs that adopted this glam sound that wasn't very glamorous. As a result of this musical renaissance, there was no shortage of crappy and suggestive songs that hit the radio such as Poison's "Talk Dirty to Me", Motley Crue's "Girls Girls Girls", and Warrant's "Cherry Pie".

In case you haven't seen it, here's a link to the "Cherry Pie" video (you might have to watch 7 ads beforehand. Just FYI).

In case you don't wanna see it, it's essentially a song that uses a cherry pie as a symbol for a vagina, and in case it isn't obvious, a slice of cherry pie falls right in between a woman's legs. They're essentially spoon-feeding you this piece of information. Bad jokes aside and long story short, Warrant finished writing an album called "Uncle Tom's Cabin"(no relation to the book or slavery) in 1989 named after the main single in the album. Pretty standard, right?

Well, the record head decided that they didn't have a provocative song with a pop sound that would result in  a mega-hit, so Warrant frontman Jani Lane wrote Cherry Pie to appease him. Instead of summarizing the repercussions of this record, I'll just quote Lane directly from a 2009 VH1 interview:

All of a sudden, the album's called Cherry Pie, the record's called Cherry Pie, I'm doing cherry pie-eating contests, the single's Cherry Pie...and my legacy's Cherry Pie. Everything about me is Cherry Pie. I'm the Cherry Pie guy. I could shoot myself in the fucking head for writing that song.

Now you could point at the fact that it was all his creation, but the history of how record labels squeezed rock bands in the 80s would beg to differ. And Cherry Pie simply became such a huge phenomenon, that everything about Lane's life would revolve around that song, and the only people to blame are the media and the people who see him as only that--a product, not a person.

Now why did I share all of this with you? Well, many former 80s glam rockers are now middle-aged, overweight alcoholics struggling to make a living (see Bret Michaels and the 36 seasons of his dating show). But Lane is the one that stuck out to me because his name popped into my head two days ago. That VH1 interview stuck with me, and I did a quick Google search to see whatever happened to him. I was both shocked and not surprised at all that he died in 2011 of acute alcohol poisoning by himself. He drank himself to death.

I'm not sure whether or not it was suicide, but one can easily conclude that Cherry Pie led to all this. It made him a bitter, jaded, and depressed alcoholic who was deprived of his sense of self through this movement. After I read this, I said "well, at least he won't have to be the poster boy for cherry pies everywhere anymore, right?"

Wrong. There's an upcoming biopic on him coming out soon called Cherry Pie Guy. At the very least, I hope that this movie ends up stressing a similar point to mine on this post. Nah, it'll probably just be this for two hours.

Confessions of an Addict Part III

A few months ago, my friend Pierina did a couple of guest posts (Part I, Part II) about her Coca-Cola addiction. Although she made some strides in the right direction, she continues to struggle with the caramel demon that Coke is. Here is the latest installation of Confessions of an Addict:

So... yeah, here I am again. Remember that girl who tried to let go of Coca-Cola under any means necessary, regardless of the abstinence syndrome symptoms that would present themselves along the way? Well, that attempt was a bust. I was very antsy and I was finding it hard to not think of Coca-Cola as a remedy. And that's how I learned the key to giving it up: stop thinking about the idea of giving it up, the idea of not drinking it, the idea that you need it to accompany meals, or the idea that you need it to relieve your anxiety, or even your hunger (just saying this makes my mouth water).

So I decided to try it again, but for real this time. Lately, I noticed that I was drinking it out of habit, not out of desire. In fact, there were occasions when I would serve myself a glass and realize that I didn't want anymore after only one sip, or if I served myself a glass with food, I wouldn't finish it.

So anyways, I realized that I had lasted 3 days without drinking it with no problems (I felt accomplished), and I prayed that I would survive the weekend without drinking any (the weekends are tough because you eat out often); and all of a sudden, a co-worker brought me a cold glass of coke, served and everything, on my desk. I wasn't going to refuse her gesture, so I drank it, but I still felt guilty and I didn't really want it.

Let's see how I do next weekend. I'll try my hardest...

"Let's Kill The Sun" Excerpt

Throughout his life, my good friend Angel Palacio has been fascinated with fantasy in literature, film, board games, card games, and even in his own dreams. Last year, he finished his first ever full-length novel, "Let's Kill the Sun." I had the pleasure of editing the novel with him, and it's finally a finished product. Our friend Cristina Mieses was in charge of illustrating Angel's first published work, which comes out in the Dominican Republic this Friday, June 21--this year's summer solstice.

In order to get a small taste of the book, Angel chose an excerpt from Chapter 5 titled Sunburn with a couple of Cristina's illustrations so check it out:
 

“Mathew, your hair!” Marcus said in a small shock.

Mathew’s hands touched his hair lightly. It was somewhat shorter than it had been at the beginning of the evening. Or was he imagining the change?

“It seems darker,” said Ethan. “But it’s probably just the lighting.”

Or lack thereof. So that was what had changed. The soft gleam of the moonlight was long gone. In the midst of the almost-complete darkness, the only things that filled the strange void were themselves and Squall’s now-dimmer glow.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Marcus asked. “What did Aeon say again?”

“Not a thing really, no clues or anything this time around.”

They sat, frustrated, as if floating in the transparent surface that made the ground of that strange place, and dug in the contents of Marcus’s big bag. They each drank half of some bottled water, and an entire package of cookies. Squall limited to roaming about Marcus.

Time began to play tricks on them. But exactly ten seconds before Ethan was about to lose his temper, a strong wind caught them by surprise.

“What was that?” Marcus began since the wind was gone just as it had come.

“It seemed as if—” Ethan began, but the wind returned once more, interrupting his sentence.

That’s when Mathew noticed it in a blur: a strange entity was speeding around them, almost invisible to the unobservant eye. However, it seemed to be slowing down redundantly and slowly.

It appeared at first as a single, elongated entity, but it was actually a humanoid figure trailed by a strain of other small ones. Now that they were slowing down, Mathew noticed that they shone slightly.

Squall began to act crazy. It began to speed on its own, orbiting Marcus to the point where Marcus’s gravity couldn’t get a hold of him. It began to move lightning-fast, zigzagging above their heads, and pursuing the mysterious characters after a few seconds.

“Squall!” Marcus called. But Squall kept speeding behind the reckless entity.

“What is that?” Ethan cried, covering his ears with his hands, for the sound Squall usually made was magnified exponentially. It sounded as though it was about to go supernova.

Mathew noticed it then.

“There’s more of him!” Marcus was ahead of him.

“What?”

“There are many more Squalls!” Marcus reassured.

Mathew saw them just as Squall conquered its self-set task, and in the middle of the haziness, they came to an abrupt halt. He saw a strange boy’s figure accompanied by a large group of tiny balls; they all made the weird characteristic sound Squall usually made. The boy’s face was lit by the shining shimmer of the group of spheres. Squall joined the group at the end. The light the little spheres emanated resembled sunshine; Mathew did not like this at all.
 

 

Marcus sped across the darkness towards the lighting of the balls.

“Stop!” Mathew cried. “You don’t know if we can trust them.”

“But Squall’s there,” he whined.

“Youcantrustme,” the strange boy began. He spoke as fast as he moved.

“What?” asked the three boys in unison.

“You… can,” he began speaking slowly, but picked up the pace of his speech once again. “Trustme.”

Mathew studied the quirky character that stood in front of him. The boy was probably a few years older than them, but his figure seemed a lot more developed than it should. He embodied an athlete. He emanated energy—literally. His hair, clothes, skin, and even his entourage glowed, producing a clear aura of light around him. His hair was as white as it could be; his clothes, a potpourri of silver and gold in a pure white canvas in the shape of a long robe that covered the back of his feet, which were concealed by white, pointy shoes.

In spite of it all, what made him more unique was the way he behaved. He looked as if he was about to have a seizure at any time due to the incredible speed of everything he did.

“Comeoncomeon!” he indicated. “Wouldyouhelpmefindthem? Ihaven’tgotallday.”

Mathew and Ethan followed Marcus, who was already patting and greeting the tiny spheres.

“Help you with what?” Ethan asked. Mathew was surprised that he understood at all.

“Youalreadyfoundher!” he hesitated. “Thanks! Ithoughtyou’dhelpmefindtheothers.”

“Find who?” Ethan continued. Mathew was truly impressed now.

“Eugis!” he said blatantly.

“Eugis?” Mathew inquired. “And who might that be?”

“What?” said the boy.

Mathew began to get annoyed.

“And… who,” he copied. “Mightthatbe?”

“Oh,” the boy said before whistling in command.

Squall came rushing from the back and stopped at their feet.

“Eugis,” he pointed. “Youfoundher.”

“Squall’s a she?!” Marcus exclaimed from the back.

“Squall?” Mathew heard the boy ask, as he trembled and moved about at a million miles per hour.

“Yes, ok,” Mathew ignored this. “Now,” he addressed the boy. “We’re trying to find the sun. Where would we find him?” He hoped that he did not need to repeat the question; he spoke as quickly as he could.

“The sun?” the boy checked.

Mathew nodded.

“IbelieveStellaknows,” he rushed. “Yes, Stellaknows.”

“What?” Mathew asked. He was beginning to get tired of that game.

“I… believe… Stellaknows.”

“Stella? Who’s Stella?”

The boy began to open his mouth, but Mathew thought it best to ask another question.

“Where is Stella?” he rephrased.

“I… can’t… helpyou,” the boy said. “UntilIfindallmydusties.”

“Your what?”

“Dusties,” he said as he pointed at the balls.

 

 
 
 
 
Also, if you're interested in attending, you can find all the details here:
https://www.facebook.com/#!/events/129754253897647/?fref=ts

2 Weeks of Being Da Ho

I moved to the West Coast two weeks ago now, and the first thing that hit me was the three hour difference between this strange land and pretty much everyone else I've ever met.

Moscow, Idaho doesn't have too many options as far as transportation goes, so the beginning of my journey was pretty rough. I had a couple of huge bags, a cold, and 12+ hours of travel on me before getting here. Walking up a hill for a solid mile with my bags under the blazing sun was rough, but being unable to find my new apartment was the real pain in the ass. After finding my room and getting settled in, I soon realized that my cold was actually the flu, so I was essentially in bed for almost a week drinking Robitussin, taking Tylenol, and chugging water.

After I regained my health, I started to appreciate the rural world I immersed myself into. I started to explore a land that is mostly marked by valleys and crevices, but it's also very much a town of welcoming, Western folk. It would be an understatement to say that people here are very nice and willing to help despite the slight redneck feel to it.

So far, I've only found three real areas outside my apartment in this town worth going to. A mile to my right is Palouse Mall: the only sign of anything resembling the 21st century. It's pretty small and not very special, but if you're looking for groceries, clothes, pharmaceuticals, Starbucks coffee, and any form of technology, there's no place better. It's also a great place to dump a whole stack of resumes if you're looking for a job.

Main Street is about a mile to my left and it's full of small restaurants, cafes, local banks, and other small businesses. It's also the cultural gem of the town often frequented by hipsters(and others who love farmer's markets/spending hours in a coffee shop), music aficionados(there's a couple of cool music and guitar stores), and college professors. It also has a ton of bars I have yet to check out, but this area is supposed to be huge on beer and micro-brews, so I'm sure I'll make my way around the bars at some point. Or maybe not--pretty much everyone here brews their own beer.

The only other place I've checked out is the campus which is right across from me. It's a pretty big campus compared to Gettysburg, but it's still not as huge as I imagined it would be. Despite the fact that I'm looking for a bike, you can still get from one end of campus to the other with your legs. It's also a great place to go on runs especially with the dry weather of the West(let's just say I don't miss the humidity and heat waves of the Caribbean and East Coast). I haven't really seen much more than the library, but overall it's a beautiful campus and a beautiful area. I still miss the East Coast quite a bit, but living on top of a hill and waking up to this view every day doesn't hurt.

A Texas Wedding Pt. 2

The big day took place just under a month ago in an Episcopalian church across the street from where the festivities took place. But let's rewind a bit.

The day started out with a delicious continental breakfast at the hotel we stayed at. When Shruti and I went downstairs after 10 AM, the entire family was already there enjoying their breakfast. We grabbed some scrambled eggs, country biscuits, jelly and butter over toast, and the crispiest bacon I've had in a while. I'm not huge on bacon, but this was one was worth mentioning. The real highlight of what eventually became brunch were the waffles.

After brunch, my dad drove all the women from my family to the mall so they could shop around. Shruti had yet to find a dress, so she spent a long afternoon finding one, and it was beautiful. While the ladies were probably arguing and criticizing themselves in a clothing store, I went to pick up my tuxedo which still had huge shoes and pants made for an NBA player, but we managed.

After spending a pretty relaxing day in the mall and hotel, we got dressed and headed over to the wedding. Angel, Franz, and I headed over early since we were groomsmen so we could make this a smooth day for Eric. We all wore matching outfits and complained about how uncomfortable the shoes were (every woman around found this hilarious). Our dressing room had Subway sandwiches, chips, cookies, and sodas to calm everyone down. There was also a piano downstairs that Franz and Angel kept playing to get themselves in a festive mood.

We headed over to the church and some of us worked as ushers as the people started arriving. I couldn't help but notice that I didn't know anyone who was coming in because they were all Meg's friend and families--most of my family was late. After sitting people down, we went backstage and waited for the ceremony to begin. 

Having only attended Catholic weddings in the past, I found the Episcopalian ceremony quite entertaining. The priest did all of the wedding formalities, but he was more laid-back and personable than your average priest. Giving Eric and Meg a speech on love and devotion didn't seem as boring and contrived as most--it was tailor-made to them specifically, and it had a light tone that diffused the crowd's tension.

The ceremony was a beautiful one, and most of the female population shed a few tears. After the church, we headed over to the ballroom of Rice University where the party was taking place, and there was an intense session of photos that took place for over an hour. Most of the pictures were taken in the garden behind the ballroom with trees in full bloom and a fountain designed for such occasions.

The party itself was a true spectacle. We were blown away by how fancy it all was--white tablecloth, classy band, great open bar with a true Southern bartender who loved whiskey, a full buffet, four different cakes, and lots of dancing. The food was delicious, the toasts were good, and the intermingling of the two families seemed to happen naturally--the mixture of Southern and Latino flavors that both parties brought created a diverse atmosphere which everyone seemed to enjoy.

This ceremonious union had a farewell that was as grandiose and fitting as the rest of the day. They left from the party in what I think was a Porsche borrowed from someone in Meg's family--her uncle I think--and made their way to their secret getaway for the night (we all saw them in the hotel the next morning so that kind of gave it away).

There's not much else to say except that it was a pretty perfect evening for Eric and Meg (even though the stress leading up to the ceremony was probably less than perfect), and anyone would be lucky to have a night like that.

A Texas Wedding Pt. 1

Saturday marked a momentous occasion for my older brother Eric--he got married. After several years dating and living together with his Texas gal Meg, they finally tied the knot(weddings are all about cliches, right?).

I flew in to Houston on Thursday with my younger brother Franz and my girlfriend Shruti to attend the festivities. My first impression of Texas was filled with many of the stereotypes concocted by pop culture and George W. Bush's entire existence. There were signs for gun shows, Tex-Mex restaurants at every corner, and cutouts of the actual state's shape drawn in graffiti in every wall (my aunt even decided to wear her cowboy boots for the joyous occasion). Nevertheless, the experience was still different from what I expected.

The first thing you notice about Houston after being there for half an hour or so is how spread out it is. It does not have the laid-back, beach atmosphere of Miami, or the simple and compact layout of Lego buildings that New York City has. Houston's identity is harder to identify due to the fact that it's HUGE. It's spread out with freeways connecting major parts of the city, so getting from place to place always seemed like an ordeal compared to most large cities. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the fact that it didn't have the same hectic feeling that the streets of New York City do.

We got back from the airport in the afternoon and checked into the hotel. Whereas Franz and I got to go to Eric's house for our own makeshift bachelor party that included a Will Ferrell movie, pizza, and mixed drinks, Shruti was subjected to the torture of a dinner out with my entire family followed by drinks at the hotel. My family is very friendly and all, but meeting them all at once has to be the most overwhelming feeling in the world. I finally got back late at night to save her from her distress, but she seemed to survive just fine without any help from me.

After a long day of traveling and rejoicing, we prepared ourselves for the rehearsal dinner Friday night. We went to Jos A. Bank to check out our brand-new rental tuxedos with fancy shoes and stuff, and they screwed up the very measurements they made. My pants were ridiculously long, and my shoes were huge on me, but whatever. They said I'd have replacements that would fit me early on Saturday after making me wait for about twenty minutes despite the fact that the store was empty (I was very pleased with their customer service if you can't tell).

After spending the day ice-skating, browsing through Hot Topic, and checking out the mall like misunderstood teenagers, we got ready for the dinner. Realizing that none of us had shaving cream, we split an overpriced, tiny bottle of it--courtesy of the lobby. We all scrambled to get ready as soon as possible before heading out to the Episcopalian church. The service at the church was pretty straightforward, but I'll talk more about that when I get to Saturday.

We figured everything we had to do before heading out to Saint Arnold's, a tasty micro-brewery where the rehearsal dinner took place. They had a wide variety of beers that we got to sample throughout the night for free, which was pretty sweet. The actual dining room was filled with large, wooden tables next to each other in order to create a family atmosphere. Speaking of family, whereas Meg's family got there before 7, my family didn't arrive until close to 8 (typical Dominicans).

Accompanying the brews that were being served, there was a delicious buffet. They had chicken, steak, potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans, bread, and a decadent dessert menu of chocolate cream pie, a blondie-brownie hybrid, and a mouth-watering pecan pie. After over-stuffing ourselves and pounding beers like true Texans, the night took a more emotional turn. My dad started out with a speech he co-wrote with my mom about the joining of the two families and the pride they felt over having such a lovely daughter-in-law for years to come. Meg's father followed suit and talked about how Eric has won him over and how excited they were about the rest of Eric and Meg's lives.

The weekend had been successful so far, and everyone was eagerly anticipating what Saturday would bring. Overall, it seemed like the beginning of one of those movies about big weddings where families got together and a combination of nerves, stress, and excitement built up as the big day approached.

A Portrait of Sleep

A Portrait of Sleep

The hollow station became wider as it emptied out. I slid a homemade, zigzagged bookmark on the tattered edition of Catcher in the Rye. As the bus arrived, I packed the thin novel in my backpack, temporarily robbing Holden Caulfield of his escape as I made my own.

Weary t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans travelling alone made their way out of the terminal and into the joyride. I carried my oversized, blue duffel bag to the station agents as they dumped it inside the bottom of the bus along with the rest of the anonymous baggage.

I walked up the steps and showed my fifteen-hour trip ticket to the driver. I took off my backpack and slumped down a chair as my shoulders felt light once again. A tall, dark man wearing a black hoodie with his head masked sat next to me. He diverted his face away from me and pulled out a crumbled piece of plastic paper with scattered morsels. He used his fingers as tentacles, quickly consuming the contents of the baggie.

I felt his nerves settle as I pulled out the tangled headphones from my pocket. His head fell forward and rested comfortably on the seat in front of him. My music player resembled a digital, black harmonica. I turned it on, put my headphones in, and closed my eyes.

Departure time: 7:30 PM. The bus carried itself across state lines, mindlessly drifting through industrial cities. Clouds of fog blur the cover of night as my mind begins wearing out. I reach for my bag and pull out a piece of bread with stale turkey, browned lettuce, and dry tomatoes—the mayo doesn’t mask its lack of flavor. I chomp through it, and look out the window.

I arrive at a familiar setting, shrouded by tall buildings and bright lights, seeking attention. The

bus stops, marking the end for some, but not me. The station is different than the first—halls of

emptiness are replaced by shadows en masse. The fluorescence of the atmosphere knocks me

into a state of vivid consciousness for hours before the bus arrives.

Departure time: 12: 30 PM. The calm is restored in the pitch-black dead of the bus. I force my

eyes closed but I still wander.  The urban wasteland is replaced by a long trek of shriveled trees

overtaken by the cold. The cold. I left my jacket in my bag, and my sweater feels damp. I curl into a

ball sideways, trying to release my own body heat unto myself.

I find solace in a corn muffin and a warm bottle of orange juice during the seemingly endless

night. I manage to doze off without realizing it at 3:32 AM. My brain shuts down and I finally

manage to sleep. I see my eyelashes coalesced as I open my eyes. My throat is scratchy, my nose

watery, and a string of drool connects my lower lip and my greasy jeans. My watch reads 3:50

AM.

Dawn comes without warning and slaps me in the face. I immediately regret leaving the night and

facing the orange sky. My stupor continues, and the hallucinations begin. I listen to Burzum’s

“Tomhet(Emptiness)”, a dark ambient piece written for sleepers who seek solace in the darkness. I

too miss riding into the castle of the dream, where the light can’t touch you.

And as the trees come alive, and the yellow craters grace the ground we ride in, I finally succumb. The hallucinations stop, and the cold air disappears internally despite my shivering body. I escape the lifeless dawn with my face stuck to the chair where thousands have been before, and I finally let go.