Things to do When You're Bored...

  A little over three years ago, while working in Mexico, I found myself forced into attending a company Christmas party. Standard corporate stuff - awards, speeches, annoying games, mediocre food,etc... As, I sat there, I thought about a way to help my fellow humans survive such situations...
 
   So, you're sitting there thinking, "What the fuck am I doing here?" "This is the most boring thing that I've ever had to suffer through". But remember you're not alone. This incredible boredom that you're feeling is not unique, nor will it be the last time that you'll be forced to endure such mind-numbing crap - it's a part of life. A shitty part of life, but a reality. The question is this : What to do to fight the boredom ? Hopefully, one prepares himself for this battle well in advance. Mind-altering drugs/substances are always good for this. More than likely, this is reason that metal/plastic drinking flasks were invented. If one prepares properly, by the time they have to do battle with the forces of boredom, (and its allies: indifference, apathy, and disgust), they will already have a healthy combination of two or more substances floating throughout the bloodstream. A recipe that I'm particularly fond of is as follows...
1). Approx. one hour before the first waves of boredom are scheduled to start crashing in your brain - eat. Eat something great, something so good that it's like an orgasm for your mouth. Something so good that you won't think about food for a long time. There's nothing worse than being bored and hungry. Also, the food helps to absorb the alcohol that you're about to consume...
2).After eating, start walking to your destination. Enjoy the fresh air. Appreciate the last free moments before the struggle. Smile.
3). While walking, smoke a joint. Smoking a pipe is an acceptable alternative but takes more time and you have to stop more often...
4). So the joint's finished and life's good - start searching for a bar. Try to find a dark, quiet bar. A place where you don't know anyone and can drink in peace. Have two beers. If possible, order the two beers at the same time. You don't have much time...  Note: beer, in this situation is more desirable than other types of alcohol. Why ? Cheaper - you don't want to arrive at the battle without extra money for emergencies. 
5). You arrive, feeling good and just late enough that no one really notices your arrival. Be discreet. 
6). So this is it, the first movements of the battle. Be strong, and at the first opportunity - escape to a bathroom.
7). The bathroom gives several possibilities...
       a). A line of cocaine - just one, don't overdue it.
       b). A drink from a secretly stored alcohol flask - whiskey, rum, tequila, vodka, etc...
8). If necessary, repeat step 7...
   
This "recipe", is a favorite, but feel free to experiment with other methods. Remember, this is just the preparation for the battle, it's not over yet.
 
Part Two : You're Prepared, So now What ?
 
   You're stoned, (pacheco), a little drunk (tipsey), but you still have to listen to some kind of bullshit about mission statements, future visions, and strategies for success. Try to daydream. Think about anything but the horrible bullshit that you're being forced to listen to. The drugs/alcohol help this process.
Imagine yourself in a place that you've always wanted to be : a beach in Spain - 6:05 am, watching the sun make its first appearance of the day - you haven't slept. And right before the true beginning of the day, you're there ready, waiting for the sun - looking out over the beach - Or a coffee shop in Amsterdam on a beautiful summer day - sitting on a terrace, smoking a joint, watching the world walk by. A café in Paris when the leaves start to fall from the trees and the world moves a little bit slower. Somewhere, anywhere - atop a mountain, breathing crisp clean air - looking down on all the problems of the rest of the world - remember to enjoy the view.
   Hopefully, by now the moron giving the "mission statement speech" has stopped, it's as good a time as any to escape (again) to the bathroom. Note : Remember step # 7).
You return from the bathroom a bit happier, refreshed, and you notice that the speeches and team-building exercises are over. Dancing time. What the hell ? Why not dance ? After all if you prepared properly, you should be "loose" enough to move your ass. At this point, take advantage of any free alcohol. Hell, drink from other people's glasses if you want - it's free.
 
 
Part Three : But...
  
  What if you'd decided to not attend the "Boredom Battle". What if you just stayed home, said you were sick ? Would you still be bored ? Would you still have to wrestle with that monster of boredom ? Perhaps. and if that's the case, there's one sure-fire, fail-safe thing to do when you're bored - masterbate.  Note : repeat if necessary    

Cuentas

The white city shines with surfers.
 "Uma bica por favor."
"Um Moscatel por favor."
"Vamos lá! Vamos lá! Let's go, let's go!"
Cigarette embers glide past grandfathers 
- who are hand in hand with generations.        
A majestic elevator lifts spirits and troubles, as the river waves.
An old gypsy dances, shouts out, playing a tambourine, while an empty wine bottle rolls away, ending another story.

Perhaps the thing about the city are the noises. 

There are many. 

Maybe they are all stories, fragments of things we can bearly hear, tales we invent ?

Clarinet from the roof top, 

bits of "real"conversation, 

broken bottle from somewhere, 

car horn, 

fado.

It weeps, 

It screams, 

makes all kinds of noises

- stories? 

Car horns are the instruments,

 not always in rhythm,                                                                         

not  always in tune - 

but  always playing,

always making music. 

If car horns are instruments, than birds are the singers, vocalists. 

Perhaps the city's music is a cry for help ?

Perhaps it's singing blues ? 

Perhaps it's a joyous song ?

Perhaps it's just music ?

Perhaps they're just stories ?

GENIUS...

" A MOST MEDIOCRE PERSON CAN BE THE OBJECT OF A LOVE WHICH IS WILD, EXTRAVAGANT, AND BEAUTIFUL AS THE POISON LILLIES OF THE SWAMP. A GOOD MAN MAY BE THE STIMULUS FOR A LOVED BOTH VIOLENT AND DEBASED, OR A JABBERING MADMAN MAY BRING ABOUT IN THE SOUL OF SOMEONE A TENDER AND SIMPLE IDYLL. THEREFORE, THE VALUE AND QUALITY OF ANY LOVE IS DETERMINED SOLEY BY THE LOVER HIMSELF.

IT IS THIS REASON THAT MOST OF US WOULD RATHER LOVE THAN BE LOVED... THE LOVER CRAVES ANY POSSIBLE RELATION WITH THE BELOVED, EVEN IF THIS EXPERIENCE CAN CAUSE HIM ONLY PAIN."

- CARSON McCULLERS, " THE BALLAD OF THE SAD CAFE

O Rei

"Life's like a mayonnaise soda" - Lou Reed

   Lisbon is truly a lovely city. Portugal is truly a lovely country. But like all cities and all countries, there's a lot of weird shit.

There's a guy who almost everyday stands in the square below my window. He calls himself, "The King of Portugal". He stands near the statue of Camoes, the great Portuguese poet, and like a snake handler on acid, shouts and screams to everyone around. What exactly he rants about, I'm not totally sure ? Much of it is of a political nature, for example stating that he is the king of Portugal (there is no longer any royalty here). Much of it seems aggressive and most people think that he's totally fucking nuts. Schizophrenic perhaps or an extreme alcoholic.Maybe he just doesn't give a fuck. What if he's totally sane and he just doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about him ? People generally don't like things that make them uncomfortable, okay maybe masochists and homophobes do, but do they count for much ?

Let Her Be

   She made me wonder - what is the difference between obsession and addiction, and was there some kind of cosmic connection between attraction and the letter "

B" ? I met her in Brussels. It seemed like every girl that I either really liked or was obsessed with ( addicted  to... ?), I met in Brussels - or oddly enough, in a city beginning with the letter "B". Baltimore, Boulder, Brussels - strange. Was it simple coincedence ? Probably so. I never fell for a girl in Barcelona or Buffalo or Belfast. But then again, I've never been to Buffalo...

There Are No Trains Here

J.M.S.

Leaving behind the monochromatic night - speeding south, west -away.
Rocket-fueled departures/arrivals/rendevous.
Whispered whiskey pauses,
Roses whirl in the wind here.
Nothing's static,nothing's teathered.
Kinetic volcanic emissions from million cathedral hills
and
masked luchadores drowning in mist.
And I left to think about
gardens,
and bridges,
and fire,
and beans.

Rum, Ron, Rhum... Run, Run, Run !!!

The night was holy, but then again they're all holy if you look hard enough. Nonetheless, you still gotta watch your back around here. There are Poblanos, Swiss, Germans, Swiss Germans, Irish, and even real-life gringos running around. Anyone of which could sneak up on you and force you to drink rum. Rum, the drink of pirates, slave traders and beach bums. This is not just urban legend - it happened, and continues to happen almost daily. If you add this danger to all of the other dangers here, San Cristobal de las Casas is one hell of a lesson in survival. Collectivos and taxis - each trying to make you forget how to walk, loose single cigarettes sold at discount prices, gum and candy galore, strangers smiling indiscriminatly, tempting tacos, empanadas, and tamales, brilliant radiant sun, and heavenly royal mezcal - all of which are trying to sidetrack you - trick you, lull you into a state of relaxation. And there are even more distractions than those - some too graphic and lustfull for the ears of proper society. My personal account is a tragic and sad one. Hopefully, it will serve to warn others of the dangers of smiling charming Poblano rum swillers and others of their kind.

As I stated, it was a holy night. I'd recently been lecturing on the trials and tribulations of a very unfortunate soul, Boris a young lad from Brazil who had fallen prey to the dangers of whiskey, wine, and fast women. After my rousing speech, my coleague from the great American state of Montana and I decided to take our message of temperance to the streets, to the people of San Cristobal. We couldn't have been walking for more than ten minutes when we were ambushed by an infamous couple of dodgy characters - Alain, wanted gun runner, dealer in exotic meats and cheeses, urban terrorist, architect, and notorious rum drinker. He was also under heavy suspicion for his involvment in international piracy. By his side, his partner in crime, Muriel - Swiss, expert jewel thief and raconteur. Lover of wine and dynamite. Indeed, the two cast imposing threatening shadows.
He was from Puebla.
She spoke German.

Not wanting to be impolite, or seen as ill-mannered, we greeted the deadly duo. They were seated at a lovely streetside bar/cafe laughing and sipping wine. Wine, that most diabolical evil beverage - the spark of free thought, romance, poetry, and revolution. Beware of those grapes! Watch out for wine! Their inviting smiles caught this teetotaler by surprise. I can only assume that my esteemed colleage from Montana was also taken aback by their wine-soaked smiles. They asked us to sit, to join them. I was afraid, not only were they drinking wine, but they were smoking tobacco, and eating popped corn. We obliged, again not wanting to appear ill-mannered or ill-bred.

The Poblano attacked first. With a wide smile, charming eyes, and a vibrant head of hair, he offered me a glass of wine. I stood my ground and shared the horror-filled tale of Boris with the two miscreants. After telling the gut-wrenching tale, it was Muriel's turn to attack, again with a smile and an offer of wine. I stood my ground. At this point, my Montanan colleage, (who I should point out is none other than the famous anti-smoking, anti-premarital sex, anti-labor activist/illustrator/public speaker, Abraham Ryan. He also does my taxes) left to distribute some of our temperance literature.
I was alone.
A sheep amongst wolves.
Again, the two began to assail me with laughter, smiles, and tempting snacks. Before I knew it, Alain, that wicked Poblano, ordered a glass of wine for me. As I've already mentioned, I'm a well-mannered sort, so again I had to oblige. I'd fallen, temptation had it's vice-like grip around me - I was drinking that vile mixture.
When my coleague returned, he was saddened to see how far I'd fallen. Not wanting me to feel alone, ashamed, or embarrassed, he nobly took a glass of wine for himself. I thanked him for the gesture. Soon, that devilish drink was taking it's effect - I too was laughing, smiling, nearly dancing. Oh, the slippery slope...
Once I began laughing and smiling, nearly performing that devil's palsey commonly known as dancing - I was actually entertaining the idea of drinking rum - the horrors...
Unfortunitly, directly across the sin-soaked street was a true house of vice - a liquor store.
One glass of red wine and my colleage and I had abandonded all of our ideals. We walked with our fellow sinners into the liquor store. As if possessed by a demon - a smiling, generous, fun-loving, charming, tricky demon, the next thing I knew my colleage and I were in an honest to God den of pure inequity, Alain´s house, his lair.
We had bought rum...

It was horrible, there was laughter, joking, and worst of all - sinful rock and roll music. Rum you are the devil in liquid form. Once inside that temple of reckless abandon, it was as if time had stopped. The lord's name was used carelessly and even vulgar coital expressions appeared. It was hellish indeed. After being mesmerized by those two dark rum sorcerers and their hospitality, my coleague and I were no better than them - lost souls.
Finally (and thank God), the rum was finished. We left. We confessed our trangressions - clean and holy again, reinvigorated to spread the word of temperance, and to warn of the evil dangers of rum, Poblanos, Swiss, and popped corn.
I'm pretty sure we did cocaine too...