Monday, July 23, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Week Dos
Day 7: Sunday, July 8, 2012
Still in Macusfuckingspana.
But the car was finished today, so booyah. We headed out to Palenque around two or so and it
started raining pretty darn hard, so we were able to enjoy the ruinas without
too many people/distractions. They are
pretty freaking awesome. After taking in
all that Palenque’s ruins had to offer (at least, until it closed), we headed
to a tiny cascada super nearby, then checked in to a hostel (Hostal Elementos
Naturales) very nearby (in the park)—it featured cabanas and was pretty cool,
though internetless. Abraham and I set
out to find some brews, but the nearest neighbors didn’t have alchy for sale or
were culieros. After a little while we
headed to some restaurant owned by an Italian-Mexican and dined—I had a calzone
that was quite good. While there we
caught a pretty sweet fire dancing show and then kicked it with Mono Blanco for
a ratito. Wink face.
Day 8: Monday, July 9, 2012
Woke up late due to the standard heat and humidity of the
rain forest jungle. Set out and had an
absolutely gorgeous drive to San Cristobal de las Casas, which is an hour away
from the capital of Tuxtla and situated just about in the center of the state
of Chiapas. Also, it’s probably my
favorite place in Mexico. The climate changed
a great deal—we made our way through forests and mountains and finally happened
upon this delightful little colonial mountain village which featured a far more
deciduous feel and look. The city is
very “cool” and a little “artsy” and many Euro travelers seem to like it, but
that couldn’t hinder my liking it as well.
There are like four plazitas, with one being especially pretty. I think “quaint” is a great adjective for the
city. The streets are pretty, there are
also quite a few foreigners living there, and thus offering their unique
cultural views, wares, customs, etc. (i.e. foooood). It’s much colder, and there are two hills on
either side of the centro that each feature a church, so climbing them is super
cool. We arrived at night, did some
scoping, and found that there were tonssssss of hostels and hotels on the way
cheap. Pretty much 100 pesos is the
standard/max for a hostel, so that’s a bonus.
We finally decided upon a hotel called…Sancris. The staff were super nice and we negotiated
down to 380 pesos (a night) for the four of us if we stayed two nights. It was very, very comfortable and our first
in-room access to internet. Sleep.
Day 9: Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Awoke nice and early in San Cristobal and set out to conquer
the two perched churches and see what I could of the city. Still great.
We cruised the city a bit, found a great place to break fast on one of
the few walking-only streets (the smallest one), which also happed to have a hostel
for 70 pesos a night! I peeped it and it
seems sweet, gotta return. We missed out
on Cañon de Sumideros, but went to this very nice national park type place called Rancho Nuevo (that
was clean and reminiscent of the positive aspects of the States) to see some grutas
and ride some horses around the park.
Tranquilo, chido. Returned to the
city, rocked the two churches (again—for me), copped some poz (pronounced
posh), which is the local alcohol of the area.
Stuff is stiff as nailz. Easy to
get faded off like 10 pesos of the stuff.
Day 10: Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Again awoke early in San Cristobal, took a walk, returned,
and readied to leave. We set out for
Comitán, and made our way through and to El Chiflon cascadas. This place was cool: nice and tranquilo at
the bottom, but as you keep walking the water gets rougher, nearing the fairly
huge waterfalls at the end. We made it
all the way to the top, and after about five minutes it of course started
pouring. Like, Pouringggg. So we scurried down the rain-slicked mud and
amazingly managed not to fall, then prepped to leave. On the road back to Comitán proper, we
encountered a delicious sunset and stopped for a bit. We landed in Comitán centro fairly late (like
9), but the zocalo was very pretty.
Joana had a friend who’s dad lived there, so we arranged to stay at his
place, met up with him, and went to his house. His name is Mario and he knows a buttload
about the state, especially the areas around Comitán, so he gave us his
recommendations and we adjusted.
Day 11: Thursday, July 12, 2012
Woke up at Mario’s and readied for his scheduled day. First up, Tenam Puente, which was a Mayan
ruin site that seemed quite new and was almost totally empty (of people). It was cheap and pretty cool. We then went to our second ruin site of the
day, Chinkultik, which was freer, larger, featured awesome vistas (of quite a
few lakes), and all-in-all: cooler.
Also, we allowed some dude named Daniel Hernandez to be our guide. Who knows whether or not he was telling the
truth, but he was nice. So, Chinkultik
is very cool, I definitely recommend it.
Daniel says the site is only about eight years old, and it also featured
a cenote (in which people cannot swim, unfortunately). There’s also a lake super nearby where you
can paddleboat, or even stay, I think.
Mario had also told us about Lagos de Montebello and Los Nubes, so we
talked to Daniel about these and he said he’d take us to Los Lagos afterward,
so we took him up on the offer. And when
I say “he’d take us” I mean “we’d take him.”
Anyway, we went to Lagos de Montebello, paid more to enter than we were
told and more than the armband read, and were then mortified and enraged to learn
that each individual lago charges another like 20 pesos per person! Well, there are like 59 lagos, and it turns
out a few don’t feature rogue casetas, so Daniel took us to a couple and we
tried to enjoy, though were a bit pissed about the high tariffs and additional
costs to visit the super cool lagos.
Anyway, we were mostly disfrutando when Joana se calló (though we didn’t
know immediately). She fell on her super
awesome camera and it was deemed dead—also, her ribs were deemed probably
fractured. Muy malo. We left, dropped Daniel off, made our way
back to Comitán, found a medical consult for Joana, bought her some drugs, ate,
and returned to Mario’s. I did some
work, but Mario was in a social mood and talked to Abraham and I till like
three, four in the mornin’.
Day 12: Friday, July 13, 2012
Woke up at Mario’s at 7, ready to rumble! …The rest of the group awoke at like 10/11
though. Joana’s shoulder/ribs were
definitely effed up, but she wanted to push forth to Frontera Corozal, which
borders Guatemala and is very close to the supposedly magnificent ruins of
Yaxchilan. Yet another gorgeous Chiapas
drive, though this time getting warmer instead of colder as we made our way south. Arrived in Frontera Corozal and saw signs for
some “Jaguar” place that seemed pretty cool, so we went there and asked about
prices—they had cabanas for something we weren’t willing to pay and camping for
50 pesos a head. We decided that was a
tad caro for camping, plus both Joana and Abril were in pain, so that idea
quickly died. We went back toward a sign
we had seen for a posada se llamó Liz Beth.
We negotiated the price down to…I dunno, like 75 pesos a head or
something, and made use of the like 30 cable channels! However, it was a queen and a single bed plus
a hammock and a floor. I made full use
of the floor and watched Batman: The Dark Knight until I fell asleep in the wee
hours, then woke up a bit later and moved to the bed for a short while.
Day 13: Saturday, July 14, 2012
I moved back to the floor and then woke up around 7 and
cruised the pueblito. There was another
place very similar to the Jaguar place, and they let me use their internet, so
that was cool. Went down to the docks to
ask about lancha rides to Yaxchilan, then back to the room. We slowly but surely made our way back to the
shore and hopped a ride up to Yaxchilan—45 minutes there, two hours to enjoy,
and 50 minutes back. Well, the boat ride
was great and Yaxchilan was greater.
Super cool, super green, super lush.
I think my favorite aspect is that it features three levels. You start outside the ruins and enter via a
very dark tunnel, so that’s cool. You’re
then in…I don’t remember, the great plaza or something. It’s cool, but from there you head up a
mountain and shorlty reach the Grand Acropolis, though structures 39, 40, and
41 are quite a climb away, trekking up the selva mountainside. It was spectacular. From there you feel as though you have an
awesome view because you are atop a mountain, but in actuality all you see is a
wall of trees. Oh well. Made my way down and took a fork in the road
that took me to the Small Acropolis, which structure-wise was probably my
favorite lugar. And from there down to
the entrance. Our two hours were almost
up, I had broken my watch, and was separated from the rest of the group, so I
ran back to the dock to look for our bro Pedro the lancha driver. Saw neither him nor my party, so I ran back
into the ruins and up some stairs buscando, but still didn’t see anyone, so
back to the entrance to wait. They
showed up and we were just a tad late for the boat ride back—Pedro didn’t seem
to mind. Oh, on the way to Yaxchilan he
pointed out some monkeys, and on the way back to Corozal he pointed out a
crocodile. Then we made a short detour
to Guatemala! We spent a whopping 15
minutes and were tempted to get some lunch (a woman had some delicious looking
fried fish), but they told us the 30 Guatemalan peso fish was 50 Mexican pesos,
so we nixed that, bought a Guatemalan beer, and headed back to the boat, where
Pedro told us the two pesos are basically equal. Mentirosa!
Back to the homeland and we made our way back up to Palenque. Arrived and it was hot as hell and just a bit
lame.
Day 14: Sunday, July 15, 2012
Woke up in Palenque with ganas to leave… We made our way through Campeche, passing a
ton of signage for ruins and the like, and on to Quintana Roo. We stopped at the border of Belize and the
others enjoyed the zona libre while I enjoyed the chicas de Babu Té due to the
fact that I didn’t have my passport. We
then entered Chetumal (the capital), and found a hotel. One of the chicas at Babu told me she’d be at
a club called Rock Shots, so at like 1 a.m. we decided to give it a shot. Turns out the club is actually two things: 1.
Way fancier than we were prepared for (Abraham and Joana weren't allowed to
enter as dressed and I had to roll down my pant cuffs); 2. Pretty freaking
awesome. My chicas, however, were not in
attendance. Well, I didn’t see them in
my two minutes of cruising. So I left,
told the other two it’s cool, they told me to stay and I said I didn’t wanna
rock it solito, so we went back to the hotel.
Monday, July 9, 2012
What I've Been Up To Last Week
Trip
Day -1: Sunday, July 1, 2012
Gathered all my stuff and fled Hotel Isabella. We (Madrastracita Joana, Abraham, y Abril)
did some cruising, some shopping for necessary items, then crashed at
Abraham’s.
Day 1: Monday, July 2, 2012
Up at 5!!! Packed
stuff, prepared some quesadillas, left at like 7. There was a clocklike ticking under the hood…not
a fan (as in I wasn’t a fan, not as in it wasn’t a fan—but it wasn’t a fan
either). Got some good views and shots
of Popocapetl. Through Puebla, Veracruz,
into Tabasco. Stopped at La Venta
(original site—fake ruins) and, in between escaping/dying from the heat and
mosquitos, enjoyed the history and views.
Arrived in Villahermosa and took in the sights (and HEAT!)—very
pretty. We rocked the kid’s pirate ship
and walked around. We even caught a
sweet fountain and light show then cruised this little museum. Tried to go to the mirador, but it was
closed—stopped by some overzealous religious mujeres along the way. We then hopped back in the car and looked for
a hotel/hostel—la gente weren’t very helpful, to be honest. We found the historic district, ate some
hotdogs and Michoacana goodies, then took in the very new and fancy
zocalo. We found a hostel for 100 pesos
per, and were set for the night.
Day 2: Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Got up, stopped at a Pemex to inquire about our Captain Hook
engine, then rocked La Venta zoo and museum (fake site, real ruins [real
animals]). This was right next to the
main park and whatnot where we were yesterday, so we got a chance to rock the
mirador, which was quite spectacular.
Hopped back in the car and made our way toward the Tabasco beach town of
Paraiso! First we specced the Comalcalco ruins. Pretty cool, though the best part was rolling down a large hill--and the worst part was that I still have scars from the grass on my stomach and legs... Arrived at Paraiso, had a quite delicious
lunch (I had mango-marinated chicken and thought it was awesome), then made our
way toward the beach. According to
everyone facing every direction, everything (including the beaches) is located
todo derecho, aka no one was of any help.
But we finally found some beaches and disfrutamos. We preguntad some beachside hotels that were
trying to charge too much for their ramshackle abodes, it started raining, the
car was stuck in the sand, yadda yadda yadda.
So we got the car out of the sand, piled in, and returned to Paraiso
centro, found a hotel (that featured mattresses on concrete and no sink) and
ya. Cruised the centro for a short
spell, then to sleep land.
Day 3: Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Happy Independence Day, gringos!!! Oh right, the car didn’t want to start on a
couple occasions yesterday…not good. So
we went back to Villahermosa (which is the capitol of Tabasco) and asked a
mechanic for the lowdown. And I bought
swim trunks and a towel. I don’t know
what happened with the mechanic, but we left and made our way toward Chiapas. Until!
We took an off-ramp and the car stalled.
So we pushed it to a mechanic shop very conveniently located 100 meters
or so away. And ya… We waited around in the Tabascan
heat—dying—and finally received the news that we had serious problems and it
would take more than a day. Luckily,
there was a hotel very nearby, so we copped a room on the cheap and made our
way into the centro to see what was up.
We are in Macuspana. Well, turns
out the great Mayan calendar that may or may not predict our impending doom was
found here, so they decided to replicate the calendar with a digital countdown
timer. Two, in fact! Only…one says impending doom is four days
prior to the other clock…odd. We got
some mayonnaisy corn and the lady told us the tortuga something or other is
pretty lame, just a hill, but that Agua Blanca is bomb diggity. We ate, cruised to the hotel, and slept.
Day 4: Thursday, July 5, 2012
Car not ready. Hopped
a taxi to Agua Blanca. Oowee, the
vegetation out there is magnificent—total rainforest/jungle heaven. Agua Blanca consisted of a gruta (cave with
stalagmites and tites) and a river that had some little cascadas and some pools
to enjoy. The grutas were cool, though
small, and afterward we were traipsing around the pools and I of course fell
in. So we swam around a bit, then made
our way back down to the main palapa. We
had been chit chatting a bit with this group (who had a cooler full of beers) and
they seemed to want to do something with us or something…who knows. Anyway, they were nice and were telling us
about what’s cool around here and in Quintana Roo/Yucatan, and one of the young
ladies was very gung ho about the attractiveness of the young ladies
somewhere…don’t really remember where.
Anyway, I got down to the main palapa and one of the couples was there
with a kid (the kid was the property of the other couple). I had seen the mom a little higher, so when
this couple asked me if I had seen the others I replied that I had—just a
little up the path. They started saying
stuff and telling me how chingon the pools were here, yadda yadda. So I said alright cool, and continued
searching for Joana. I couldn’t find
her, so I returned to meet up with Abra and Abril and we found Jo. Also, the two mujeres of the crew that had
been talking with us started getting a little feisty with each other… Anyway, we cruised a bit, enjoying the river,
cascadas, pools, and our own wetness.
Upon returning to the main palapa a short while later, shit was
crackin’. And by shit, I mean the two
unladylike ladies. And by crackin’, I
mean one was missing a tooth, had blood on her face, and was yelling to the
other “Eres fea, FEA!!!” etc. etc. And
the husbands were somewhat trying to hold them back. Until one picked up half a fucking tree and
started toward the opposing mujer, only for the other dude to somewhat tackle
him. All of these people were fat, so it
was incredibly unagile and comical. More
“FEA!” yelling, and we bounced the fuck outta there. We had caught a taxi up, but he had told us
he didn’t want to return, so we were on our own to hike the few kilometers down
to the bottom and then hunt for a microbus or taxi or something. Luckily, after maybe a kilometer, a huge
loading truck (there was major construction going on, and thus many trucks)
threw us a bone and we loaded up in the back for a pretty sweet ride down. He took us almost all the way down, then as
we were walking to the road, a microbus was headed the opposite direction and
picked us up—so we went back up (though a different road, not Agua Blanca) and
then back down and into town. Actually,
I don’t remember what happened after this…whether we went into town or back to
the room…I’m pretty sure we copped a few huge bottles of Corona and got
faded. Nah, I’m positive. Oh right, we went to “Crazy Monkey” or
something for pizza! Then went “home”
and got wasted.
Day 5: Friday, July 6, 2012
Eso dia=MIERDA!
Abraham and Jo went up to Villahermosa to get a part for the mechanics
while Abril and I stayed in the hotel. I
went in to the centro for some internet, returned, and we did
abso-fuckin’-lutely nothing. Nothing
nothing nothing. Oh, in case anyone is
planning on visiting Macuspana, know this: there are like four TV
channels—three have typical Mexican payaso shit (and occasionally Maria La Del
Barrio, which is awesome!) and the other has porno with no sound—24/7. So that’s interesting. Blah blah, Abra y Jo regresaron al final y
ya. I went for a cruise through the
hustling and bustling city night that is Macuspana. After all, it was Friday! Well, there was obviously nothing. At all.
Day 6: Saturday, July 7, 2012
Apparently I had a cara de puto and was grumpy
and shit. Well, we planned a little
getaway into Chiapas (FIN-ALL-YYYYYYYY) to visit Palenque, which had way too
much to offer. We arrived and decided to
go to the Cascadas de Misol-Ha. Fucking
awesome. So we arrive in the bus station
at Palenque, decide on cascadas, and start walking. We ask a passing truck where it is and he
happens to be a taxi type thing, so we hop a ride and cruise up a mountainside
admiring the super gorgeous everything. He
drops us off at a little road and we make our way to Misol-Ha. It starts raining super tropical style and
it’s quite scrumptious. We arrive and it’s
on some super wow steez. The cascadas
are amazing and there’s a big ol’ pond to swim in, plus a path behind the
waterfalls that leads to a tiny gruta which also had a cascadita. So we took all this in, then took full
advantage of the pool for quite a while.
It started raining quite hard, so we sought shelter in the little
restaurant (when I say “in” I mean under their palapa—there was no indoors) and
tried to waterproof our electronics. We
enjoyed a round of brews and bounced, trekking up the rainy, steamy road in
search of a vehicle. Almost to the main
road, a truck passed us and we copped a ride down to Palenque proper—again:
super freaking awesome. They stopped to
eat, but we needed to get to the bus station before 6:30 to catch the last bus
to our temporary home of Macuspana, so we started walking and again caught a
truck ride within minutes, which took us to within a couple blocks of the
station. Boom.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Cowardly Adherence to an Unknown (Preached) Past
Brave New World,
by Aldous Huxley. A while ago, I don’t remember the year, don’t have my copy on
my person, and don’t want to use the internet for something actually
semi-useful.
I’m starting a new book, so I figured I should get (ew!) my
thoughts on the previous work up before I’m inundated with new thoughts on the
new work. Which I already prefer.
I suppose I should iterate my thesis before I traipse too
far down the path, so here it is: angst. Namely, of the (modern & modernist)
teenage breed. One of my greatest difficulties in reading has always been
deciphering what the author deems as “good” and what the author deems as “bad.”
My stance (also in life) is one of constant and consensual moral ambiguity. Consensual
with whom? Life. Deal with it.
That being said, it seems fairly obvious to me, by the fact
that the book was written in the first place, the style of the book, and the
commentary I have read of it (I have not yet fully indulged in Huxley’s own
critique, Brave New World Revisited,
which I have as a postmortem included with my copy) that the new world
presented in the book is, in its simplest form, “bad.” It is (in some semblance
of rank): Godless, regulated, unindividual/communist, simplistic, industrial,
and morally confused. It is close to not having morals, and another way of
putting that would be “unabashed,” but that is not the case. Rather, the
community is unabashed in regards to baser (read: carnal) instincts, but
utterly shocked/frightened/nerve-wrecked at the mention of family, namely “mother.”
Many of these are interwoven, most obviously the first and the final points,
which is part of the reason I felt “Godless” deserved to be first and foremost
on my list. This, of course, runs contrary to the notion of teen angst, right?
No, obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t have stated it with such certainty
(though, granted, contradiction and I have a love affair dating back to a time
long before I was consciously recording memories).
Ah, so many contradictions,
especially being points one and two: Godless vs. regulated. Religion is a
system of regulation, but one which relies on the past and doesn’t really focus
much on the future, or even the present. Also, it is a system which bases a
fair portion of its regulation on the notion that humans (at least post Adam
& Eve) are inherently bad, but that’s okay as long as these humans try to
make amends and strive for something greater than their humanity—namely, God.
P.S. religion/God are primarily referring to the various forms of Christianity.
The New World, however, seeks to cut out the sexual tension rather than
circumnavigating it through rigorous mental and spiritual fortitude. In the New
World, conditioning is scientific rather than (or in addition to) social, and
the conditioning calls for mass amounts of carefree sexual engagement with a
distinct avoidance and fear of anything emotionally taxing/bonding/lengthy,
i.e. romantic relationships and family (which of course are the building blocks
for religious followers who are not part of the church—a contradiction that
shows how similar the two worlds actually are).
Quick P.S.—my second thesis is that
Aldous Huxley really had no idea what he was writing about and was a
narrow-minded twit who was unwilling to view the world in any way different
than the way in which he was raised to view it. And that he was extraordinarily
contradictory. In mapping out the credulity that his New World is a terrible
place, he cites both their reverence of man (as opposed to God or spirituality)
and their lack of self. This lack of self is what I believe Huxley is arguing
as his thesis: an overly communal world devoid of individuality, promoting
commerciality—a combination of all that is wrong with communism and consumerism
(which of course is often the complaint lodged against democracy) is bad.
It seems to me as though Huxley
presents the “Savage” as the character of good—at least, he has the classic
characteristics and plays a central role (once he appears). He is individual,
he is classically moral, he loves his mother (even though we are often led to
believe: without reason—which I’m not sure is so “good”), he values effort, he
values himself. And he values angst. He strives to separate and depress himself
in search of a greater good. However, if I were to run to the defense of Huxley
(which I would never do), I would point out that his “good” character is
actually three-pronged: originally we have …whatever the main first character’s
name is—he finds the Savage and her mother in New Mexico (congratulations, New
Mexico! A haven for savages and hidden history!); next we get a glimpse of …his
friend, I’m remembering the letter “h” like Holmstead or something—anyway, this
guy, like Character 1, thinks differently from the masses, and he even tries
his hand at writing and strives for more than is on offer in their world;
finally, of course, is the Savage. So let us elucidate upon them:
Character 1: We first see him as
the lone outcast in a city/world of scientifically created drones—like Neo in
the Matrix except not doomed to horrendous sequels that some people have the
gall to defend. First off, my argument—which I’m not claiming Huxley was
unaware of—is that we are tainted by the fact that this character has the
spotlight and we actually receive insight into his thought process. Now, this
is Huxley’s world, so we should (at least on the surface) believe that we are
gaining insight into this character for a reason, and that reason is probably
that he is in fact different and semi-capable of independent thought and a
thirst for progress. Okay, fine. So this guy is different—and how so? Primarily
in his views toward sex. (Quick aside—are you catching the angst vibes?)
Instead of freely and wantonly engaging in the lascivious acts of the primal,
he presents a desire to disengage and search for more. A DESIRE—very important.
This is our first view of his weakness—this guy is lame. Also, he has feelings
toward a sexual object, aka a person of the opposite sex. Eww—Feelings?!
Totally against the rules. Thus, we have this place in our hearts for the
rebellious romantic (romantic rebel…I can’t decide). However, he is not strong
enough to stay true to his morals—probably the fault of society and his
conditioning, but still—not cool, bro. Fast forward to post-Savage time: he
sells out…hard. He gets caught up in the fame and schladies and totally screws
over his Savage homeboy. Now, let’s make fun of Huxley a bit: he presents
people of power, and each wants and enjoys his/her (actually, I don’t recall
any powerful females—misogynist asshole!) power. Also, they are looked up to,
and thus win more sexual endeavors, even though sex is supposed to be
conditioned to the point of being a second-nature activity in which the masses
indulge with little to no impunity—they do it for their own pleasure. This is
getting boring: next! (Oops, quick edit: this is contradictory because his society is supposed to be one of drones unable to think freely, yet he is pointing out that people still like and are attracted to power.)
Hemholtz! I’m pretty sure that’s
his name. So this is Character 1’s (I still don’t remember his name and he
lacked honor, so who cares) way more impressive friend. This guy, for me,
really reinforced (to a more conscious state) the notion that there is very
little difference between this New World and our world. Hemholtz is brilliant,
strong, handsome, cordial, social, confident, and very assured of all of these
facts. However, he is also troubled—troubled by the monotony of day-to-day
life, by the stupidity of everyone else, and by the possibility that he has
limitations. In short, he is the person most people—in our world—want to be
and/or want in their life. And he holds that same position in the New
World—Character 1 is jealous of the amount of schladies Hemholtz effortlessly
pulls, whilst Hemholtz is utterly nonchalant about panocha and would much
rather be tackling his internal/ascension issues. However, he doesn’t deny
himself the pleasures that accompany his trust in himself and has no qualms
with his indulgences—Character 1, meanwhile, wanted more schladies, but
reprimanded himself for his weakness when he indulged. But! Hemholtz is a
secondary character and we don’t spend much time with him, and even less in/as
him. A such…who’s to say what he is really like. In the end, however, the head
honcho (who is basically perfect and awe-inspiring) singles out Hemholtz as
being very similar to his younger self. Hemholtz receives his gift/sentence
with composure, honor, and even joy at finally being able to be alone with
himself and unlock all of his many secrets. After all, isn’t that possibility
what lures regular folk to the complex characters such as this?
Mr. Savage. The Savage is presented
as being very odd by New World standards. And guess what—he is weird; he’s
downright fucked up. I suppose his upbringing is partially at fault, but he has
some screws loose. As this is a story of teen angst, his largest problem is
with sex. His mother was a New World woman who was left stranded with the
savages—so she was totally comfortable, familiar, and fun-minded in regards to
sex. And the savage males took advantage. However, both mother and son were
ridiculed by the village for the mother’s looseness, and Mr. Savage was an
outcast in a community of outcasts. So he read a bunch of “classic” stuff (not
including the Bible) and tried to build a shield of pain to distract and ascend
from his life of ridicule. Real quick, on the reading point—this guy does not
create any of his own knowledge, he just runs off at the mouth with quotes from
dead people. And, it seems to me, Huxley praises this—he sees Mr. Savage as
honorable because he values the same love of which Shakespeare wrote. Mr.
Savage doesn’t know shit about love in a romantic sense (and I personally
question his love for his mother—and he has no friends), is terrible in social
situations, hates sex without understanding it, and is an all-around infant of
a human. An overgrown infant who is good at undergoing pain (admittedly, both
physical and mental/emotional).
Well, plenty of stuff happens, but
we’ll fast forward toward the end of his stay in the New World (well, amongst
the peoples): he has a super crush on (I think her name is…) Linda. Why? Well
I’m pretty sure it isn’t love, since he barely knows her and then he proceeds
to hate her with a vengeance due to one disagreement in life practice, rather
than accepting her. Okay, so he thinks he loves Linda, which basically means he
wants to rock her world under the sheets and probably in all kinds of other
places as well. (T-e-e-n—a-n-g-s-t?) Linda had been a hussy, but upon noticing
a difference in Character 1 (towards relationships/sex), had started mulling
over the idea of spending life with one person rather than embracing the sexual
communism of her era. Well, Character 1 turned out to be a fame-hungry quack,
but this new guy…he is utterly different, much surer in his convictions (which
would come back to bite her—almost literally—in the ass), and has an utterly
sexy/intriguing animality about him. He has/accepts/and cares for his mother,
he has bravery, he seeks improvement, he is in touch with the uncivilized side
of humanity (though…isn’t sexuality the uncivilized/animal side? All of society
is so accustomed to sex that they are decidedly unanimalistic about it, whereas
this virgin foreigner gives off pheromones like a locomotive—however, their
animalism comes out later…). Okay, so they like each other, and it’s obviously
apparent to everyone (read: the reader), but they dance around the bush like
school kids (teen angst) until finally moves are made. Linda is all “why are
you weird with me, Savage?” And Savage is all “no no no, that’s code for I like
you.” And Linda’s all “Oh cool, me too: let’s fuck!” And Savage is all:
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!” (proceeds to go Ape Shit) “You whore!
You fucking whore! Ewww! I can’t believe you’re so unpure, you whore! I hate
you and I’m going to kill you!” Needless to say, this is not only a bit
overkill, but a bit unstable. So Linda locks herself in the bathroom while the
Savage savagely stomps around muttering words from dead people (since he’s an
idiot and has none of his own) under his breath. Yes, psycho-killer status.
Finally he leaves.
Okay, fast forward again: Mr.
Savage isn’t allowed to be banished to a deserted island with his hipster
friends (teen angst), so he throws a hissy fit and runs away from home, setting
up shop in a lighthouse that is decidedly too posh for him. So he beats the
shit out of himself with a whip, which is obviously hilarious. It really is,
and if you disagree then you are going about life all wrong. So he’s getting
all violent monk on himself like the albino guy in that terrible book/movie about Da Vinci
and Jesus’ mom, when who should show up but humans. I don’t remember if the
first people to see him were secretive or what, I think they were in a
helicopter (which he could hear), and they returned to society with news of the
crazy man. Blah blah blah, some guy makes a documentary, everyone loves it,
reporters come to antagonize him, and all the while he just wants to be left
alone. Greedy motherfucker. You can’t make a spectacle of yourself and not expect/allow people to watch. But one thing I’ve learned about teen angst: you
always want people to watch, you just don’t want to want that, so you deny it.
Smooth move, Mr. Savage. Well, someone has the grand idea to bring Linda along,
and she exits the helicopter reciting some probably true bullshit that was
probably along the lines of forgiving him for being absolutely batshit crazy
and almost killing her and that she still loves (whatever that is—in the New
World…) him and wants to try again. The classic lines—there was a helicopter
purring in the immediate vicinity, so he didn’t hear and I don’t think we did
either. He, being the stable young man he is, reacts by battering the fucking
shit out of her, and I’m pretty sure killing her. ‘Cause that’s how you handle
a crush, or a breakup, or being cheated on, or whatever was going through his
head. (Oops edit #2: the crowd of modern drone humans proceeded to go batshit crazy as well, feeding off his jubilant hatred. It's reminiscent of the final scene in Perfume.)
That’s about all in regards to the
three-pronged attempt at the perfect character. This is becoming tedious, I’m
listening to music (which is code for an excuse for my utter lack of
structure), I have actual work to do (maybe), and a new, better book (which I
may or may not read in the immediate future).
To recap, Aldous Huxley didn’t know
what he was talking about. He was anti-communism and anti-consumerism but didn’t
have the balls Ayn Rand had. Nor the eloquence. Nor the semblance of what individuality
actually is. To recap those last few sentences: read Ayn Rand before you read
Aldous Huxley. Umm, Huxley was a teenage boy/girl who was raised in a way too
religious setting and felt as though his hormones were a gift from Satan and
the proper thing to do was to rid himself of them. He viewed society’s/media’s
over-sexualization as the anti-Christ—better to be overly sensitive than overly
sensitized. He was contradictory and I don’t think he knew it. Etc. etc.
Thanks for reading!
Jason
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Writ(h)ing
I recently finished my second reading of Brave New World and am eager to divulge to you, dear reader, my innermost thoughts on the matter.
That was code for: "I'm going to write more!" And be more linguistically involved with the digital world in general. Such as: I have created a Facebook page for my empresa: http://www.facebook.com/JasonEikerWilesEditingProofreading
I plan to put some useful tips up there. That was pretty much code for: I am making an effort to expand my business! So tell your friends and your non-friends (assuming you don't mind if they end up seeming eloquentially superior than you as a result of my awesome linguistic input).
I went to Six Flags Mexico recently with some hip extranjero cats (...four Frenchies, two Brasilians) from the hostel (one Brasilian was not). Thing One: it was fun, interesting, Mexican, and cool. Chatting (in Spanish) with a delightful young (older than I) Brasilian chap (I don't have any parenthetical additions for this one...oh yes I do! His name was and is Getulio), we got to talking about my illustrious (read: new and nigh non-existent) career in the world of words. Thing Two: I was describing what I like to read and what I like to write, and we agreed that I could write some very awesome things about that day and that place. I am currently writing this post after a nice dinner (read: FREE ZUZHI! Thank you, Pedro! Sincerely.) in which the subject was again brought up (end of sentence=preposition). This time, however, it was with a Brasilian woman, a Colombian woman, and un hombre de mi sangre: a Sonoran who was the main asker of questions and payer of attention. So I plan to post a little blurb on each of these experiences and many other minor daily experiences on a frequent basis.
Actually, I was in a fairly writey mood earlier today. Maybe I will relay that story at a later date.
Buenas noches, Suckas
That was code for: "I'm going to write more!" And be more linguistically involved with the digital world in general. Such as: I have created a Facebook page for my empresa: http://www.facebook.com/JasonEikerWilesEditingProofreading
I plan to put some useful tips up there. That was pretty much code for: I am making an effort to expand my business! So tell your friends and your non-friends (assuming you don't mind if they end up seeming eloquentially superior than you as a result of my awesome linguistic input).
I went to Six Flags Mexico recently with some hip extranjero cats (...four Frenchies, two Brasilians) from the hostel (one Brasilian was not). Thing One: it was fun, interesting, Mexican, and cool. Chatting (in Spanish) with a delightful young (older than I) Brasilian chap (I don't have any parenthetical additions for this one...oh yes I do! His name was and is Getulio), we got to talking about my illustrious (read: new and nigh non-existent) career in the world of words. Thing Two: I was describing what I like to read and what I like to write, and we agreed that I could write some very awesome things about that day and that place. I am currently writing this post after a nice dinner (read: FREE ZUZHI! Thank you, Pedro! Sincerely.) in which the subject was again brought up (end of sentence=preposition). This time, however, it was with a Brasilian woman, a Colombian woman, and un hombre de mi sangre: a Sonoran who was the main asker of questions and payer of attention. So I plan to post a little blurb on each of these experiences and many other minor daily experiences on a frequent basis.
Actually, I was in a fairly writey mood earlier today. Maybe I will relay that story at a later date.
Buenas noches, Suckas
Adventures (in Pharmaceutical Stereophonics...etc.)
The number shit is gone. As far as titles are concerned, I mean. Numbers still exist, despite my grandest efforts... And while we're on the subject of nothing: a picture is not worth a thousand words. Words kick ass and if you disagree, it's only because they kick your ass and you aren't smart enough to make them do your eloquent bidding. Deal with it. But the real crux of the matter is:
Drugs and (music not at all resembling) Rock & Roll! Like a true victim of youth.
P.S. The crux of the matter is actually writing again and hopefully with some semblance of depth and frequency.
But back to the cool guy theme:
So. I've been rockin' the night scene like an O.G. with modernistic tendencies. And here is a little story I told a couple people:
*****
We need to go to one of Kyle's "shows." And by "we" I mean I really want to go because I'm sure it will be tan chistoso and possibly fun and K-Dawg could always use the support and I'm obviously not going to go alone because that would probably give me nightmares, not to mention the predominance if underage kiddlets trying to sport their swagg could potentially make me punch someone and that would be less than preferable. Thus, you two are going. And going to love it. I'm thinking drunk, like...reallyyyyyyy drrrrrrrunk. Dubstep has to sound good when you're drunk, right? Or maybe just high...
Drugs and (music not at all resembling) Rock & Roll! Like a true victim of youth.
P.S. The crux of the matter is actually writing again and hopefully with some semblance of depth and frequency.
But back to the cool guy theme:
So. I've been rockin' the night scene like an O.G. with modernistic tendencies. And here is a little story I told a couple people:
*****
We need to go to one of Kyle's "shows." And by "we" I mean I really want to go because I'm sure it will be tan chistoso and possibly fun and K-Dawg could always use the support and I'm obviously not going to go alone because that would probably give me nightmares, not to mention the predominance if underage kiddlets trying to sport their swagg could potentially make me punch someone and that would be less than preferable. Thus, you two are going. And going to love it. I'm thinking drunk, like...reallyyyyyyy drrrrrrrunk. Dubstep has to sound good when you're drunk, right? Or maybe just high...
So I was going home from a bar a few weeks ago at like midnight and these dudes I kinda know saw me and grabbed me as they were walking into this club and made me join them (free!) and it was kinda weird. Like a big open floor with no one on it (literally, we were the only ones--we were like a group of five [all dudes, no less...]) and a DJ spinning and a bunch of tables lining the dance floor (there were people seated). Well, a while later it got poppin', and so did the rest of the members of my crew. Poppin' extasy, that is. I'm guessing. Pills, whatever the case. And after a couple/few hours, the dude I knew best tried to put one in my mouth, but I kept it shut; he tried again, so I obliged, thinking I would just spit it out. Well, for a couple seconds I contemplated finishing the pill, but then decided against it and spit it out. But that was odd. And I hope the dude didn't have herpes fingers or something. And then I went back to the other bar that doesn't play DJ-centric dubstep and it was way more fun and I actually danced with chicas instead of dudes on extasy. Really though, what is the point of going to clubs and dancing solo (while high--maybe that's the part I'm missing?)? I can turn up some heavy danceable electronica in my room and dance alone if that's what I'm after. These dubstep heads are weird.
*****
That last sentence is pretty much the moral of the story. That and: dancing with girls is better than not dancing with girls.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
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