Tuesday, February 15, 2011

day 6: art is hard

one time in art class
i was painting a picture
really hard
and the teacher told me
im not very artistic
and i should stop painting
it was hurting his eyes

and then he threw a baseball bat at me
and told me to get out of his studio
it was pretty traumatizing
i was six

Thursday, February 10, 2011

eff you lucien hernandez you can ess my dee

6 days. day one, raw foods only. day two, liquids. day three, four, water, day 5 liquids, day 6 raw foods.

hows that for evolving betch?

Monday, February 7, 2011

jour cinq: wayne

I would like to take a minute today and talk about my friend "Wayne."
Wayne, like the picture to your left is in many cases, a socially immature puffin. Oftentimes, Wayne finds it necessary, even at certain points, mandatory, to impress others all the time. Whether it be by way of bringing a funny mug to work, shooting a gun at people's houses, or even kissing a random person's baby, Wayne is constantly on the prowl. In fact, one time he actually offered to walk my dog for a week after he drunkenly hit on my sister at prom. I declined.

I understand Wayne. His seemingly endless need for attention is something I dealt with a long time ago, in 6th grade. Those who have known both Wayne and myself for a long enough time might say I was actually much worse about it than my cowboy compadre, but that is totally false. I have known Wayne since 4th grade when I moved to Mission, Texas from my home in San Antonio. Wayne was the first person I talked to at school that year, and we have pretty much great friends since. He is way bigger of an asshole than me.

That being said, one might ask why I would write such caustic words about a friend. Well, simply put, Wayne has Asperger's. Pronounced Ass-burgers.

This isn't a recent development, however, as I first found out he had Asperger's junior year of high school. I was at his house when I overheard his mom Janet talking on the phone with their relatives about one of Wayne's outbursts at school. If my memory serves correct, that week Wayne had actually flushed a couple of dead toads down a toilet in the girls locker room. I had actually ratted him out about it to the lady-janitor, Horacia, who forced Wayne to make a deal with her; Wayne would have to provide her with one dead toad for the rest of the school year lest she reveal to the principal who flooded the girl's locker room bathroom.(Apparently frog's legs are a delicacy for old Mexican women, enough so that they would resort to blackmailing high school students to acquire some). Wayne, always a defiant little prick, called her bluff and instead stuck a dead toad inside the exhaust pipe of her 77' Malibu.

But I digress. When I revealed to Wayne that I was aware of his handicap later that week, he denied it with adamant ferocity. In fact, he was so convincing, I actually believed that his parents had kept him in the dark about it his entire life. To this day, I don't why Janet and Mark Stockton wouldn't want their kid stoned all day on Zoloft if that kid were Wayne, but that's beside the point.

The reason I am writing about my dear friend Wayne is because he texted me yesterday telling me he knew about his Asperger's since 2nd grade but refused taking his meds because he believed the doctors were just trying to dumb him down and silence his "creatively chaotic" mind. I didn't text him back.

About 6 hours ago driving up to San Marcos for some meetings, I received a call from our mutual friend Paul that Wayne had taken his life in his dorm room this morning. Paul was the one who found him.

I'll miss you brotha.
RIP Wayne Stockton

Captains Log Day 3/4 aka Sorry It's the weekend and I had better things to do than blog all day.

popsicles don't lie

Seriously, Dad?

I thought you might get suspicious when I dropped out of college and camped out at home for a few months.

I thought you might really get suspicious when I came home no earlier than 3 o' clock for those first 4 months.

Like that one time I showed up at the ass crack of dawn and when you opened the door for me cause I didn't have a key and I looked at you kind of funny and said, "Does it look like the grass is moving to you?" I honestly thought you had figured it out.

The worst was I you found my friend Kendra's fish in my backpack. You even asked me straight up and I looked you in the face and said, "no way, i'm just holding that for my friend kendra"

Whenever you hear me in the kitchen at 4 in the morning making waffles or eggs or cereal or warming up leftovers from Chili's or Pei-Wei that have Jackie's name on it, I'm just like, "come on, really?" And I bet it really pisses you off when mom buys a brand new thing of pistachio almond ice cream(your favorite) and you find the empty carton upstairs in front of the TV.

Probably not as much as the sticky spoon stuck to the carpet, though.

And another thing. There's no way you don't start asking yourself questions when you come home unexpectedly from work during the day and you walk in on me playing with our clearly-an-outside-dog, Killer/Roscoe in the foyer(I call him Killer cause Roscoe is a dumb name) in nothing but my boxers and a bandanna blaring Led Zeppelin or Grateful Dead. I mean, seriously?

Or the fact that I'll disappear for days at a time and show up home at 4 in the morning in the same clothes I left in.

Or maybe the fact that sometimes I like to sleep until 6 in the afternoon, big deal.

I wonder what goes through your head when you call me when you havent seen me in a couple days and instead of answering your question of "where have you been?" I tell you a funny racist joke instead.

Sometimes I like to ask you theoretical questions like, "what would you do if i moved to africa tomorrow?" and both you and I know I'm only half joking.....

Fact of the matter is, Dad, the only reason you leave me alone about it and don't get mad at me is because I know you love me and also partly because when you were my age you were doing way worse things and you've kinda accepted the fact that kids will be kids and you just gotta cross your fingers and hope they figure it out ok and don't turn out like your younger brother tony who still lives with grandma and grandpa and has like 2 kids but doesnt pay child support.

It's gotta be scary looking at your 3rd oldest child and youngest son thinking that, what if he doesn't get as lucky as you did? What if he doesn't figure it out? What if he screws himself over really bad and he's stuck on the street or in your garage the rest of his life, just some burned out loser with no goals, dreams, aspirations, just an xbox a shitty car and some doritos?

Well pop, I appreciate your concerns. I think about that stuff sometimes too....

But then i just get really high and think about what I would do if the force is real and i could lift cars off the ground and shit, how cool would that be....


Friday, February 4, 2011

day 2: most likely to get deported

Three days ago, Pablo Correa found good form.

The funny thing was, most of the people he knew told him he couldn't do it. That he wasn't strong enough, wasn't fast enough. Pablo knew better.

Even his best friend Ricco told him it was a long shot. "you're better off just paying the coyotes, man"

His abuela told him, "mijo, dont do it, its not safe."

But Pablo was determined. He had practiced the jump for a long time; over 3 months, to be exact. A long time was spent analyzing the pros and cons. He knew he probably couldn't return home and there was a hell of a long walk once he got to the other side. But ever since his  parents and little sister were killed in a shooting two winters ago, he had no desire to be at home. In fact, most nights he slept at Ricco's house.

In such a remote location, he knew there was a high chance that if he landed wrong and broke a leg or sprained an ankle he would be without any help. Regardless, Pablo yearned for what was on the other side. He could almost taste it in his mouth.

So on Feburary 4th, 1992, in some flats out in La Purisma, Pablo Correa took a risk. Naturally, his best friend Ricco was the only person who came to see him off, although Pablo suspected it was partly out of morbid curiosity.

"Just take a deep breath," he thought. "These next few seconds are critical."

And so he ran. And with every ounce of strength he had, Pablo stuck the 6 foot long pole vaulting stick he had stolen into the Mexican dirt and pole vaulted his slender Chicano body over the 8 foot fence and into The United States of America.

He landed with a splash in the murky Rio Grande River.

As he dog paddled to the beach, Ricco tossed over Pablo's canteen and provisions for the 30 mile walk to Del Rio. "Godspeed, hermano."

Pablo thanked his friend, and told him he would be sending money in a few weeks for him and his family. It was kind of weird knowing his best friend and he were now in different countries, and it would be a very long time before they saw each other again. But Pablo had bigger things to worry about. Like the Border Patrol.

As they said their final goodbyes and Pablo disappeared into the Brush, Ricco clasped his rosary beads and said a prayer for his friend.

"Querido SeƱor, que mi amigo a salvo, por favor"

Two days later Pablo walked safely into the city of Del Rio. Two days of walking in the Texas brush with little food or water had exhausted him. Luckily, he ran across only one Border Patrol truck, and made it past them with ease. 

It was a Sunday, so Pablo made a beeline for the first Roman Catholic church he saw and attended mass. He thanked god for getting him across safely. He lit four candles: one for his mother, one for his father, one for his little sister Ana, and one for his well-being. Pablo could breathe easy. All he had to do now was find a job. 

Two months later, during a raid at the warehouse he worked at, Pablo was shot fatally in the heart by Border Patrol Officer Chase Frost.

There was no funeral.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Day Juan

Good evening,

My name is Isaiah Garza, and this is my blog. Its hard to think that Mila Kunis voices Meg on Family Guy. Long story short, Mila Kunis is hot. Meg, is not.

Here's what i did today: (names have been changed to protect the innocent) 

Around 2 am central standard time, I was woken from heavenly slumbers by a phone call from a former friend and colleague who attends texas state.We'll call him Zack. And zack, just like everyone else in San Marcos on wednesday night, was drunk. 

His first words were "holy crap you answered!"
i was soon propositioned to drive up to san marcos and ice our friend "julies" porch/entrance to her apartment. 
needless to say, i went back to bed. he ended up doing it himself.

approximately 4.5 hrs later, i was awakened by a text from my friend "lucy" claiming i stole his razor. 

i did steal his razor. (in my defense, he only shaves like once a month and its a really nice razor and i also took his shaving cream) also important to note, i didnt respond to him until he texted me again around 3, asking about his razor.

 somewhere between the hours of that and 430, i watched district 9 (fookin prawns!) and ate a bowl of cereal. boring. 

around 3:30 i get a text from this tall, pasty girl "luz". wants to " hang out" she says. i take a shower.

fast forward about an hour and im with "luz" and our other friend gertrude at goodwill. for the next hour i watched them try on grandma clothes and steal the ones they like.

highlight of the day: district 9 and got a job interview. 

highlight of tomorrow: finding my wallet. 

im isaiah garza, and this is my life/these are my friends.