www.arsi-vi.com (Nostalgic nonsense - periodic blogging)
or
www.rcvictorino.com (Drops on a page - short stories, poems, etc.)
Thanks!
8.11.2008
An Olympic discovery - Hungary's Heroes
As an admitted non-spectator of the Olympics (though I swore to myself this year I'd care more) I missed the opening ceremonies, which, according to a handful of people in my life, were worth watching.
So, relishing in the power of the Internet, I turned to YouTube to steal me perhaps just a few glimpses of China's big "how-do-you-do" or "餵" to the rest of the world.
YouTube's always amazed me in how it gives me exactly what I want. If I want to hear a song someone recommended, I can almost always trust YouTube to provide me multiple versions (not to mention entertaining, (though sometimes odd, videos). Hell, even performances by near-and-dear friends Pilotgroove and Arsi-Vi can be viewed by you, me, and Hu Jintao, if he so chose to.
Of course, it is possible to stumble upon the "what-the-hell" videos along the way, which, arguably, is half the fun of YouTube to begin with.
In my search for the opening ceremonies, I assumed I'd find the video with little effort, and much to my expectation, videos tagged as "Beijing Opening Ceremonies" appeared on my screen the moment I typed in www.youtube.com.
Pleased with Mr. Tube, yet again, I proceeded to click on one of the videos, based on it's length (6.24). I figured the shorter the video, the most likely it's not what I'm looking for. Six minutes seemed to me like a good length, and as I clicked on the video, I smiled to myself, pleased with my keen sense of navigation skills in the Ocean of YouTube.
As I patted my own back my computer screen came upon the video I had chosen. The first scene I saw wasn't exactly what I had expected to come from the Olympics ... I heard about drums, and footsteps (I think), and fireworks ... lots of fireworks (though some were fake - read here).
Not two very large, very naked (enough) and very touchy-feely men. But I thought to myself, this must be one of the performances. It was artsy enough, and odd enough, to fit in with China and Olympics, so I started watching.
What ensued was a series of, What the hells?, Oh my Gods, and Ewws, from my mouth. I can't remember being so entranced, yet mildly embarrassed by my intent interest, in anything. I was amazed, felt awkward, and was absolutely in awe at what I was watching. Whether you like it, or are somewhat dumbfounded and eeked out about it, you have to watch it. Apparently it's a video of two Hungarians, on a Chinese television show - nothing to do with the Olympics, but one hell of an Olympic performance.
The music is worth it so make sure you have your volumes up. You have to watch the entire thing to appreciate it, as it builds up toward an inconceivable ending. Enjoy!
2.27.2008
Silly civility - the perception of doors.
Sometimes civility is one big annoyance. In certain instances, an act of kindness can result in a grievance of sorts.
Take for example holding doors open for people.
I'm a believer in holding doors open, not just for the fairer sex, but for any Joe or Jane who happens to find him or herself behind me as I walk through an entryway.
It's just common manners ... civility.
But every time I offer this nicety, or am a receiver of it, I always come to realize that this act of kindness can be a bit of a nuisance.
The other day, while going to the bank, a kind woman - a good 30 yards ahead of me - opted to hold the door open for me. It was a kind gesture, indeed. But what the gesture required of me was to essentially sprint those 30 yards in order to not inconvenience my door-holding savior.
Normally I'd revel in this impromptu exercise (okay, maybe not revel, but perhaps take it in stride); but in the wintry wonder of this past Wednesday, a jaunt through Ice-land (otherwise known as the bank parking lot) was not ideal. While jogging to reach the open door in a timely manner, I slipped, and, yes, fell, thus dampening my pants, my man bag (it's freakin' European, okay?) and my mood.
But what was I going to do? Was I going to take it out on door holder? Caught in the moment I clearly blamed her for her inexcusable act of random kindness - how could she? - but luckily I held my tongue long enough to cool down (being soaked, in 20 degree weather, hastened the process).
As I approached the door (which she continued to hold throughout my fall and rise again) I smiled at door holder, thanking her for the gesture. But in my head I began to wonder, do people ever curse me when - by holding a door open for them - I've essentially challenged them to speed up their pace, alter their gait, so that I can fulfill my narcistically-inspired good deed?
I think I now believe a closed door serves greater purpose than an opened one.
Take for example holding doors open for people.
I'm a believer in holding doors open, not just for the fairer sex, but for any Joe or Jane who happens to find him or herself behind me as I walk through an entryway.
It's just common manners ... civility.
But every time I offer this nicety, or am a receiver of it, I always come to realize that this act of kindness can be a bit of a nuisance.
The other day, while going to the bank, a kind woman - a good 30 yards ahead of me - opted to hold the door open for me. It was a kind gesture, indeed. But what the gesture required of me was to essentially sprint those 30 yards in order to not inconvenience my door-holding savior.
Normally I'd revel in this impromptu exercise (okay, maybe not revel, but perhaps take it in stride); but in the wintry wonder of this past Wednesday, a jaunt through Ice-land (otherwise known as the bank parking lot) was not ideal. While jogging to reach the open door in a timely manner, I slipped, and, yes, fell, thus dampening my pants, my man bag (it's freakin' European, okay?) and my mood.
But what was I going to do? Was I going to take it out on door holder? Caught in the moment I clearly blamed her for her inexcusable act of random kindness - how could she? - but luckily I held my tongue long enough to cool down (being soaked, in 20 degree weather, hastened the process).
As I approached the door (which she continued to hold throughout my fall and rise again) I smiled at door holder, thanking her for the gesture. But in my head I began to wonder, do people ever curse me when - by holding a door open for them - I've essentially challenged them to speed up their pace, alter their gait, so that I can fulfill my narcistically-inspired good deed?
I think I now believe a closed door serves greater purpose than an opened one.
12.07.2007
The Fate of a Life Aquatic
Forgive me journal, for I have sinned. It has been four months since my last confession. Four months filled with story ideas, interesting characters, and an abundance of conflict … with little resolution. Four months filled with the spectrum of emotions. Still, I’ve ignored you.
The more activity in my life, the more there is to write, the less time there is to write it.
And so it is that I write a compacted summation, to contribute to the record:
Somewhere within the walls of these past four months I have cried; I have laughed; I have hurt someone and I have been hurt. Inside this span of time I’ve impacted a child’s life; perhaps I’ve impacted many. I’ve ignored some friends and loved ones; perhaps I've clung too closely to others. I have sinned, and have been sinned against. It has been a typical several months.
Now I ask your permission to expand one one aspect of these past four months. An aspect referred to as:
The Fate of a Life Aquatic:
In August a face from the past entered the present. With the wave of a hand from behind the glass of a car window, Ocean reappeared in my life. We were both traveling, in separate cars, on the interstate. We were headed toward whatever obligations consumed our day. Whether it was the intervention of celestial beings, or a simple twist of serendipity, something occurred so that our individual obligations led us to the same road, on the same day, at the same time. Since distance was always an issue for us in our past relationship (living states apart) this was quite the unexpected affair. As first, when I saw her, I doubted what I saw - it certainly wouldn't make sense that she be there, on that exact road, at that exact time.
Then familiarity settled in ... it had to be her, right? Who else could it be? As she drove by me, I noticed the license plates ... Rhode Island ... yes, this must be her. My body shook; my heart raced. Was this a sign? Was this fate? Fate is often man-made; our mind manipulates our worldly surroundings, our perceptions and reasoning. Perhaps my run-in with Ocean was fate, maybe it was man-made. Regardless, it brought us back together, at least, for one fleeting moment on the highway. Soon after I saw her, I tried to call her. I had rehearsed what I was going to say to her. I wanted to tell her how my body leaped, and seized, all at once when I saw her on the road ... I couldn't stop thinking of it, of her, of the absurdity of my seeing her. I wanted to know if she thought, like I did, that this could indeed be fate. I hesitated dialing the last digit of her number. I was scared ... no ... nervous. It was a welcomed nervousness; I hadn't felt that emotion toward another person in so long. I eventually unearthed enough courage to hit that last digit.
A pause.
Then a voice, a woman’s voice. No, not Ocean’s voice. The voice of that woman, the faceless one, the one who tells you that the number you just dialed is no longer in service. Please try your call again.
Disconnected.
At first I was relieved, then frustrated. I sought out her friend, a mutual friend, for advice. Soon after, I got her number and left her a message: I was so nervous, but so excited to see you on that road. I had been thinking of you before then, and then I see you on the road? How crazy is that? Isn't that crazy?
A few days later I received a photo text message, from Ocean, of a turtle – one of those little wooden turtles whose head bounces around like a buoy. Attached to the photo were the words: “Guess Who.” Again, my heart raced. This was the turtle I gave to her when I returned from Los Angeles in Feb. 2006, and still she had it. Again, my body leaped, and seized at once.
We reunited.
The honeymoon weeks of our reunion were, of course, wonderful. The newness of relationships is an aphrodisiac, even if it is the second time around. Letters sent in the mail, late-night conversations. But lately the course has changed. Aggravations are abounding. Frustrations float freely. The distance that distanced us in the past, lurks again inside our hearts. It’s been weeks since last I saw her; our conversations are limited to pleasantry-laced moments from a cell phone, when service is available. Her days consist of obligation after obligation – and these obligations are burying her. My passiveness is not matching well with her hectic schedule. She needs more attention than I can provide at this time … perhaps she needs more attention than I even want to provide. I don’t know. But I get sad thinking about the span of that one week in August, when my heart raced twice. When a picture of a toy turtle gave me a smile.
The more activity in my life, the more there is to write, the less time there is to write it.
And so it is that I write a compacted summation, to contribute to the record:
Somewhere within the walls of these past four months I have cried; I have laughed; I have hurt someone and I have been hurt. Inside this span of time I’ve impacted a child’s life; perhaps I’ve impacted many. I’ve ignored some friends and loved ones; perhaps I've clung too closely to others. I have sinned, and have been sinned against. It has been a typical several months.
Now I ask your permission to expand one one aspect of these past four months. An aspect referred to as:
The Fate of a Life Aquatic:
In August a face from the past entered the present. With the wave of a hand from behind the glass of a car window, Ocean reappeared in my life. We were both traveling, in separate cars, on the interstate. We were headed toward whatever obligations consumed our day. Whether it was the intervention of celestial beings, or a simple twist of serendipity, something occurred so that our individual obligations led us to the same road, on the same day, at the same time. Since distance was always an issue for us in our past relationship (living states apart) this was quite the unexpected affair. As first, when I saw her, I doubted what I saw - it certainly wouldn't make sense that she be there, on that exact road, at that exact time.
Then familiarity settled in ... it had to be her, right? Who else could it be? As she drove by me, I noticed the license plates ... Rhode Island ... yes, this must be her. My body shook; my heart raced. Was this a sign? Was this fate? Fate is often man-made; our mind manipulates our worldly surroundings, our perceptions and reasoning. Perhaps my run-in with Ocean was fate, maybe it was man-made. Regardless, it brought us back together, at least, for one fleeting moment on the highway. Soon after I saw her, I tried to call her. I had rehearsed what I was going to say to her. I wanted to tell her how my body leaped, and seized, all at once when I saw her on the road ... I couldn't stop thinking of it, of her, of the absurdity of my seeing her. I wanted to know if she thought, like I did, that this could indeed be fate. I hesitated dialing the last digit of her number. I was scared ... no ... nervous. It was a welcomed nervousness; I hadn't felt that emotion toward another person in so long. I eventually unearthed enough courage to hit that last digit.
A pause.
Then a voice, a woman’s voice. No, not Ocean’s voice. The voice of that woman, the faceless one, the one who tells you that the number you just dialed is no longer in service. Please try your call again.
Disconnected.
At first I was relieved, then frustrated. I sought out her friend, a mutual friend, for advice. Soon after, I got her number and left her a message: I was so nervous, but so excited to see you on that road. I had been thinking of you before then, and then I see you on the road? How crazy is that? Isn't that crazy?
A few days later I received a photo text message, from Ocean, of a turtle – one of those little wooden turtles whose head bounces around like a buoy. Attached to the photo were the words: “Guess Who.” Again, my heart raced. This was the turtle I gave to her when I returned from Los Angeles in Feb. 2006, and still she had it. Again, my body leaped, and seized at once.
We reunited.
The honeymoon weeks of our reunion were, of course, wonderful. The newness of relationships is an aphrodisiac, even if it is the second time around. Letters sent in the mail, late-night conversations. But lately the course has changed. Aggravations are abounding. Frustrations float freely. The distance that distanced us in the past, lurks again inside our hearts. It’s been weeks since last I saw her; our conversations are limited to pleasantry-laced moments from a cell phone, when service is available. Her days consist of obligation after obligation – and these obligations are burying her. My passiveness is not matching well with her hectic schedule. She needs more attention than I can provide at this time … perhaps she needs more attention than I even want to provide. I don’t know. But I get sad thinking about the span of that one week in August, when my heart raced twice. When a picture of a toy turtle gave me a smile.
Was this fate?
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