FRE$H

I stay grillin’ with my hater blockers … So if the ICE (Immigration & Customs Enforcement) wants to send me to Arizona, you better believe I’ll be deporting illegal aliens left and right … My nickname will be The Enforcer … 

He Had Blue Eyes …

This blog post goes out to the one and only … He knows who he is … Unfortunately.

“Where everything was everything, but everything is over.
Everything could be everything, if only I were older
Guess its just a silly song about you
And how I lost you,
and your (blue) eyes.
Everything was everything, but baby its the last show
Everything could be everything, but its time to say goodbye
So, get your last fix and your last hit
Grab your girl, with her new tricks. Honey its no surprise that I got lost in your (blue) eyes.”

Brown Eyes by Lady GaGa

A Small Thought #2

VIVRE SA VIE, so back the fuck up!

All I care about …

I seek to be a woman of power someday. As Aristotle once said, “Man is, by nature, a political animal.” In todays American society, this is looked down upon, viewed as selfish and egocentric. So what? I’ll do what I want.

All I care about is MEN, MONEY & POLITICS …

Nymphet

I would’ve never treated Humbert the way Lolita did. Evil bitch.

Francis & Zelda: A Story by Karen A. Elizes

Francis came home from abroad in Paris and the homecoming was silent. Not the apartment, though quiet and vast, he thought about how nice it would have been to arrive home with Zelda opening her arms to him. Instead she was back in Tuscany, shopping around for nonsense and doing lord knows what with an airplane pilot.

Ernest had advised him to take a break from shooting the last few scenes they had in Paris, and although relieved to be back in New York, his mind remained in crowded hotels and whiskey bottles.

“Everything will take care of itself, Francis.” Ernest had told him the night before he left.

“Don’t drink too much either. I mean it.” Francis had been drinking heavily, always constantly drunk, passing out at late hours, crying into the phantom shoulder of what he thought was Zelda, but what always turned out to be a pillow. The childish way he had been acting lately almost astounded him, repelled at the thought of being so unlike himself over the course of the year. He and Zelda had been fighting, especially after her infidelity last summer in the French Riviera with that Brazilian-bronze airplane pilot. Growing ever distant as time went by, it was difficult to stay civil with her when she too would come home drunk and strike him, provoking a fight that he knew better then to get involved in. He was at a lost.

He threw his baggage on the cold hard wood floor, loosened his tie and slumped in his chair, pouring a vat of scotch into a dirtied glass. Lighting a cigarette, the pressure began to weigh down on him again, like in the plane coming home. The uneasiness that came slowly, draped over him like the clouds over the city. Several things juggled through his mind as he sat there, worried about the editing he had to finish, how much money that was going to cost production with the delay of him coming back to New York for the week. The story line was out of whack and writing as the shooting of the film went on only made things worse for him. Ernest who was playing the lead role, wasn’t making things any better, though he was always sincere and brotherly-like to Francis, Ernest’s quarreling with the assistant director, Ezra Cummings was what almost caused the entire production to fall. Literally.

He needed air. Getting up to step into the balcony, he realized that he was quiet tipsy. Five glasses had already done him in and yet his resistance against the wind was strong. He leaned in over the railing of the balcony and gazing down before him, he became dizzy, forgetting his fear of heights, breathing heavily he lifted himself up and coughed; the cigarette dangled from his lips, drunk from the loss of ash. He walked back inside the apartment, running his free hand through his wavy auburn hair then swiping his lips with his thumb, the cigarette that was dying was put out, thrown into an ashtray. Francis’s eyes started to drop as he sat in the love seat, and then the doorbell rang.

He hated visitors. Period. He hated how they’d ring the doorbell more then twice and then rap annoyingly at the door when there wasn’t an answer. The persistence of the knocking that began reminded him of Zelda. And oddly enough when he came to the door and opened it, he saw her standing there with a tired bemused look on her face. She wasn’t due for another two weeks, or at least till the movie was done.

“Surprised, Francis? I lost my key somewhere, sorry.” Her lips were pink and her complexion was different, not pale like before, almost as if someone had injected her with vitality.

“Yes, of course” The look on his face was that of an intimidated boxer, scared to get back into the fight.

“Your drunk, aren’t you? I can smell it”

“Yes, yes I am, and you my dear Zelda are sober as a Protestant pastor . . . yes you are” His words were slurring.

Zelda was taken aback by this.

“Why do you look so fuckin’ hurt?” His tone was grave but an obvious trace of resentment was in his voice and his stare was quiet maddening.

Thus began the fighting: And after thirty minutes of hated words it stopped when he finally sat in his love seat again.

“C’mere” he said. Smiling lazily.

She stood in front of him with one hand on her hip and leaning slightly to the right.

“Kneel between my legs, Zelda, I want you to kneel.”

She knelt. She knelt with the willingness to amuse herself, Francis spread his knees apart, her hands landing on the top of his thighs.

“Smoke me.”

Israel: One less thing for me to worry about. . . For now, at least.

U.S. War of Wills With Israel Yahoo News Article

This past Sunday and Tuesday, the Republicans and I lost the fight opposing Health Care Reform. But with that aside, I’m glad that Israel got their settlement and won another round in this fight for what is rightfully there’s. Thats just one less thing for me to worry about. . . For now, at least. I am aware of President Obama’s naivety about the Israeli & Palestinian conflict. President Obama tries to play peaceful mediator with an obvious bias for his beloved Palestinians. The Palestinians, who are kicking back happily, while President Obama pressures Israel into making more determined concessions, are also aware of President Obama’s bending of the situation. Why does President Obama bear  such corporeal coercion onto Israel while not exerting any pressure on the Palestinians? For as long as I’ve been interested in politics and foreign affairs(which has been since early high school)I have always known that Israel is one of America’s greatest allies; and not because the conservative Right tells me so, but because I’ve read and researched the past.(But I must be honest, having a thing for Jewish men used to have a lot to do with it). From the beginning of its birth, when President Harry Truman first recognized the new state, Israel has since then been a loyal friend. It should be evident that Israel has made great feats of sacrifices to try and establish a sense of peace and resolve within the center of the Middle East. It seems to me that President Obama is failing to recognize this. Pressuring an ally in any way, especially that of Israel, is equatable to a slap in the face. I’m sure President Obama is aware of the 2005 evacuation of Israeli settlers in the Gaza strip, which was then handed over to the Palestinians, along with a part of the West Bank. I think thats more than enough so that the Palestinians can thank the Israelis with thousands of rockets that were fired into its cities. So, my question is, what’s up with that, President Obama? But my main worry is that Israel may not win the next round and that they will be forced to make even more concessions which will ultimately make Israel as less safer Israel.

A Small Thought. . .

I believe that no single person can change the lives of the people. Only the people can make an individual choice to change their own.

This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald: An Analysis.

This Side Of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s first novel, is a coming-of-age story about a boy named Amory Blain. Fitzgerald found inspiration in his own life, which is very much depicted in the book. The title was derived from a quote by Rupert Brooke: “Well this side of Paradise! There’s little comfort in the wise.”

The story begins with Amory Blain as a young boy raised by his mother, Beatrice, who married a wealthy man. Amory’s father rarely is mentioned in the book; instead, Amory’s father figure, whom he meets in a section of the book titled Amory, Son of Beatrice, is an old suitor of his mother’s who now is a priest, Monsignor Darcy. Amory receives much of his attitude from his mother, and, throughout his childhood, from when he attended elementary school and preparatory school, he is said to be arrogant and disliked by all the boys in his class. When confronted with this issue by the headmaster at St. Regis preparatory school, Amory reacts almost brokenheartedly and rash, saying, “Don’t you think I don’t know?”

When Amory meets Monsignor Darcy, he finds that the priest is almost a kindred spirit. In the novel, Fitzgerald writes of their meeting, “They slipped into an intimacy from which they never recovered”(Fitzgerald. pg. 29). It is important to note that Amory’s life is based on making it “big;” wanting to be popular and rich someday is his dream, but the illusion that Amory has built up in his mind is what ultimately destroys him and keeps him from realizing his potential. For example, Amory is disillusioned by the appearances of Ivy League colleges and their role in men’s lives. Even as a young boy about to attend preparatory school, Amory tells Monsignor Darcy, “I want to go to Princeton, I don’t know why, but I think of all Harvard men as sissies, like I used to be, and all Yale men as wearing big blue sweaters and smoking pipes. . ..I think of Princeton as being lazy and good-looking and aristocratic – you know, like a spring day”(Fitzgerald. pg. 29). For Amory, Princeton is lazy and good-looking, just like him.

Amory goes off to Princeton being very self-conscious of his appearance, but makes friends with a few young men who share his taste in literature, philosophy and life. Amory meets a wealthy girl named Rosalind Connage, who plays a key role in his life. Amory and Rosalind fall madly in love with each other, but, since Amory is not well-off, Rosalind rejects him and marries another gentleman for his money. Here, Amory realizes how much money really can talk. Later in the book, Amory deepens into a drunken stupor and, when brought back to reality after his mother’s death, he goes back to where he grew up, Lake Geneva, and meets Eleanor Savage. For Amory, Eleanor is the answer to all of his unanswered questions, which is why Amory thinks he dreamt her.

After a long meeting with Eleanor, Amory goes back to Princeton in a significant section of the book, The Egoist Becomes A Personage. Here, Amory realizes that his youth is indeed time lost “. . .from the personalities he had passed”(Fitzgerald. pg. 308).

Throughout the novel, Fitzgerald offers section titles that directly apply to Amory – The Egotist Considers,. for example. Throughout the novel, this recurring theme explains to the reader how we really see Amory – as an Egotist. This brings me to an important philosophical question in the book: What is an Egotist and why is Amory characterized as one? It’s very obvious why, but, in Amory’s case, being an Egotist is something that is not working out for him. Instead, Amory is disillusioned by his dreams, by the posing and showing off that he displays throughout his life. It’s only when he meets Rosalind that Amory seems to seriously consider his potential. Amory is very vain, especially about his appearance; he knows he’s good-looking even when people tell him, which is one of the philosophical issues with which Amory deals. In knowing he, indeed, is good-looking, he fails to accomplish his goals. Other questions brought up in this novel: What is a personality and what is a personage? These are key questions, because, again, they apply greatly to Amory and his story. When meeting with Monsignor Darcy after entering Princeton, Amory is disheartened by his failure at mathematics in the fall semester, and the clergyman explains that he is too caught up in trying to be a personality when he is really a personage. Monsignor Darcy elaborates, “Personality is a physical matter almost entirely; it lowers the people it acts on – I’ve seen it vanish in a long sickness. But while a personality is active, it overrides ‘the next thing.’ Now a personage, on the other hand, gathers. He is never thought of apart from what he’s done. He’s a bar on which a thousand things have been hung – glittering things sometimes, as ours are, but he uses those things with a cold mentality back of them”(Fitzgerald. pg. 116). Here, Monsignor Darcy tells Amory that spending all his time trying to be different things will never get him anywhere, and, if he applies himself accordingly and garners prestige and highly acclaimed talent within his boundaries, he need not depend on anyone, whether it be his mother, after whom he models himself, or a lover such as Rosalind. Amory will be able to cope with the loss of these “possessions” because of his personage.

Another philosophical issue posed in This Side Of Paradise is how Amory deals with Evil. For Amory, Evil not only is a figurative subject, like it would be for Fitzgerald, but an actual person who appears to him on several occasions. Amory’s friends at Princeton call him “Original Sin,” and, because of these meetings with the Devil (which are offered as implication of Amory’s moral struggle), he lives up to his nickname. One night out, a friend of Amory’s – Dick Humbird, a Princeton undergraduate who is popular, rich and charming – gets into a bad drunk-driving accident. Here, Amory makes a distinction between Good and Evil because he realizes that, without some glorification or power, without wealth and status, one cannot be given recognition, especially when it comes to “getting the girl.” On another occasion, Amory runs into the Devil when he and his friend, Fred Sloan, get together with two girls who are vaguely thought to be prostitutes. Here, Amory decides to give in to his sexual curiosity, but, before he does, he sees the Devil and is so frightened that he runs out of the room and into an alley to wait for Sloan. It is obvious that Amory equates Evil with sexuality and temptation. Here, Fitzgerald  depicts the Jazz Age at its highest, using This Side Of Paradise and the character of Amory Blain as an allegory for American youth during this era; Evil being identified with sex.” In every instance in which Amory is involved “romantically” with a girl, he is almost repulsed, with the exception of his love for Rosalind. Amory tries to pose as another personality, a “flaming youth,” but, in reality, he is a conscientious Puritan. Also, when Amory is utterly broken by Rosalind’s surrender to the idea and importance of wealth, and goes back to Lake Geneva only to meet Eleanor Savage, Fitzgerald writes of Amory’s first sexual encounter and initiation into “man-hood.” This is significant because Amory no longer is repulsed by the idea of sexuality.

Another important philosophical issue is Amory’s complex idea of money. During his courting of Rosalind and, at the time they both fall in love, Amory realizes that Rosalind has learned the concept of “supply and demand.” She knows the importance of money and that, marrying into money, even when not in love with that individual, is what girls always do; thus reminding us that “Poor boys don’t marry rich girls.” But Amory cannot fully understand this; out of determination, he is blinded by his unrealistic and romantic view about life, and, no matter how hard he tries to convince Rosalind of the latter, he ultimately will lose her because “money talks.”

After his breakup with Rosalind and his retreat to Lake Geneva, Amory finally lets go of his personalities and posing and becomes a personage. Another philosophical question: How does Amory come to realize this? The reader must know that, without Amory’s mother, Amory would not be a personage in the first place. Without his mother’s complex attitude, without her intricacies and preferences or her alcoholic states and depressions, Amory would not be, in his mind, a sophisticated and good-looking charmer. At the end of the story, we find Amory at Princeton and Fitzgerald writes about Amory’s obvious wasted time, “He wondered what graves made people consider life in vain. Somehow he could find nothing hopeless in having lived”(Fitzgerald. pg.306). Ironic, because, as much as Amory tried to live, he wasted it by dreaming, so the hopelessness is there, but Amory still, even after becoming a personage, does not come to terms with that. At the very end, Amory is stretched out on the grounds of the campus and he says a loud, crying “I know myself. . .And that is all”(Fitzgerald. pg. 308).

Having read this book so many times, it’s hard to say how I would deal with these philosophical issues if I were Amory Blain, and, since this is a coming-of-age story, why should anyone reading this novel try to answer the questions that Amory asks? I think everyone, especially in our youth, is brought to a certain point where it is necessary to consider these personal, philosophical questions. The one mistake Amory Blain makes is not doing so himself, which did not allow him to come to terms with his flaws. That is how I would consider the dilemmas in this story; Amory constantly seems to be in denial of his life, his actual personality and his environment, which is why he eventually fails at the end of his youth.

A Dream I Had In My High School Sr. English Class: Twas Written In Stone

I sat in the back of my English composition class, skimming through my new copy of WAD magazine. I should have been doing something more “productive” with my free time besides reading about French house music, going green, and the debut of Justices new album. A hand full of French youths crowded into a venue, swaying to the mixed-bebop-beats of Xavier de Rosnay and Gaspard Auge.

In the corner of my eye I see Xavier, with a fresh suave look about him, his legs crossed, and a cigarette dangles from his lips loosely. I bet a million woman have kissed those lips and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were so, and or if it were more then a million.

Pedro Winter stands beside Gaspard at the turntable, both are bearded which make them look older. Their headphones hung over their necks; almost looking as if it symbolized their profession of “beats”. I suppose that’s why Gaspard and Xavier named their album “CROSS”. Pedro Winter, who produced the new album by Justice, was recently married to fellow French entertainer Nadege Winter . . .Their marriage was published in WAD magazine and the entire thing was a happy event. Pedro and Nadege look to me like that type of young newlyweds who are going to last a lifetime. They look “happy”, and I put that word in quotations because that’s just what Pedro and Nadege are. Happy.

Uffie, a female French rapper takes the stage, grabbing the mic from Xavier, throwing her right hand in the air as her purple hoodie casts a shadow over her fair complexion. Like the boys in the club, she too, carries a heavy gold chain around her neck. Her words flow like that of the sound from the speakers and the crowd hails her their Queen of spit and rhymes. Pedro, who stands by has his arms crossed and looks as though Gaspard is provoking him. They laugh throwing their heads back and Pedro runs off the stage, diving into the masses, which then carry his thin jolting body over from the next helping hand to the next. At that exact moment, Xavier leaves his seat and stands next to his partner and fellow neo-beat-mixer, Gaspard. They resemble each other in ways that they don’t, like half brothers that have taken a liking to the other. Both smile and spin off at the turntables. “Do the D.A.N.C.E,” sings, what sounds like a group of little boys and girls from a scratchy unreceptive radio from the late 70’s. The disco sound brings the entire venue into an uproar. The single entitled D.A.N.C.E has been a late bloomer of popularity here in the U.S. of A. and I pity our disadvantage in being Americans when I see how much fun the French are having with simple sample beats and bitten sound bites from a Michael Jackson single. Gaspard and Xavier move their chosen hands over vinyls, moving their hips to the sound that they have created. From the front of the stage, all the way to the back I saw how the wave of hands swayed from the right and to the left, in unison, in a trance, and in complete togetherness with the beat of “the radio”. I couldn’t help but want to be a part of that and envied the style in which it was done. I WAS alone, and remained so, Long Beach is not my idea of “in”, and for me, it will never level with me.

I stepped out of the two pages I had been staring at for the past 5 minutes; it seemed like an entire night of mischief and mayhem, booze, sound, sound and more sound, and I missed it without even being a part of IT.