Michael Jackson: The Last Legend

its tough to grow up and see the ones that made the journey worth while leave on an exit too soon. He recorded some of the best-selling albums in history and has left a legacy of his music and career-a token of memory for those that witnessed his journey and an inspiration for those yet to fall in love with the King of Pop.

Michael Jackson
(August 29, 1958- June 25, 2009)

A Musical Golden Age: Buena Vista Social Club

my favorite musical group

The Buena Vista Social Club was a members club in Havana, Cuba . It was a popular location for musicians to play and a locale that held musical activities and dances during the 1940s. The same place that had represented Cuba's golden age of music and that had closed down fifty years ago, inspired a recording between Ry Cooder and traditional Cuban musicians, some who had performed at the club during the height of its popularity. The artists who got together formed under the name of the Buena Vista Social Club. This is the link to the amazing award-winning documentary about the group: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahuduPpZJQA&feature=featured

who made a book? and they're selling it too?

i made a book
(with pictures taken by me)
& thanks to blurb its for sale.

the book navigates the parallels between islands i've visited around the world and quotes that go along.

the link below gives a preview of the book and its prices...
so...
go go go go

http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/704589

Omegle

this site brings two strangers together and allows them to have a conversation.

this is my encounter:

Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: go awao
Stranger: wefre
Stranger: ydr
Stranger: thr
Stranger: srh
Stranger: : sdrgh
Stranger: esr
Stranger: ghet
Stranger: eth
Stranger: ret
Stranger: h
Stranger: hd
Stranger: tjh
Stranger: ae
Stranger: rga
Stranger: dtuj
Stranger: waet
Stranger: jhnaerta
Stranger: efnj
You: no, james
You: i told you
You: im not leaving till you tell me whats wrong
Stranger: nothing is wrong mommy
You: honey, i know you. I know there's something wrong
Stranger: but......but.....
Stranger: its ok mom!
You: i got the call
Stranger: you mean-
You: yes. I know
Stranger: from Dr. Norris?
You: yes. he told me everything
Stranger: Even about my contagious penis cance?
Stranger: r
You: yes but he told me something worse
Stranger: No-
Stranger: Its can't be
You: it is now we just need to remain calm
Stranger: There is somthing i must tell you first
You: what is that
Stranger: Im already dead
Stranger: ...
You: i know that too
Stranger: but...how?
You: im part of them james
Stranger: them? you mean the organization?
You: yes james. you see there is no escape from us
Stranger: NO!
Stranger: YOU CAN'T TAKE ME!
You: if we do this the easy way
You: nobody will get hurt
Stranger: No...No you see/
Stranger: SOME ONE IS ALREADY GETTING HURT!
Stranger: *GATLING GUN FIRES*
You: no james
You: we know you saw the aliens
Stranger: *out of ammo* WHAT!
You: without you there is no hope for humanity
You: i know i did that too. its called telepathy
Stranger: hope?
Stranger: me?
You: yes we need you to infiltrate the enemy
You: dr. norris has it all set up
Stranger: ok... what do I do first?
You: well
Stranger: ?
You: you first must complete the training
Stranger: training huh?
Stranger: sounds interesting
You: well yes. the brainwashing can only proceed after the training
Stranger: !!! no!
You: its the only way
Stranger: !!!!!!!!
Stranger: you can't
Stranger: I WONT LET YOU
You: we have already started....
Stranger: NOOO!!!!!!!!!
You: your slowly forgetting your past
Stranger: my.....past?
You: yes we cant run the risk of you knowing what we did
Stranger: we? ... guh,
Stranger: I....Why....
You: its the brainwashing. it kind of makes remembering difficult
Stranger: No....
You: it's all going to be okay
You: maybe we will return all your memories once the mission is complete
You: if nothing goes wrong that is...
Stranger: I gotta say, that was the best chat i've ever been in, But I have to go. Sorry
You: ahahha same!!
Stranger: I'm going to save it.
Stranger: bye
You: goodbye james
Stranger: actually, my name IS really jame
Stranger: *James
You: really?
Stranger: Yes
You: the organization knows everything
Stranger: Ahh~

Your conversational partner has disconnected.

It up to you - new york new york

every year there is an openhousenewyork weekend, where openhousenewyork hosts programs celebrating nyc, its also America's largest architecture and design event". Sights that are normally closed for public viewing are opened. its become one of my highlights of every year.

uptown (high bridge water tower)

anderson architects (chelsea nyc)

downtown streets

lilac boat (hudson river)

comedy show night

Tonight we went to a comedy show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater and saw some good stuff:


-BriTANick: The Infinity Prison

-Sertainly Seth

both are really good. people should check them out

memories

Box of Memories

Blood was not the first thought that crossed her mind. The color was brighter, not an apple but more of a bell pepper red. The smooth surface acted as a comfort to the hands that would soon enough be dealing with the rough material it contained inside.

The years of shiny tape had added up. The box hadn’t just been covered in midnight blue tape but it had also been covered in duct tape, light-safe black tape and green as well as yellow tape. Each year the color was preserved with a new one, making the box heavier each time it was placed neatly back in its shelf. She’d sit at the head of her bed with the box in her hands, its shadow cast on the rust colored walls. With every slow blink a new item from inside the box would be reflected in her small brown eyes.

First was the bucket list taped to the lid of her now red box of memories. Twirl in a fog storm, run through a field of flowers and touch a waterfall, were a few of the words that hadn’t worn out due to her fingers constant graze on the notepad paper. He would then flip through the photographs. Time after time he knew she would try organizing them by size but still the pile formed a series of jagged edges. Near the top was their picture.

He saw it all in the Polaroid. The air was humid. The sun hot as the water rippled every time his friends plunged in. They had been at the swimming hole when he spoke to her for the first time, calling to her between drags of his cigarette as he swung from the rope. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll be forced to jump and I don’t know how to swim”, he yelled. She lifted her skirt up to her knees, as she walked through the grass laughing. “I’ve seen you swim all summer”. She began to walk towards the little shack as he jumped in the water . A combination of mud and sand stuck onto his feet as he ran onto shore chasing after her.

By the time he got there she was laying on the mattress, as peaceful as can be in her grass stained dress. He laid next to her as the rays of sunshine dried the water drops from his arms. With every few words she had brushed the curls from her face. Her smile bursting into a laugh every time he pulled her closer. Light burst through the shutters casting shadows on the sheets. Her curls now twisted perfectly around his fingers. She was still speaking in the picture, his lips covering her words. He couldn’t glance at her without staring, without smiling at those small things: the way the strap hung from her shoulder , the way she bit her lip when she thought and the way in which she rubbed her eye when she was uncomfortable. She had left as quickly as it begun without ever leaving. He saw her eyes look at his and away and back.

She saw the same look in his eyes as she had on countless occasions. The way his eye brows curled as he stared at her, transfixed by whatever she said. His semi silent laugh. The hands that held her up as well as down. The way they moved when he told a story. He had this distinct way of listening and analyzing. She always loved his expression in that picture. His smile covering her lips, asking her to stop speaking. She made the box and had filled it with the memories. He always admired her for that. “I wish I could put us in my box” she whispered as the camera clicked.

They stayed up till dawn that day, talking as the rain tapped on the leaves outside. Water seeping through the cracks of the whitewashed wooden roof. “I have this box” she said as she wiped the raindrop from his face and another one fell in its place. “I want to give it to you”. That day they walked down the hill and with every glance of the photograph he could remember the exact feelings he had.

That had all passed. The last time they were together he watched her fall asleep, the smell of booze in his hair and the scent of sun block on her skin. She twisted and turned in a cold sweat hugging him as he rocked her to sleep with her wheezing laugh, its sound making him feel at home. With one hand clenched on her chest and the other around his body she fell asleep and awoke the next morning.

He couldn’t get through the rest of the box, he knew its belongings by memory, each article stored in the archives of his memory. As he drove to see her one last time he held the box in his arms. He circled the creek and pulled up behind the shack, the grass now tall and brown. His friends patted him on the back as they made their way out onto the road. She laid there the same way she had that first day in the little house, so peaceful. He held the box every night after she left. “I thought I could keep you that way, put us in the box, you know. But it just keeps reminding me of that-you know, that attack you had, the shit you didn’t do”, he said as the breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. He measured the red box against her grave and with his hands carved the soil around it. With every word he buried the box deeper through the same mixture of dirt and grass that marked their footsteps that summer.

Sadness was not the first thought that crossed his mind. The feeling was worse, not of remorse for keeping her that night, but more of an emptiness. The photograph in the pocket of his blue jeans acted as a consolation to the emotions he had been dealing with. He walked back towards the shack, leaving the box and all the other memories in it behind. And as he laid down on the bed he pinned their photograph on the shutters. The sunshine shining through window, drying the beads of sweat from his arms.