GIRAFFE OUT LOUD

2012-12-31 8 notes

5 Important Lessons I Learned in 2012

1. This world is twisted. You don’t have to be.

I can’t remember if I watched Barney for ethical reasons or for entertainment ones. On one hand, his points are selfless and valid—it’s comforting to believe we live in a world where socialist ideals are peacefully shared and endorsed.

On the flip side, Barney is a magical, anthropomorphic purple dinosaur who spends all of his time with children who apparently have no parents and sees no qualm in the entire situation.

Call me sinister, but this logic is absurd.

2012-12-24 5 notes

Behind the Giraffe: On Sociopathy

I don’t remember when my moral code fell apart.

It was somewhere between the invasion of Iraq, my first abysmal breakup, and a lingering depression that my ego ballooned into a dangerous hodgepodge of brainy indifference.

You see, people react to stress differently. Some escape into hobbies. Others fuck their pain away. I, on the other hand, adapted. Adopted radical philosophies on existence, human interaction, and tragedy. Studied human communication. Learned how to con people with charm. Understood flattery as a necessary tool in all types of relationships.

In essence, I became a sociopath.

2012-12-20 2 notes

Anonymous asked: 8, 10, & 20

8. Your best friend confesses that he/she has feelings for you more than just friendship. He/she is falling in love with you. What do you (or did you) do/say?

“You have terrible taste in men.”

Just kidding.

I honestly don’t know. Every case is different. Though I have a lot of close female friends, I really can’t categorize any of them as being my “best.” They’re all drastically different from one another. I have friends who fascinate me, with whom I’d love to date, and wouldn’t mind shagging on the first run. I have friends who intrigue me, make me wonder who they are but on account of some twisted obstacle—distance, age, and/or already taken—make me hesitant to pursue. And I have female friends whose weirdness is so congruent with my own, our awkwardness is both attractive and repulsive at the same same time.

I just know that my initial response to each of these types would be universal.

First, I’d give a bug-eyed stare. Second, I would obnoxiously shout out “OH RLY!?” Third, I would give an honest assessment of my feelings.

…and the rest is up to Buddha.

10. Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend?

Hell yeah! I’m an awesome friend! Or so I’ve been told. I mean, my intuition is astounding. I’m a great listener. I can sit through a rant and skim your psyche profile like a nerd running through a Wiki article. I can offer insight into your problems and then offer insight into aforementioned insight. I’m also a blast at parties because I’m witty and don’t give a fuck about what I say. I’m a balance of smarts and arts, and it’s good to have guys like me around.

…but as a day-to-day friend, probably not. I’m absent-minded. I respond to texts hours, or even days later. I zone out. If you don’t pique my interests, I’ll interrupt you, make fun of you, or daydream. When you warm up to me, I’m also kind of mean. Once you heed my advice, I can be a blunt asshole. Like annoyingly blunt. Like “fucking stop being a dipshit” blunt. Like “this is me calling you out in front of your friends” blunt.

Otherwise, I’d love to be around me.

20. Are you old fashioned?

In certain cases, yeah.

I respect sexual modesty. Face-to-face is better than SMS. I hate when people pay more attention to their cell phones than people. I prefer nights of drinking tea and talking as opposed to partying and getting drunk. I refuse to put a TV in my bedroom. I like EDM and pop but prefer obscure jazz or soothing instrumentals. If my living quarters had more space, I’d dedicate a single room for a library. Fist-fighting is an acceptable mediator. I dig chop-sticks. I refuse to buy contact lenses. I look back at the 16-bit era with fondness. Antibiotics are a last resort. The best make-up is a smile. And I still believe Cowboy Bebop is the greatest anime that has been and will have ever been produced.

2012-12-17 0 notes

kirstivitea asked: 4, 15, 23

4. You are at the doctor’s office and he has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? What do you do with your remaining days? Would you be afraid?

Call me brash, but I would broadcast news of my death all over Facebook. Not for any self-serving purposes but moreso as a courtesy to my friends. If my best bud, an old flame, or even an old acquaintance were dying, they should at least know. Unspoken goodbyes are one of life’s greatest tragedies. I don’t want people cursing me out for not saying goodbye. Especially if I’m dead, because that means I can’t fight back.

In lieu of the news, I’d drop all my current responsibilities and just visit my dearest friends and family. One-on-one tea breaks and walks. Nothing extravagant. I’m not that kind of guy who’ll go on a crazy road trip and base-jump the Niagra Falls. I like bonfires, chocolate and shooting-the-shit on a cold porch. I’m an old man already.

Would I be afraid? Of course I would. I’m no monk. As stressful as life is, I don’t wish for it to end prematurely. Not without kids, a bigass dog, and a wife who hates me.

15. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Why would it be hard to lose?

My eyesight. Photography, the arts, computers—my life basically revolves around visual stimuli. I love scanning the world and drawing absurd conclusions about human interaction, pop culture, and NYC pedestrians. I love staring into people’s eyes and counting how many times they blink when they feel awkward. I love it when a girl laughs and her bangs curtain one side of her face and tracing her eyes feels like watching a sun ripple through shade.

But I’ll stop now, because I’m starting to sound like a hopeless bitch and that’s not cool.

23.If you could do anything or wish anything, what would it be?

I’d wish for a lot of things.

I’d wish for my dad’s leg to heal. For my mother’s retirement. For a Cancer cure. For space colonization. For World Peace. For a Knicks title. For all LoL players to stop playing like dumbshits. For a second chance. For enough money to claim independence from loan sharks and other people’s pockets. For this recession to end. For a female president. For better camera equipment. For affordable healthcare. For more teachers. For community redevelopment. For efficient public transportation. For economic equality, or its healthiest alternative. For the legalization of marijuana. For religious and racial tolerance.

And for the return of dinosaurs. Warm-hugging, newspaper-reading, peace-loving dinosaurs.

2012-12-03 8 notes

A Broke Son’s Manifesto

I try to be a good son, especially for my mother.

She is a stern, fawning-over woman, a mother who on several occasions has chased me to my car with crates of food. To my frustrations, she dotes on me to take care of myself, to find a good girlfriend, a good job, a good diet, the fulfillment of which has eluded me to great extents.

Like most mothers, she is a paradox of extremes. Naive but sincere. Slow but intuitive. Airheaded but loving.

Despite this chaos, one fact remains true: she is the foundation of my existence.

For over twenty years, my mother has been the financial backbone of the family, working a rough accounting job to support our family of five. Though near retirement age, she is still investing 55 hour work weeks to close a debt gap that refuses to rescind. My father fell through the unemployment cracks long ago, a brilliant, intelligent man with a questionably low work ethic. For 20 plus years, my mom has shouldered it all—utility bills, college bills, food expenses, gifts back home to poorer relatives. Her heart is the size of a sun—twice as bright and thrice as warm.

I have two other siblings, both who have moved out long ago, both who help pay for expenses in honor of my mom. We are all college grads and as much as I want to attribute our success to innate smarts, most of the credit belongs to her.

It breaks my heart to come home sometimes because most of my visits involve her confiding in me, telling me how stressful it is to work her hours yet not have enough for retirement. How her brother back home has cancer, and how her mom is slowly succumbing to a disease doctors cannot cure because it involves medication my mom cannot afford. How my dad is an unsupportive, worthless breadwinner. How much she loves me and my siblings and wishes the best for us. Seeing her cry makes me want to take a knife to all the loan sharks and banks of the world for plastering a figure on people’s lives and relegating us to this fucking work-die grind. For making my mother cry. For pissing me off enough for me to write all this. My mom is a fucking trooper but even soldiers have their moments of weakness.

“All that I do, I do for you three,” she tells me. I am not one to permit easy tears but her sincerity has its way of cranking the tear faucets.

As her son, I want to be able to help her financially in the future (the sooner the better) in the way that she at least deserves for supporting me through this world. From its modest start 25 years ago to the fray that is my lingering post-college dependency, I have never asked for her help—she has always willingly given it to me.

Like Atlas, she has carried my world.

If I leave behind at least one major legacy, I want to be remembered as someone who has fought to support his loved ones. From my future kids and wife, to my siblings, and to most especially my mother. I’m a broke nigga now, one who has seen the best and worst of near-poverty. But I fucking swear to God that I will not let it stay this way. I will not be a self-loathing victim and I will not cop out on my responsibilities. I will try my best not complain no matter how fucked up the world insists on being. You have taught me at least this much, mom.

I will make you proud. I swear on it.

Let this proclamation shake the fucking core of the universe.

2012-11-12 4 notes

My dad was admitted into the hospital this weekend.

His diabetes teetered on the threshold of kidney failure and a pinched sciatic nerve was shooting knife stabbing pains through his leg. I’ve never been close with the guy, but watching him writhe in agony made me realize how much I actually cared for the bloke. I like to wear the facade of a stoic smartass in my family but this weekend ripped off my smirk harder than a greased up pimp slap. He could’ve lost a kidney. Or worse. My family’s world would have shifted a million and ten degrees and me—I’m not sure what I would have done.

He’s in stable condition now. I want to say life is back to normal, but it really isn’t. The flux hasn’t returned. I am relieved but paranoid. I am disturbed by the realities of tragedy. I am disturbed at how finite our hours are, how fragile our hearts can be, and how death (or the imminence thereof) obliterates what you think your priorities and reminds you of what they should be.

Family. Forgiveness. Dreams. I keep forgetting this.

I’m pretty sure we all do.

2012-10-01 2 notes

I walked through my old neighborhood today.

The sounds were there: of motor-heads clanking ranches against engines, of catcalls from hoodrats, broken mufflers whizzing by residential roads. It’s a soundtrack I haven’t heard in a while, an album I had slowly begun to forget. Footsteps on asphalt, Spanish exclamatories belligerent honks from belligerent drivers—long forgotten instruments. I’m concerned that the suburbs have dulled my senses. Made me less cognizant of the world of people. Ambient noise is nonexistent in places where trees are the loudest inhabitants. Maybe I’ll go back soon and listen for a bit longer.

I’ve always been into music.

2012-09-23 24 notes

Truths I Learned About the Real World the Hard Way

Friendships are a complex real estate. When you break up with someone, sides are chosen and friends are lost. Awkwardness and betrayal is unavoidable between past lovers and mutual friends.
In college, activity revolves around either a) the student center or b) availability. After college, engagements revolves around keen planning. If you want to hang out with someone, you literally must hunt them down and schedule meetings in the manner a salesman hunts down his clients.
Social circles are not necessarily smaller; they are just harder to access. Common obstacles: shyness, neophobia, Alpha males, and bitches.
Being broke is not romantic. It means you cannot sustain pricey hobbies, chores, or a family. You can still be a great person, lover, artist, and friend—a lack of resources however severely hinders immediate options.
Do not give a fuck about what other people think. The happiest people in the world are unphased by outside opinion.
Everyone speaks a different language. Corporates talk money and travel, Hipsters talk fashion and Apple, Deadheads talk drugs and sex, and Nerds talk memes and tech. If you’re serious about networking, learn these cultures and their lingo.
Relationships are complicated and problems are highly specific. People can empathize but few can truly, truly relate to your compiled baggage.
Your ideal lover will love you for who you are—not what you can be. Ergo, you’ll end up with either a) your best friend or b) a new acquaintance at a dive bar/party/classroom who laughs at your shitty jokes.
Do not badmouth anyone. Your words will come back to find you, no matter how quietly they are uttered.
Keys to good health: exercise, friends, and charity. Sex is optional.
Pain is relentless. The world will keep going no matter how sad or depressed you are. Get the fuck up and just keep going.
Expect nothing in life. Unreasonable expectations cloud the reality that lies in front of you and will often lead to disappointment. Instead, learn to stand tall, work your ass off, and speak with confidence. Those tools will carry you far no matter where you go.
Life is not fair. Karma is retrospect and heaven is a far too distant incentive. Do not expect to be rewarded for doing great things. Be great for your own sake and for the sake of those closest to you. That is all your legacy demands of you.

2012-09-15 4 notes

Advice To My Younger Self

Be different and be proud of it. Be crazy. Be weird. Embrace your awkward silences with women. Speak clearly. If it does not cost you a job, promotion, or friend, speak your fucking mind, whatever insane thoughts may spew from it.

Disregard the gossips, assholes, and alpha males. They judge you because they make sport of bringing everyone else down. Do not fan the flames of indifference nor bullying. You are better than this. Defend the nerds because you were once in their shoes. In fact, you still are. Invest in the underdogs. Level the social playing field.

Do not lose yourself. You are not the money in your pocket nor the glints on your necklace. Whether standing in a circle of self-entitled socialites or in front of a firing squad—do not forget you. Greatness is defined by action and not by cosmetic value.

Do not be swayed by another’s willpower. Do not let other people believe you are lesser than what you are. Emotional abuse, muggings, financial strains, diverted dreams—you have overcome significant circumstances to be here now. If someone tells you that you do not deserve this, tell them they are DEAD FUCKING wrong.

Pick up your pen and your camera and create, create, create. Even if you run out of ideas, keep going. Do not let your world decay following someone else’s. Be your own favorite artist. The world values your ideas. Reblog sparingly. Better yet, do not reblog at all. Live through your own creations.

Do not forget about others. In your hours of endless grind, call up old friends. Whether guy or girl, friend or family, do not fear the repercussions of an honest “I miss you.” Perform random acts of kindness when possible—not because heaven will favor you, but because charity really does make the world a better place.

Do not forget the sacrifices of your mother and the knowledge of your father. Car rides, phone bills, tuition—they have invested in you. Pay those investments forward.

Above all—do not give up on yourself. Little nerd, I fucking believe in you and your sacrifices and your failures and your efforts. You are too young to change this starving economy and too small to topple the gawking giants but you are sincere and hard-working and if you hold on to these values, you will be a mobile spark, lighting up hearts and minds in your path. Be strong. Be courageous. Be hopeful.

You are already a winner in my eyes.

2012-08-15 6 notes

I want to be a teacher in my forties.

I want to show a generation of young dreamers, artists, and visionaries that learning can be applicable, engaging, and fun. That they can fuck up the process knowing that the world will not end tomorrow. The pop tarts will hold their jam and Jenga towers will not all collapse.

I want to inspire self-accountability. I want to inspire kids to become their own leaders and not fall into cycles of drugs or self-destruction. I want every person in every school system to realize that bullying is truly fucked up and that standardized testing almost always ensures that overlooked potential will fall through the cracks.

I want to give back to a community. Because the older I become, the more I realize that this journey has been less about my own autonomy. It belongs to my friends, my colleagues, my fellow starving artists, and the hope they have invested in me. I never believed in my own potential until college—my friends have helped me believe otherwise. I wanna be that person who looks down at future underdogs, and says “I still fucking believe in you.”

Because, for me, hearing those words has made all the difference.