Little angel go away, the Devil has my ear today.

One life experience that has always intrigued, baffled, consumed and, at times, humiliated me, is the way that some people crash into my little bubble at the most unexpected of times and find a way to stay there no matter how hard I kick, claw or thrash. With the fury of a thousand suns and the gale of a mid-summer tornado, these rare encounters inexplicably leave me dazed and confused in ways that end up becoming an emotional juggernaut that I can never control. When this occurs, I simply hold onto my ass, let myself get tossed into the air, and pray that I come down somewhere comfortable between what-the-hell-just-happened and I-could-see-myself-doing-that-again.



At least, that used to be the case.

How am I so lucky as to find myself being blindsided by another one of these all too familiar situations is beyond me. You would think at this point, I would be able to sense these locomotives of fate as they barrel down on the nape of my neck, ready to liquefy anything in its way. Hell, at the very worst, I should be able to listen to my fight-or-flight response and get constipated like normal people do. Nope. My body decides to do the EXACT OPPOSITE THING: it turns me on emotionally, mentally and physically, and throws me right onto the tracks, staring into the conductors eyes as we both brace for the point of impact. Color me stupid, color me blind, but you can never color me green.

This time, something happened that was completely foreign to me. It hit me like I had passed out and broke my face on an ashtray in an inebriated stupor...a moment of sober clarity alongside a dislocated jaw, the pain yelling at me. "WAKE THE FUCK UP PAL. YOU'RE DRUNK AND ABOUT TO PUT YOURSELF IN SOME VERY SERIOUS SHIT IF YOU DONT." Choo-Choo. I learned. Jesus Christ, I found myself learning. Analyzing. Listening. Weighing my options. Looking to the past, while not being afraid of the present. And for once...I wasn't acting impulsively. If there is anything that I've learned in the last year, its that impulsive actions will always have an unforeseen consequence.

So there I was, standing my ground, watching as the rocks began to skip around me, when suddenly, I saw a young boy run out in front. My immediate impulse was to scream like a mother fucker to tell him to get off the tracks, but somehow, I knew that he belonged. As he squatted over the now violently shaking steel beneath him, he reached into his pocket, and in one quick motion, placed a penny onto the track and ran to safety. Fighting the urge to close my eyes and allow my fate to be decided for me, I watched as the 100 ton coffin continued to barrel its way towards the inevitable collision that was about to occur.

That damn penny saved me. At first, I thought it was my hand which I had firmly extended away from myself, palm out, in the classic STOP gesture that we all know so well (although, it didn't work so well for that poor security guard in Austin Powers...but I digress). But as I watched the newly created souvenir of my youth bounce back towards my feet, the dots connected better than the stars ever could have written. The edges of the penny completely warped, abraham lincoln's face in a stretched smile across the front. Newton's law was in full-effect today, as I picked up the penny from the graveyard the train had created with its own cargo.

When I was no older than 10, sitting by the campfire in Santa Barbara with my family while making smores, I remember my grandmother telling me, "Andrew, you must never lose sight of who you are or what you stand for. Nobody can ever take that away from you except for yourself. If you are in a position where you no longer know, then you need to remove yourself from it." With the sound of the coastline train in the distance, she handed me a handful of change from a bag off the table.

I am in control of how I choose to harness the powers around me. I can lie down and allow myself to be steamrolled by the effervescent tendencies of these encounters. I can become subservient to the desperation and ravenous impulses that they leave on me.

Or I can stand up.

Grandma ALWAYS knows best.

Sometimes, words aren't enough.

I wish that my mind is concise enough to properly explain how incredibly eclectic the emotions were that I experienced on my trip.

Let me essplain. I spent 2 nights in Las Vegas with my best friends in the world for a bachelor party (which I won't be talking about), to experiencing 4 nights in Washington DC with nothing but time for self-inflection. To blow myself out in sin city, and then find myself with no restraints in our nation's capitol, was a very, very humbling experience; to be honest...something I never thought I would be fortunate enough to experience.

There are an infinite number of things I could try to illustrate for you, and their (possible) implications on my life. It's going to take me more than a few weeks to sort out my feelings, but I can already tell you that the experience itself really has helped me to re-evaluate my perceptions on what is and is not important to me right now. I'll try to explain one of the instances that has combined with the others to create this new outlook.

I decided to take a trip to Arlington National Cemetery by myself. I know that I have at least one family member there (as well as one on the Vietnam memorial), but something stronger drew me to the trip itself. I decided to take the tourist-y tram; JFK's eternal flame, the changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier, Arlington house and back to the front gate. However, I never made it past the tomb of the unknown soldiers. While the changing of the guard was fascinating (the amount of tradition and detail put into the examination of the new guard's rifle, in order to make sure he was worthy of watchdog duties over the sacred ground was stunning), I decided to strike off the beaten path. I found an intense desire to explore the deeper parts of the cemetery; these men and women have given their lives to defend the freedoms which allow me to visit their resting ground...the very least I could do was to acknowledge as many as possible for their sacrifice.

As I turned the corner up into a new section of this national landmark, I was stopped in my tracks by a 9 horse procession; 3 rows of 3 horses each, 2 manned, 1 left empty, pulling a casket with an American flag draped over the ends of the housing. I found myself, without hesitation, following the caravan to their plot, which had a clear view of the Lincoln memorial, Washington memorial, and capitol hill. As the family let out, I identified a younger woman (no older than 40) who let herself out of the first car as the wife of the deceased. I politely explained that I was from out of town, and would like to pay my respect for her loss. She nodded, hugged me, and invited me to stay.

The next hour became a blur. The prayers, the 21 gun salute, the bugler playing TAPS, leading to the folding and presentation of the flag to the still nameless widow was seen through mosaic eyes. I couldn't keep my composure if I had tried; I didn't want to. In these moments, I began to really understand the power of choice. These men, women and children that surrounded me weren't crying out of sheer sadness...had I asked, I guarantee that 9 out of 10 would have explained how proud they were of this gentleman. In his short time in this world, he found his calling as a soldier. He was so comfortable with himself that he was able to make the choice to protect the rights, freedoms and potential of myself and everybody around me. I could only hope to find a sense of self so strong; I've decided to find it for myself.

I can't pretend that I understand his motivations for the person he chose to become...but I have begun to feel the rewards which come from it. I've begun to feel an overwhelming sense of fulfillment from being accountable for my own choices. It seems juvenile and simple, but its incredibly difficult to not want to hide behind your crutches. As human beings, we all put up our walls to help mentally justify our excuses for not taking responsibility for our choices, or for our lack of ability to make them.

"It's not the right time." "I have bills to pay." "My family is holding me back." "I was in a moment of weakness." "I'm waiting for a sign."







I understand its only been a week, but I don't ever want to forget this feeling. I no longer want to hide behind myself. My choices will be made with confidence, with conviction, and will always be made with no excuses necessary.








Because maybe I can save somebody too. Or maybe I can save myself.

Be the change you wish to see.

Don't worry folks, this isn't going to turn into an emotional pity party for myself. However, it should be noted, everything which is mentioned above is both accurate and truthful about how I feel on many, many days. And when I let people see who I truly am, no matter the duration, I'm generally accused of being A) A fucking liar, B) A pussy, C) Manipulative or D) A lying, pussy fucking manipulator. I didn't mean for D to come out that way, but it works nonetheless.

Does it surprise you that the first tattoo I ever wanted designed was a rendition of the Comedy/Tragedy masks, as depicted by Jack Skellington? Wrap your head around that one.

I did not type the above picture. I don't usually get surprised when I find these things, because to think that I'm the ONLY person that thinks this way would be egotistical, conceited and outright ridiculous. I'm somebody who is not afraid to admit when I am humbled; for myself, its a mechanism to ensure that I'm always learning and staying truly open in mind and spirit to every aspect of the world around me.

With this all being said, I'm embarking on a nice little journey for myself. I, Andrew Rodriguez, at 22 years, 357 days, 16 hours and 4 minutes, will be sending myself on my first vacation. Ever. While my family frolicked in the bahamas, I worked to build a college fund for myself. I wasn't old enough to remember when I went to Baltimore (or I just didn't care; it's amazing how we black out parts of our lives), and wasn't able to go to Hawaii, Georgia OR Chicago for personal reasons.

Instead, I'm sending myself to Washington DC, alone, as an opportunity to start sorting out who I am as a person, and who I want to become. I've never had an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts; as a social person, I've always had, and needed, people around me in order to function properly. So, for the next week and a half, I will be completely removed from this blog, twitter(may be used to help track where I'm at), facebook, and people in general...in order to get in touch with myself. TWSS.

Also, my brain doesnt function past 11:00 when I'm tired. I'm terribly sorry for this DREADFUL bit of writing...but its all I have right now.

Long story short: When I come back, I want people to have an idea of what I stand for, because I will have a much better idea of myself as well.




Hopefully.

Cooking: The Anti-Andrew.

I'm not feeling particularly creative, or impulsive, or any other adjective that involves my brain. Sometimes though, its important to push through whatever drudgery may exist in order to A) keep yourself occupied and B) remotely interested in the tasks at hand. Who knows, maybe something exciting will come of it.

Did you know, that George Bush and Barack Obama are 11th cousins through Sam and Sarah Hinckley of 17th-century Massachusetts? The more you know, people.

Tonight was my night to cook dinner, and it reminded me how therapeutic the simple things in life can be. There is something satisfying about feeling a blade beneath my hand and being able to carve a slab of ribs into perfectly cut segments. A perfect pink, with the right rub and a proper BBQ sauce can make anybody beam from ear to ear. A coworker made a comment to me today...they said, "You really need to get yourself to culinary school. You have the gift to make people smile...can you imagine combining that with your love of cooking?"

Depending on who you ask, some people would tell you I haven't been doing anything right lately. Others would say I'm dragging my feet. And even a few more would say I'm living the life I should be. I'm not feeling especially profound tonight, so I'm going to share a secret with everybody:

wait for it....

....here it comes....

...its guaranteed to open your eyes....

its one of my favorite recipes in the world! Why? Because its so god damn simple. Something I wish I could be. I feel like, with cooking, less is always more. It gives me a feeling of control that I don't always have over myself. Think thats emo? Fuck off. :) Men have emotions too. Without further ado, here is my recipe for STUFFED MUSHROOMS

STUFFED MUSHROOMS:

Ingredients:

>24 Large Fresh Mushrooms

>1/4 Cup sliced green onions

>1 clove of minced garlic

> 1/4 Cup of butter

> 2/3 Cup bread crumbs

> 1/2 Cup shredded cheese

Preheat your oven to 425, folks.

First, you've gotta rinse those mushrooms. I know the smell and taste of dirt is irresistible at times (hell, I'll be the first to admit, I love the smell of manure from home depot), but it doesnt taste so great later. Remove the stems, and chop the caps to make 1 cup worth of mushroom caps. I'd say mince, but thats too much.

*******SIDE NOTE: It has been brought to my attention by a number of readers that this may not be proper practice. I have been told on numerous occasions that rinsing mushrooms is ok...but soaking is not. However, I am now hearing that mushrooms should never be rinsed, because it makes them tough. Thoughts?*****

In a medium saucepan, take all of that butter and use it to cook the stems, onions and garlic, until they're tender. You know what I'm talking about. When the garlic goes from smelling like my old soccer bag to something worth salivating over.

When ready, stir in the cheese and bread crumbs. Spoon the mixture back into the mushroom caps. Arrange those fun guys onto a baking sheet, and bake for about 10 minutes. Seriously. Thats all it takes. You want bacon in there? BAM. Put bacon in there. I'm not going to tell you how to live your life.

Stay hungry, my friends.

Death is the road to awe

It takes a lot to always be on form.

Some days are a much more difficult struggle than others, if for no other reason that human beings are programmed to over-complicate things as much as possible. Ok, fine, there may be no scientific evidence to support that claim, but there are very few people in this world who are so self-aware that they are able to see objectively, then be able to feel proper emotions. I know of one, and only one person who is capable of this. And I envy them for it.

At this moment, I'm currently experiencing 2 different types of stimuli, with 2 more ideas which have been birthed from them. Clint Mansell's composition of Death is the road to Awe, which is featured in the film The Fountain, as well as the joyous celebration of the nation of Chile, as the 33rd (and final) miner has been rescued from the collapsed mineshaft by rescue workers. Combine these three elements, and my mind immediately takes itself to Plato's Cave.

Over the course of the last few months since my decision to create an environment which I can learn, I have becoming increasingly aware of the (figuratively speaking) bondage I had put myself into. It was not safe, nor was it pleasant. I became a yes man. Somebody who let the weight of my own displeasure in myself to keep me in place, staring complacently into the darkness, blind to a world around me. I knew the way this world should taste, react and feel; but I placed my own blinders, in an attempt to find solace within a cave. This cave was built by my hands.

As I released myself from my own self-deceit and turned towards the flame, there were no more objects. Those shadows, which once held me transfixed to the ground beneath, are now becoming nothing more than memories to be cherished as something experienced and learned from. I took a tiny step forward towards this new sense of self (consider this: I have been intimately involved with somebody since 2003. Nearly 7 years of co-dependence, through what many consider are meant to be 'growing years'), and found myself able to quickly comprehend these new terms. What can I say, I'm resilient.

The allegory of the cave is one of the few philosophical teachings that has stuck with me from the light dabbling I did in college. There is something incredibly powerful about the need to educate ones self on constantly evolving terms. However, for myself, I've always experienced one deeper emotion within Plato's cave...the depressing effect on the realization that the world you once knew is no longer yours. Where others ignore it, I allow part of myself to 'die', in order to feel the pain of my ignorance to something more. In a sense, I let myself down as a reminder that I should have known better or worse. Thats what drives me to educate myself; my self-inflicted depressions need to end.

Death is the road to awe and wonderment. You must let the unfavorable fabrics of yourself die in order to experience rebirth, no matter how hard it may be to realize this. Today, I had to allow a large piece of me die. The part that says, "What if I've turned my back on something great?" But what kind of a person would I be if I found comfort in the arms of what is familiar?

So I took the darker road. The road which leads away from anything I know. I'm not alone on this journey up the slope and into the sunlight, of this I am aware. I've been genuinely moved by somebody into this journey. In the limited time I spent with this person, i've become stronger, more aware, and ready to continue onward with myself. I was thanked for being an adult. Very few things have resonated so loudly in my head. It means a lot of things, including the idea that I'm doing the right thing, regardless of the sting that came from the past, present, and unknown future. Repercussions are a mother fucker though.

Today, I let part of myself die. Death is the road to awe.

Write Time: 47 minutes.

Carte Blanche

Writing is fascinating; something I have always wished I was able to further grasp, utilize and articulate as more than just a tool to attain the passing marks or to use in this new age of impersonal communication. An entire language has been reduced to spKng lyk dis n I hop dat u can undrstnd me by a generation of kids who have been taught to take as many shortcuts as possible, and it really crushes my soul. Do you remember the scene in Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls where he uses a fork and knife on a porcelain plate as a torture mechanism? To this day, it still stands as one of, if not my least favorite experiences in cinema...reading the chicken scratch of 14 year olds today provokes the same emotions in me.

The next closest thing is the 120,000 hypodermic needle pit from Saw 2, but I digress. From what, I am not yet sure, but I am hoping to find my voice within the confines of this white box. Hell, I might give up on this bad boy by the third post...but I need to write at least 2. Be willing to try anything twice, because you may not like it the first time due to expectations. This may become a space of personal reflection, or somewhere I can reach out to someone in need. However, I promise to always leave it honest, open and as candid as possible. Living with fear is human. Writing with fear is a crime. No matter how vulnerable it may leave me in the process.

Hello Xavier, I want to play a game...the game of offering hope to the desperate for a price.

I came across a website today that was a list of 20 Awesomely Untranslatable Words From Around The World. The idea is that the English language in no way, shape or form could ever encompass every emotion and/or message we are trying to convey, and so the list comprises of...wait for it...words from other languages!

Which brings us to Toska.

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.” - Vladimir Nabokov

This word holds a bit of weight with me, at the moment. I'm currently experiencing an overwhelming desire to start challenging myself again. I'm being both pulled by necessity and pushed by factors that are both environmental and interpersonal. While I was in school, I found that the idea of Toska wasn't an issue. I was pushing myself every single day to create more for myself, to continue to use my environment as something to help fulfill that need to get to the next level. And now, as a member of the good ole' rat race....I find myself failing to stimulate myself on those planes.

Where does your Toska end, and your fulfillment begin? Mine starts here.

I should have begun with a disclaimer: I don't proofread my work. I'll rarely revise it, and will almost never delete from here. So, I apologize in advance if my flow isn't quite right, or if my words are a little confusing. I know that my ability to be concise will come with time, and that my content will begin to string together much more uniformly.

But if you're willing to ride with me....then I'll continue to move forward.

-Andrew