Arte e inteligencia artificial, ¿sí o no?
23 hours ago
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
before i sleep
1.I don't have a middle name but i think it should be mediocrity.
2. My parents were going to named me Lucas instead of Laura.
3. I have 22 students. 14 claim their father beats up their mother.
4. I used to think I would end up in a mental institution. There's still time.
5. When I was in college I stole money once to buy food. I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken and bought myself a piece of chicken, mash potatoes and a buiscuit. Out of shame, I don't go to KFC anymore.
6. My last Christian prayer was in 1976. I prayed to Santa Maria one night to make me beautiful. I woke up the following day and I was still ugly.
2. My parents were going to named me Lucas instead of Laura.
3. I have 22 students. 14 claim their father beats up their mother.
4. I used to think I would end up in a mental institution. There's still time.
5. When I was in college I stole money once to buy food. I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken and bought myself a piece of chicken, mash potatoes and a buiscuit. Out of shame, I don't go to KFC anymore.
6. My last Christian prayer was in 1976. I prayed to Santa Maria one night to make me beautiful. I woke up the following day and I was still ugly.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Goodbye, Honeysuckle
She didn't fit in the terra cotta pot we bought for her years ago. Her roots were craving land. She was too big for our balcony. We gave her a trim. We took her out of her pot and placed her in a Trader Joe's bag. It hurt too much to place her in a trash can. We put a sign on the bag, took her outside, and hoped for the best.
Within a couple hours she was gone.
Goodbye, big girl. I hope you are happy in your new home. May you stretch your roots now.
Within a couple hours she was gone.
Goodbye, big girl. I hope you are happy in your new home. May you stretch your roots now.
1973
Yesterday I bought a hippie shirt. I paid $1.99 at the thrift store for white cotton and little blue flowers.
I brought it home in plastic bag.
I looked at it this afternoon and shame filled my heart. At 45 I'm still searching for my lemon sun of 1973.
My heart is a dumb bass drum.
I brought it home in plastic bag.
I looked at it this afternoon and shame filled my heart. At 45 I'm still searching for my lemon sun of 1973.
My heart is a dumb bass drum.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Soothing
V and I drove for hours on a long highway in Durango, Mexico. The far away sun was a polaroid. We stopped in an empty shopping center and walked around looking for store to buy water. We saw a garden in the middle of the center, but instead of plants it had lots of heart shaped stones. There was a child playing with the stones. She was arranging them, this way and that way.
Look, the mountains have snow, we have to go.
(dream)
Look, the mountains have snow, we have to go.
(dream)
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Day Two (Four days without students): Spring Fashion Preview!
1. Our dryer, Big Rhoda is alive and well, thanks to the brilliant mind and hands of my darling, amazing, dazzling, too damn cute, and sexy husband. It is too bad he shaved his beard four days ago. I really like my husband shaggy and fuzzy.
2. I don't know what it means, but after five years of marriage, I realized that on weekends I dress like my husband. Our weekend uniform is jeans and a t-shirt. It's comfortable, fast, and easy dressing with what this society considers to be men clothing. Oh, by the way, fuck society.
3. But lately, my legs and thighs have been craving skirts. Floral skirts. Tight skirts. Peasant skirts. Is it my biology saying "hello?"
4. I also have a craving for cute granny sweaters in all pastels colors.What the hell is going on?!
5. I buy most of my clothes at thrift stores. My husband does not like thrift stores. Actually, he doesn't like to buy clothes. Clothes do not interest him. Some of our best figths have been about clothes.
Dirty Laundry Display #1A:
On our return from Mexico last November, my husband wore a t-shirt with some communist propaganda printed on the front. Obviously, TSA questioned my husband's t-shirt at the airport. Oh, crap! I imagined the worst: V. in Guantamo, waiting 20 years for a trial. I felt really scared. So, when we got home I told him not to ever wear that damn communist t-shirt ever again.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Clue number #1:
You never ever tell my husband what to wear and what not to wear! (I know, I know, I should know better).
Ding! Ding! Ding! Clue number #2:
You never ever buy clothes for my husband. Okay, so I'm a slow learner because the following week after our trip, I went shopping for the most pro United States, the most patriotic, the most conservative, the most Republican, the most "I want to kiss your ass, TSA" t-shirt I could find and bingo! I found it! It was only 99 cents!!! What a deal, man!
Gulp!
What followed at the sweet home of V and L was a marital quarrel worthy of an HBO special. Yes, V. refused to wear the t-shirt. V brought in politics, religion, history, Palestine and even Peje to his defense. I had nothing, except for a good dose of of "American Paranoia" and lots of fear of Homeland Security, TSA, and Guantanamo. He smashed me with his well-construtive defense. Argh! Now, the poor t-shirt sits lonely in the closet.
(if you are interested in this FREE t-shirt or just want to be "COOL" with TSA, email me. I'll send it to you).
2. I don't know what it means, but after five years of marriage, I realized that on weekends I dress like my husband. Our weekend uniform is jeans and a t-shirt. It's comfortable, fast, and easy dressing with what this society considers to be men clothing. Oh, by the way, fuck society.
3. But lately, my legs and thighs have been craving skirts. Floral skirts. Tight skirts. Peasant skirts. Is it my biology saying "hello?"
4. I also have a craving for cute granny sweaters in all pastels colors.What the hell is going on?!
5. I buy most of my clothes at thrift stores. My husband does not like thrift stores. Actually, he doesn't like to buy clothes. Clothes do not interest him. Some of our best figths have been about clothes.
Dirty Laundry Display #1A:
On our return from Mexico last November, my husband wore a t-shirt with some communist propaganda printed on the front. Obviously, TSA questioned my husband's t-shirt at the airport. Oh, crap! I imagined the worst: V. in Guantamo, waiting 20 years for a trial. I felt really scared. So, when we got home I told him not to ever wear that damn communist t-shirt ever again.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Clue number #1:
You never ever tell my husband what to wear and what not to wear! (I know, I know, I should know better).
Ding! Ding! Ding! Clue number #2:
You never ever buy clothes for my husband. Okay, so I'm a slow learner because the following week after our trip, I went shopping for the most pro United States, the most patriotic, the most conservative, the most Republican, the most "I want to kiss your ass, TSA" t-shirt I could find and bingo! I found it! It was only 99 cents!!! What a deal, man!
Gulp!
What followed at the sweet home of V and L was a marital quarrel worthy of an HBO special. Yes, V. refused to wear the t-shirt. V brought in politics, religion, history, Palestine and even Peje to his defense. I had nothing, except for a good dose of of "American Paranoia" and lots of fear of Homeland Security, TSA, and Guantanamo. He smashed me with his well-construtive defense. Argh! Now, the poor t-shirt sits lonely in the closet.
(if you are interested in this FREE t-shirt or just want to be "COOL" with TSA, email me. I'll send it to you).
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