Ugh I have been way too busy to blog. Working most everyday either at David's or Red Varden Studios. Most nights I come home, space out in front of a movie on On Demand, before crashing and waking up the next day at 7:30 to start it all again. Surprisingly though, I feel totally exhilarated. I look forward to working at the Red Varden office because I'm actually getting to do what I want to do for THE REST OF MY LIFE. Perhaps this is a rash statement. It seems like the universe, fate, God, or Gods deems this correct in that a job in finance that I was up for, one that would have earned me a decent salary, one that my parents demanded that if I received a job offer I would take, one where I knew...
Holy SHIT. I'm watching Syriana and George Clooney just got one of his nails ripped off!
...Anyways this job would have made me a slave to the wage-going through the motions but having no joy in work. The morning of the decision, for the first time in my life, I prayed to fail. "I don't want this job, I'm not qualified," I repeated over and over aloud.
I didn't get an offer.
Then Michael Jackson died. And the world stopped.
Is it wrong to feel no sadness or sense of loss for another persons death? Sure, he wrote and produced an amazing song repertoire, but does an artist's magnificent body of work absolve them of all sins? I can't help thinking of the scores of little boy's lives he potentially has ruined, if the allegations are true. And come on, we all know they are. It disgusts me that he is put on such a pedestal, such an icon of our worshipful idolatry of those who can sing and dance well, that no public figure or even individual can call him out for what he truly was- a seriously disturbed pedophile.
Now don't be rash, I didn't wish him dead. Looking at pictures from his childhood to adulthood, watching the metamorphosis from a normal black teenager into a pale, pinched caricature of a cross between Snow White and Peter Pan-his psychological issues scream out as the pictures progress. Yet the crowds of yes men said nothing and continued to allow him to sit on his twisted throne in Neverland, the warped wonderland he built as a shrine to his issues and his inner child. The two times I went there, as my friends and fellow singers waxed poetic about the beauty and fun of the place, all I saw was a cry, nay a scream, for a psychiatrist.
So that's my take on that...
I'm bringing back the happy or positive moments of the day.
Happy Moment of 6/27: I cooked myself a delicious meal tonight. Huevos Rancheros. Cooking is not only meditative and absorbing, but it also makes me feel self-sufficient and capable. I may not have any idea what to do in my personal life, but I know what to do with eggs, beans, tortillas, cheese, and spices.
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