I wouldn’t wish for money/ I wouldn’t wish to be beautiful/ I wouldn’t wish to be loved / All I’d wish for is to know everything./ I want to know everything/ Anything Che ever did, I want to know/ The history of Columbia/ Why America was able to break free from the British Empire/ And who the fuck killed Kennedy, I want to know/ I want to know who’s a spy./ I want to know everything about New York./ I want to know every single thing that anyone, ever, knew and knows./ I want to be called a ‘know-it-all’ and actually live up to that title./ I want to know all the government’s secrets/ Every country’s history/ Every magicians trick/ Every king and queen’s biography/ Every flaw/ Every life/ But nothing more/ I don’t want to know about the future/ Just the past/ I don’t want to know what will happen tomorrow…
I was driving down the 605 today when Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” came on the radio. My cousin Angel was sleeping in the passenger seat. The traffic was smooth. Both front windows were down. I felt happy. I smiled, not at anything in particular, but I’d like to think I was smiling at the view/life in front of me. It was the first time, in a long time that I felt actual happiness. The winds have changed, and I’m glad.
my fortune cookie meant a lot to me today. so much that all i thought about after my cousin and i stopped at panda express (then starbucks) 91 miles before los angeles, was what i was going to do after i graduate from college next year, hopefully.
the cookie said something along the lines of, “soon you will find… an adventurous life… or was it the adventure that is life? or the adventure in life? or an adventure in life?” i forget. so i decided, i’m backpacking, and since i don’t speak italian, nor perfect french, i’m heading south, all the way to brazil.
i realize that this comes as a surprise, even to me, but why not? i’m sure i have two people willing to go with me. the most random people in the world, but i narrowed it down, and i know these people would never say no - my cousin Caesar and my father. why didn’t i ever think of them. my father is basically a nomad. a man of the world. he has an apartment in mexico city, but he’s never there. his home is everywhere else but. he has the ability to find friends where ever he is in the world. he’s in Chiapas one day, Veracruz the next, then Merida. he’s going on his third kid and he’s like 44, but i know that even if he has more babies, or gets a lot older, he loves the road, and he’s not settling down. gotta love and hate a man like that.
he probably loves the road more than he loves me, but today i realized that that might not be so bad. i’m betting that pops won’t hesitate when i ask him if he’s willing to backpack with me to Veracruz, Chiapas, Guatemala and El Salvador.
then there’s my cousin Caesar. smart, charismatic, and completely insane. why didn’t i think of this sooner. and whenever i’m feeling homesick, i can just come to my dad’s apartment, which he says is mine because he’s supposedly moving to Puebla.
i know it’s a long-shot, but lately i’ve been feeling pretty lifeless. i’m a writer and i need inspiration. i love being here in the states, but i think i need something more out of life than hollywood and twitter.
Honestly, I didn’t start watching the Finals until later in the season, and it was my friend who got me back into the whole ‘super-fan’ mode. I use to watch every game when I was 15-17, probably because the boys I liked, spent their summer days doing so.
But I am such a proud Angelino (born and raised, for some reason, I feel the need to say that), that being back in ‘Laker-cheerleader’ mode was no problem. I was back on the band-wagon in no time. So last night, I was up and down: holding my breathe until the fourth quarter when the Lakers finally went ahead of the Celtics, who are a great team, just not my team (very impressed that they didn’t give up). I was mad at Kobe half the time for missing free-throws and trying to run the game all by himself (we all know he tends to do that), and I was cheering on Fisher for being such a team player (and making baskets), and later Gasol for all the free-throws he was making. It was such a great game and I spent it with an awesome bunch. BTW - I want the Lakers to recruit Rondo, just saying.
So I’m out of town, with a twisted ankle. I found out that my family was in a terrible car accident, but I’m not going to write about that because I am writing from a public place, next to guy who looks like he’s going to ask for my number, and I don’t want to cry. Every time I think about it, I start to cry. They are okay, that’s what matters.
I’ve been writing a lot lately. I finally started my screenplay yesterday, and I was getting writer’s block, but then I read a quote that went something like, don’t get it right, get it written, and so I was inspired to just write. After all, I am always saying that I’m not a writer, but a re-writer.
That’s all. I’m excited to be back in LA on Sunday, and then Monday the Laker parade with good friends, hopefully.
i, like every other person on this planet, overuse the phrase “what goes around comes around.” as of today that’s going to change because i don’t truly believe it - right now anyway. maybe in the future my mind will change but right now, at this very moment, i don’t believe that what goes around comes around because the last half of that phrase always seems to skip me. i go and go (figuratively speaking) and i never get anything.
i work hard for what i have. but all the favors i do and all that i give don’t amount. it’s a shame, but it’s a lesson learned.
It hit me: I’m nobody’s daughter. It’s 3:57 a.m., now, and I just spent the past two hours googling Peaches Geldof. I read a piece about her road to stardom, or at least, how she got to her big break as a columnist for Ellegirl when she was just a teenager, and that’s when it hit me: my father (and mother) are nobody, which makes me a nobody.
We took our turns at suicide,/ One by one slit our wrists,/ The Virgin Suicides.
I float in my own pink pool of blood,/ Where signs of fear run through my eyes;/ we go to be alone for all time,/ alone in suicide, which is deeper than death,/ Remembering, men sleep with women, whose minds muse of sex and obsession,/ but dream of girls; doomed and forbidden.
My look of innocence fooled everyone,/ fooled their eyes and their minds,/ never knowing thoughts of death lingered my mind,/ We are virgins, we commit suicide