El Gringoqueño

All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Page 36 of 51

You Don’t Need Eyes to See, You Need Vision

I picked Olaia up from school today, and this song came up in the rotation.  

"You don’t need eyes to see, you need vision," she parroted from the back seat.  "That’s right, Daddy, right?  You need vision to see, right?"

"Yeah, but the song is making a play on the word ‘vision,’ Olaia.  You see vision is like perspectiva in Spanish, I guess.  I don’t know.  Hmm, it’s like an outlook, a way of looking beyond what is there and seeing… er." I was struggling to define the word vision, trying to use vocabulary appropriate to a 7 year old.  It was tougher than I thought.  "Okay, vision, is like this. I have a vision of a world full of peace, where people are happy, where no one hurts, and where everyone finds love.  It’s like a dream, but it’s not just a dream.  It’s something you make with hard work, effort, and persistence.  Yet, it’s also like a dream, in the sense that it’s an ideal, something great, something beautiful.  I don’t know.  Does that make any sense?"

And then without any effort whatsoever, this little sage said, "Oh, so, vision is imagining things to become true."

"Exactly, little girl.  I couldn’t have said it any better."

And I really couldn’t have.

Why They Hate Us, Part II

Well, not that I’m happy or anything, but I was figuring that since the hurricane was going to rape and pillage the Yucatan Peninsula, I’d hear the stories of the folks that live there.  I thought I’d get to hear of their plight.  I was wrong… again.

I forgot about the "American" angle – *smacks head* tourists in Cancun.  Can we at least just hear about their waiters, maids, and hotel staff? hmmm? Is it too much to ask?  Did one of them trip over a beer can or something?  ANYTHING?!

Florida Keys Evacuated Again. Wilma Bears Down

Evacuated again?  Hmm, let me have a look.  Oh, will you look at that.  What a storm.  It’s bearing down on – hmm, what’s that tiny insignificant spot of land? – oh and that other one.  I thought the Florida Keys were small.  That looks too damn big to be the Keys.  Did CNN, MSNBC, and FOXNEWS get it wrong.  Perhaps I should write them that THE FUCKING YUCATAN PENINSULA AND CUBA ARE RIGHT SMACK IN THE PATH OF HURRICANE WILMA, THE BIGGEST DAMN HURRICANE TO COME ALONG SINCE, WELL, EVER!

You know what, I finally have a crystal clear vision of why the world hates us.  I mean I always kinda knew, but it’s never been quite so apparent. 

I Submit the Following, Your Honor

"I don’t wanna take a nap!  I not tired!" Jaimito whined.

"Yes you are, little boy.  You’re crying, and that means you’re tired.  When you cry, you’re telling me you’re tired."

 "I not tired.  I not tired.  I don’t wanna take a nap."  Jaimito looked desperate, how was he going to get out of this?  He did not want to take a nap.

"Little boy, sometimes your mommy and daddy know what’s good for you.  We think you’re tired.  We know you’re tired.  You’ll feel better after a nap, I promise."  But, Jaimito continued to wail like a banshee.  "Well, here’s the deal," we told him, "You get to stay in here whether you’re taking a nap or not.  You have to stay in mommy and daddy’s bed."

Soon, the wailing came to an end.  Curious, we peeked in and…

Jaimito_Conked_Out_0002.jpg 

he’s passed out like a frat boy, complete with drool.  

So, we remember this day, when mommy and daddy were right, when mommy and daddy knew best, and we submit, your honor, exhibit #1 as evidence for future prosecution. 

Gil The Jenius: Education For Us

The other day, Gil Schmidt, summed up something I think I’ve trying to say for the past few years. I say "trying" because I’ve been clubbing the damned thing for so long, I don’t even know what it looks like any more. Gil’s come along and said to me, "You know that thing you’ve been bashing, that you forgot what it was? Well – it’s this." And he laid it bare to me again. I now know what my prey looks like, and my hunger induced insanity melts away to reveal new resolve.

Gil The Jenius: Education For Us

The global economy of this century is not a preserver of status quos; in truth, it destroys them with chaotic speed. A nation educated to bow to stasis, to "follow the lunkhead" misery is not now nor ever will be a true global economic player. But a nation is not an entity: it is a collection of individuals united by common characteristics and sharing, often unconsciously, common vision and goals. To develop the nation, develop the individual. To develop the individual…well, that’s Our job.

It’s funny, but I never knew how the masses could be inspired to revolt in Latin America. What could someone write or speak that would bring new focused clarity to their plight? I just didn’t see it. Maybe now I’m starting to get an inkling.

A Page Out of the Book of Chris

I was on the road early this morning, out and about on my bicycle to pick up milk, eggs, and bread.  I still have my Rob Beckman bags and Bruce Gordon rack that I bought 10 years ago.  Those bags and rack have been through it all with me.

Anyway, I’m merging across lanes of traffic to make a left and a little Toyota comes up honking and carrying on.  Christ, people!  Cut a bicycle some slack.  They scream by honking and cursing.  Sigh.  But, as with all stupid metallic beasts, their haste has caused them to err.  Their failure to plan ahead has left them trapped at the light making the same left as I am.

We’re gonna be best pals now, together at the light, hanging like old friends, chatiando como locos.

"How’s it going, fellas.  I’m James.  What are your names?" I say to the three college aged kids in the car.  The driver looks stunned and says nothing.  I smile and address the kid in the back seat.  "It’s a nice morning, huh?  You guys on the way to school or work?"

"Work," he replies amicably.

"Ah, well, it was a pleasure to meet you.  Have a nice day!"  I smile and ride off.

I made my U-turn and headed out.  They smiled and waved from the car.  Guess I made some friends today.

It’s funny, but ever since my brother-in-law Chris told me a great story about an experience he had (that he still needs to write about – ahem), I’ve been channeling him when I’m on the road.  Road rage is for idiots. 

Road comedy is where it’s at, man.  Thanks Chris.

Wifi Drivers for Linux PPC

Let me get geeky for a bit.  I recently decided that I was not going to be the last person on earth without wireless access, so I marched off to CompUSA to buy a wifi card for my G3 Powerbook (Pismo).  I know, I know, I should have checked the hardware compatibility lists, but ever impatient, I thought, how bad could it be?  I’ll buy two and if one doesn’t work, I’ll stick in the other. 

Neither worked.

Bah!  Curse my passionate self.  I erred in the predictable fashion.  I fell victim to the classic blunder, the most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less known is this: with Linux you must research.  With Linux on the PowerPC, you must research and pray.

So, first of all, the Broadcom family of chips (Apple’s Airport, Motorola, and a bunch of others will not work with Linux on PPC).  With Linux on Intel, you’re okay, because you have ndiswrapper with which to run your Windows drivers in Linux.  However, with PPC you will have no such luck, as ndiswrapper is strictly an Intel x86 endeavor.  No, with PPC your best bet (as I later found out) is to buy one of the D-Link family of products.  From what I can tell, they have native support across the board in Linux (my own card, a DWL-G630 – 802.11g, works flawlessly). 

To get it working, you first have to install the drivers from the madwifi project (your distro should have it available for installation), make sure you have PCMCIA drivers installed, and you’re now spilling coffee on your keyboard at one of the many nationwide Starbucks locations. 

The biggest challenge was figuring out which brand of wifi card supports Linux natively – because NONE of them say so.  They all say "Windows 9x, 2000, XP, and 2003."

After two trips to CompUSA, I now have a D-Link card and my working laptop.   Remote X works, and I get about 1 megabyte/sec transfer rate through the concrete walls of my home.  

And now you know the rest of the story.  D-Link, D-Link, D-Link!

Don’t Count on the Sanguine

The other day, the head of only Home Grown Puerto Rican Terrorist GroupTM, the MacheterosTM
Filiberto Ojeda Rios was killed in a gun battle with the FBI.  He
had been convicted in absentia, casually sought for years, and finally
killed in his home in the western town of Hormigueros in Puerto
Rico.  His crime? – robbing a Wells Fargo armored car of $7
million to fund la revolución de la sagrada independencia, una
revolución santificada por el pueblo puertorriqueño, or so they tell me.

Ah,
but the sanguine have come ablaze, fiery rhetoric, tongues lashing,
beating their chests.  This man, this most blessed man died
fighting for what he believed in, the ideals of the pueblo, a popular
movement comprised of less than 10% of the population.  He died
defending his right to take what doesn’t belong to him, to fund a fight
that no one cares about.  And now that he’s dead, and out they
come, the student riots, the graffiti (FBI Asesinos!), the big big big
honking idiotic funeral, the flowers, the speeches, the wailing and
gnashing of teeth, the eulogies.  Filiberto stood for
something. 

"Um, what did he stand for?"

"The dignity and patriotism of the Puerto Rican."

"And the bling, don’t forget the bling."

"Pardon?" 

"$7 million buys a lot of bling.  I’m just sayin’."

"No,
he took that money to help take back what was rightfully ours, nuestra
patria, our land, our hearts, our independence, and to remove the
accursed blight of imperial America."

"And how’s that going for you?"

Bah,
I’m bored with this post.  The pueblo is already covering up the graffiti with posters for the upcoming Concierto con Carlos Vives.  I like Carlos Vives.  I’d call him the hardest working man in Latin Pop.   Ah, Carlos Vives.  The ladies think he’s cute too.  Carlos is the man.

Now, I just can’t bring myself to care for
long enough to write what I wanted to write.  Sigh.  It’s
irrelevant.  It’s folly.  Riverdance doesn’t hold my
attention, I don’t see why this should be any different. 

Check out CNN for more information.

Buried

I’m trapped under something heavy.  Won’t you please come rescue me.  

I’ve
got some posts brewing here, but I’ve not had time to finish
them.  Well, actually I haven’t had the time to start them either,
but let’s not mince words.

I’ve been working on a big website for a bread baking company in Puerto Rico (http://www.holsumpr.com/)
installing servers, doing a security audit, trying to keep abreast of
my volunteer work, maintaining the ongoing development of our software,
and trying to keep it all straight so we can build and launch a cool
Secret Startup Project(TM). It could be fun, fun and lucrative, fun,
lucrative, with ruthless efficiency.  Bah, I’d settle for fun, but
hey – if it’s lucrative and ruthlessly efficient, I’m not going to
complain.

In the meantime, here’s what keeps me motivated when I’m ready to light myself on fire and run screaming from the house/office.

Sept_2005_0004.jpg 

Julio Cesar

I smiled and said hi to Julio.  He had a small tattoo of an "x"
high on his cheek, near his eye, and knuckles emblazoned with
letters.  I don’t recall what they said – it didn’t matter.  
I only thought that the tattoos all over his visible body, arms, hands,
face, made him look tough, really tough.  He seemed like such a
quiet shy, kid though.  He looked down when I shook his
hand.  He didn’t look me in the eye.  Some of the kids will
look you in the eye.  It shows how tough they are.  "I’m not
afraid of you." They seem to say, and maybe as an aside to their
fellows, "And I just want you all to know that I’m the big dog
here.  Don’t you forget it."   I notice, but it doesn’t
matter.  I’m neither bigger than it, oblivious to it, or ignorant
of it.  I just think it’s irrelevant, that’s all.

Let’s get down to business shall we?

Julio
Cesar’s favorite sport is billiards.  "Huh, that’s interesting," I
told him.  "Most kids here like basketball.  A lot like
baseball, but I’ve never heard anyone say billiards.  Cool."

Julio
Cesar’s innate talent is organizing things.  He likes to drive a
fork lift or "finger" as they call them in Puerto Rico, not because
it’s a job, or he likes the fork lift per say.  He seems to like
organizing the boxes in the warehouse.  He enjoys the challenge of
placing the boxes in the best possible configuration for optimal
packing.  I told him that between the billiards (geometry) and the
box stacking (spatial perception) he might just have an unusual and
special brain.   "Did you do well in mathematics?" I asked.

"Yeah,
I didn’t do too bad in math."  He kind of perked up a bit, like he
had just discovered a great and pleasant truth about himself.

I
asked him if he had finished school.  Juan Cesar, 19, said that
no, he’d not finished school.  He didn’t know why, just didn’t go
any more.  He shrugged, as is the custom of many of the kids.

"You know who Albert Einstein is?"

"No," he shrugged again.

"He
was a scientist from the early part of the 20th century.  He
didn’t do too well in school.  In fact, he never did well in
school.  But his brain was wired differently.  He was able to
visualize things in his mind most people could not.  He ended up
winning the Nobel Prize, the grandest honor that a scientist can
receive.  It’s a worldwide honor."

Julio Cesar looked interested, even if he had no idea who Einstein was.

"Julio,
has anyone ever told you these things before?" I was curious, to see if
anyone had ever connected these dots in his life.

"No, no one has ever talked to me like you."  He smiled.

I
smiled, and my mind raced through an entire dissertation in a
millisecond.  If anyone can make an impression on this kid, I
can.  I’m this big weird American.  I look different than
what he’s used to.  I’m from the colonial power, which as
ridiculous as it sounds in the 21st century, counts for
something.  I’ve got credibility.  To top it all off, I talk
to him about things of which he’s never heard, and make observations
about him that no one ever has.  He’s taken notice.  Maybe
what we talk about isn’t particularly insightful or clinically correct,
but it’s weird, it’s different, and he might just remember it.

He brightened more and asked me if I was coming back next week.  I said yes, that I would be there again on Tuesday.

"I will still be here on Tuesday."  He was excited now.

"Cool, then I’ll see you Tuesday.  Do you know how to play
chess?" I asked pointing to the chessboard painted on the top of the
table.

"No."

"Wanna learn?"

"Yes."

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