monsters in my closet

All the mosquitos in my house go to my closet to live, and I don’t know why. All the other closets in the house are also dark. Really my roommates’ cats should be taking care of the problem, which seems to come on every year during the rainy season (yes, I have screens on my windows).

It’s not so much the blood sucking that bothers me, but rather the high-pitched ZIIIIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ that wakes me up in the madrugada* all stressed and anxious. The experience is kind of the opposite of a nightmare in that first you were resting, wandering along in your peaceful subconscious rhythms, and then wakeness comes to you in that far-off, getting closer rush. But instead of your dark, peaceful bedroom, the reality that overcomes you is this agitating, disproportionately little thing buzzing around your face and penetrating your skin with a disease-ridden needle.

So every night now before I lay me down to sleep, I go into my closet to kill bugs. Rather than poisons or citronella, the best pest management technique has been pure body-crushing physics. My form, originally just whopping at them with a towel, has become more refined. I can actually execute some Mr. Miyagi-style moves sometimes… with my fingers, which is gross. But I take heart in thinking about how the blood I have just smeared across my hand is probably mine. Or else my roommates’ lazy-ass cats’.

Not my photo and definitely not my cat. (Taken from the blog Mythos & Rini; click photo for link.)

*Good Spanish word. Just to confirm your contextual inference, it means “middle of the night.”

Advertisements

Those City Nights


“I was writing songs since the age of 17. I always thought that you had to be in a group or a band to make it – probably because of the fear of failure. So many people don’t want to fail, and it took me years to discover that the people immediately around you do not make the best advocates for something you want to do. I know that isn’t always the case, but I think most of the time it is. Nobody wants to be left behind, and so many of the relatives and friends you have near you feel that’s what you’re going to do to them, if you make it.

“Often I would record little bits of songs on cassette tapes and save them to work on later, and most of the time, ‘later’ never came. I’ve been in several groups – the most successful ones were…

View original post 1,442 more words

1990

I was hanging out with some film and TV industry people (actors, even), and they started talking about David Lynch. I mentioned that I had watched some of the series in its original airing… as a child! But it was too late, the actors– young folk, and Mexicans, so I guess American cult was less accessible until the internet– were already impressed.

I was really too young to understand what was going on, except that it was weird and cool and that I was allowed up past my bedtime. I watched the whole thing again a few years ago, and I have to say it was pretty good except for a lag in the second season. Speaks to how good network TV was back in the day, and unafraid. Roseanne also ruled. Everything has a heyday I guess. Now it’s AMC’s turn.

Of course I never had to revist the soundtrack. My parents got it on tape in 1990 and used to sit in the dark in the living room listening to it on summer evenings. Since then I haven’t stopped listening to it.