The battle won

I had a battle of rhymes over text message last night. And after extensive judging and by unanimous decision, I won. Yep, that's right. Here's a sample:

a queen with no crown
ain't lettin nobody down
living to live with
nothing but love to give
straight to your hearts and minds
they may say love is blind
but my visions 20 10
i'm beat ya moves before you even begin.

That was just the warm-up. The rest aren't exactly appropriate for publication but were killer. Just trust!

Necessities

A beautiful day in the city today. Sunshine, no clouds. Cold, but who cares? I may have mentioned this before, but this is my third winter within a year's time. One in NYC before I left, one starting South America in May, and another still in NYC. Looking back, for my next adventure, I think I'm going to work it out so I have three summers in a year. First off, winter clothes are so much bulkier. And living in a backpack, or a shoe-box apartment for that matter, is tough with thick sweaters and the like. Second of all, I think I just prefer having a tan. It's not so much that I don't like winter. I think it's the sun factor that I need. And really, all I need in life is a few pairs of pants, a coupla shirts, a bikini or two, shades and flip-flops. So, I'm looking at Asia, Australia & New Zealand. But am hoping to avoid monsoons, tsunamis, sharks and the like...

Forever 31

A little shopping at Forever 21 today. I apparently gave away most of my winter clothes last year before setting off for South America and needed some warm stuff. Woah, that place is crazy! And cheap. As trendy as it gets in New York, it's full of clothes for the moment. I'll probably have to go back next week for a whole new crop. But I haven't see anyone wearing anything I bought yet today. Of course, it's winter. And everyone on the street is covered head-to-toe, the city awash in bank robbers. Yo, stick 'em up!

In this kind of shop, I can tell my age. And, you know, I'm thankful to be where I am in this life. When I think of 31, I think of Baskin Robbins. Back in the day when it was more than just a shoot off of CinnaBun or Taco Bell...and back in the day when that was all there was. Pre-frozen yogurt, pre-Ben & Jerry's, I'm talking pure, classic ice cream. That was the jam!

The spirit

So I'm not worried so much about being published. Hey, a blog is self-publication, right? I guess I should worry about it, but it's more that I want to write. The more I write, no matter the subject, the better I feel. It may be that writing is a form of prayer for me, art (or my version of it) as a form of spiritual soothing, the release of trouble, struggle, one step close to enlightenment. The experiences of discovering things new and foreign being the closest to God I have gotten thus far.

To get it down on the page and out of your head, not because it torments you (although sometimes it does), but because you have to let it out. You become stagnant in your own silly routines and have to break from the monotony, writing the conscious break. It's almost a window into another place, or maybe a view into yourself. Maybe writing is my holy spirit...

Bueller...Bueller...Bueller...anyone...?

Coach Pollock, my AP Government teacher in the 11th grade, held me after class one day to ask questions about points I'd raised in one of my essays. I got nervous, and may have even cried from embarrassment, showing nothing more than an utter lack of confidence in my writing. We got into a political debate about something and afterward he told me I shouldn't worry. That I was a talented writer.

Isn't it funny when you realize that you've been telling yourself exactly what you should be doing in life? Only, for whatever reason, fear, denial, you just haven't been able to listen to yourself? Why it's 14 years later that I realize I want to explore that talent, I'll never know. I'm just happy to have some clarity of dreams!

In flight

So my parents showed up to the city tonight. Their whirlwind month States tour coming to a close, they fly back to Singapore Sunday night. Eighteen hours and 45 minutes on a plane. Can you imagine? And how do meals work? You board at 11 pm, say, but are moving forward in time while flying. So, while you may think it's 5 am and are ready for a cup of coffee, it's actually 3:30 pm in the time zone you've just entered. So the flight attendant comes around with tea and crumpets? And 3 hours later you have dinner? Then breakfast 3 hours after that? There ain't enough movies in the world to keep me interested for 18 hours. Well, maybe a Law & Order marathon...

Happy Birthday to J'Nel! My girlfriend Roxie had her first baby today! Let's all send her a happy welcome to the world!

Revival

Hey, hey, hey! It's Miss Anne back to Miss Anne's World. I needed a break, people. Well, really, I was just working too much and not writing enough. No good. No good.

So here's to new years and old habits!