Musing Interruptus

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. What is more delicious for a masochist than the exquisite anguish of unrequited love? Or love just out of reach? What can be more delightful for a daredevil than feeling a death rattle? Today on Musing Interruptus, the things that make us tingle with anticipation and excitement. But first… I have to give a big hello and thank you for clicking and listening to everyone in… alphabetical order (if I can manage…There is gin on the speakers and 3 Ramones in my glass): hello: Brazil (Bahía, Ceara, Maranahao, Minas Gerais, Sao Paulo, I’ve been waiting for you… thank you for listening…, Rio de Janeiro), Canada (hello Tzey!), Chile (hola primas, <3, gracias por escuchar), Costa Rica (provincia de San José), India (Tamil Nadu), Mexico (Baja California Sur, Estado de México,  Thank you, Jalisco, Mexico City, my heart, Morelos, Querétaro, I know who you are, thank you!!!, Tabasco, Tlaxcala, and Yucatán), hello, Myanmar, Sierra Leone (a woman on a mission), Turkey (hello Istanbul), United States, (California, Illinois a home away from home. Maryland, New York my brother from another mother, Pennsylvania my childhood family, Texas I’m curious, Virginia you were a colony.. Hi there), Good Morning Vietnam! … I can’t fully express my gratitude, even if I find out you are a VPN… Thank you for listening and keep sharing your answers with me. Do you want to muse about something in particular? Let’s have it! Meanwhile… let’s do this: Today-.. Rather, tonight on Musing Interruptus, Giggle Much?

I found a questionable website with a list of philias, what some define as the highest form of love. Let’s go with that… shall we?  There are some philias that have given me the giggles… I apologize in advance if, you know. You are into something and I giggle at it. But let me explain, according to this website,  I am a geliophile… I love laughter. I love my own laughter, but making others laugh, it’s one of those things. I philia you should be a thing.

Musicophilia… well, let's just say I have a superfondness of music ( if music could fuck me sideways till Tuesday). This is a Musing Interruptus if there ever was one.

Back to it… do you think that lawyers are angrophiles? I just watched the series Suits, they seemed to be angry and enjoying it most of the time. Asthenofiles have a fondness for fainting or weakness. Does that apply to the person who hyperventilates to faint or the person who loves to catch those who swoon? Yes… swoon…

An autophile is happy to be alone. Anybody who is married… Carnophile, I know a few. Catoptrophiles - anyone who leaves their camera window open while they are on a video call (you know who you are, I’ve caught you looking, admiring yourselves instead of me… the fucking nerve), chorophiles --- fondness of dancing, I’ve got that one too… cibophiles are fond of food (well who isn’t?, even if you don’t let yourself eat it, you are thinking about it…), clinophiles love going to bed… I mean… I think the phobia might be more interesting. Fear of sleep must be horrible. Love of going to bed, that seems healthy.

Cyclophiles galore, hard not to be one, cynophiles (according to the page I’m looking at, are fond of dogs or rabies… either). Ok, I’m wondering if this is a credible source of information… I see the link between dogs and rabies, but I’m uncomfortable with the implications.So, lets jump to the next logical idea: Words are a wonderful thing. Words are wonderful. They can make or break your day. They create worlds, truth, and fiction. Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophile, which is not in the dictionary and is supposed to mean fondness of lo

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. After a brief hiatus of writer's block, I am overwhelmed with ideas. Writer’s block is a terrible ailment. I thought I would never imagine anything, ever again. Terminal writer’s block. It wasn’t so. And that is all I have to say about that.

Now, I want to write about desire, seduction, and feminism, I want to write about true love among friends and family, the fragility of life, and the importance of leaving it all on the line when it comes to living and loving. What can I tell you, we are reminded how short life is, every day. Whether it is war, a pandemic, a horrible illness, or simply the feeling of how fucking unfair life can be, we know there is an egg timer and the oven won’t be able to hold us forever. Are we rising? Did someone open the oven door ahead of time? Are we a perfect loaf of bread or has the souffle of our life gone flat? Can anything be done? Well, if you are afflicted by these questions, don’t ask a pessimist, ask a helpless optimist who believes in magic and the power of creation.  Ask me…

A good friend of two of my friends passed away at the end of February. As his life was brutally taken, a part of their innocence was stripped away with it. I am so sorry for your loss. As they gather their bearings and relearn to walk this earth, minus a dear friend, we are all reminded of how important it is to tell the people we love, our friends and family, that in fact, nothing will change our feelings for them, not their actions, not their performance. That is true love, that is true friendship. I’ve never shied away from telling people how important they are to me. But I am reminded of making a point of telling my friends of my appreciation of the wonder they bring to my life, the colors, and laughter. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Sisterhood and brotherhood are friendship’s older siblings.

That being said, it might seem I’m going off on a tangent, but I’m not. I want to say some things about my day job, which also happens to be one of my great loves.  This is dedicated to new and future teachers… A letter I wrote to a student who became a teacher. A young woman I profoundly admire, who I remember from one of my first classes when I became a high school teacher. History. Not my forte. Her group bore the brunt of my inexperience. The growing pains in that classroom were real and went all around. The letter said something like this:

To one of my dearest students:

It is impossible not to remember the teenager full of curiosity and intelligence, unwilling to follow anyone’s lead, just her own. A young person who seemed to enjoy her intellect and authenticity. I also remember that you were part of the group that saw me teach my first classes in high school. I had years of teaching experience, but not in high school. That was the beginning of a new education for me. The experience forced me into adolescence.

I am going to share with you some things that I would have liked to know, things that other teachers would later share with me, in a roundabout way. I do it in the hope that your experience will be diametrically different, and that you do not feel alone, in one of the loneliest professions I know, next to uninhabited cave guard.

I'll start with something mild: Preparing the class doesn't mean it will turn out that way. Planning is sometimes a suggestion, and that is ok. Teaching and learning will happen.

It seems that teaching is a juggling act between achieving learning objectives, keeping students engaged, incorporating all learning styles, grading, preparing for class, dealing with your humanity, your expectations, your students' expectations. Do no harm. Do no harm. Nurture. Teach. Learn. Relax. It's ok to fail. Relax. Tomorrow is another day. Relax. Nobody gets it right the first time. 23 years later, I am still learning and I still love teaching. Keep reading 

Hello! Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Sometimes we wait. Wait and see, wait on someone, wait for it…because some phrases are worth waiting for. Today, The Perils and Rewards of Waiting.

Imagine a hospital waiting room. Sterile, stale air, busy, with fluorescent lighting and time to kill. You are hoping that is the only thing that will die when you are in a hospital waiting room.  Worst case scenario, right?

Wait around for something to happen and you will be deemed passive. Be a doer and shaker, take control of your life… don’t just wait around for something to happen. Even if it's not your turn. Picture the deli counter at the supermarket, I hate those little numbers that dictate your fate. You take number 247, and you look at the screen: it’s number four’s turn. Come on, go for it, jump over the counter and grab that deli meat! Take a bite out of that Iberian Ham! Yum! Well, you might not be able to bite it, unless you have razor-sharp teeth or you are a shark. Are you a shark?

Composure!

Waiting for someone, ahh the expectation the person will arrive, walk in the door and something new will happen. A new conversation, a plan to take over the world, to write a story, make a movie, escape to a deserted island, rob a bank. I hope you are not waiting for the getaway car. You know you should not hire an uber when you need a getaway car, you might be waiting longer than you expect. Zero stars sir, zero stars!!!

I just can’t wait for some things to happen. The expectation is too big, big feelings! Remember when we were children and said things like: I can’t wait to be a grown-up! How wrong were we!? I mean, ok, I’m enjoying all of this buying a cake or taking off whenever I want, except I rarely do. I generally make a note, plan; I consider the ramifications. Go back and forth, write about it a thousand times, make a list. In the end, I wonder how long could I wait? Because… all good things come to those who wait. I want good things, so I can wait. What are the good things in life? They are worth waiting for, aren’t they? To be honest, I’m not all that sure. I guess the only way to find out is to wait and see. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Wait a second!! I mean, not literally a second… maybe 60. If it is 60 seconds, then you need to ask a person to give you a min… a full one. Give me a minute, please.

We need to talk about being waited on, hand and foot. Who doesn’t like this? I can see it now, lying on a beach, beautiful people tending to my every want and desire… Lower me in the ocean, no! Now lift me! Go on, like a teabag, yes. I am the tea bag and the ocean is my cup. Then swirl me around, wait, careful, not too close to that shark!  I shouldn’t have to tell you?! Because when somebody waits on you hand and foot, they should be able to anticipate every last need and desire.

You might be waiting for your big break, that one chance to shine and show the world what a bright star you are. An understudy waiting for the lead to break their leg, literally… they are waiting in the wings, that is, waiting to take someone’s place, for example, in a play.

I love to hurry up and wait. It’s like winning the contest of time. If I hurry up and get there before expected, I surely can do something else. So there, I’ve won! Suck it! Unless it’s to die… don’t hurry up to do that. If someone is waiting for me to die, they might be waiting to inherit my very large pile of sand, you might say, they are waiting for a dead man’s shoes.

There you have it, lots of waiting has gotten us nowhere fast. What do you think? Do good things come to those who wait? What is the longest you’ve waited for a good thing? I’m listening.

Lucky 7. It’s lucky if you are getting lucky. Yeah baby, yeah. Welcome to Musing Interruptus. As Valentine’s Day gets pushed into the recesses of our minds and we watch the flowers wilt, and passionate declarations of love subside, the commonplace I love you, uttered to the family dog, whispered back by the coffee maker and hushed by the refrigerator, recolonizes the nooks and crannies of our habitats. Today on Musing Interruptus, Quiet Days, Recovery days.

Some mornings start out softly because softly is all you can muster. Sun rays creep through the window, beckoning your eyes to open and you know at once, we must be gentle today. Was it last night’s dream, which caused a bit more anguish than you bargained for, or pulling the all-nighter to meet a deadline? Maybe it's the accumulation of life’s wear and tear or the feeling that you’ve come to live with, more than a feeling, a new appendage. A third arm popping out of your clavicle, which cannot help, at all. You cannot even ask it to carry an extra shopping bag or glass of water. It would be most helpful if it could do something. Reality is, it is just a burden. Some live with this, every day.  Whatever it is, your body and brain are in sync. Today you must be gentle.

There are many ways to be gentle or kind with yourself. The allowance for tenderness and softness provides space for much-needed recovery. Life can be harsh. We need to find ways to deal with it. One way is to give ourselves time to process, feel, and regroup.

There are different ways to do this, it can start with an aromatic chai tea, instead of jolting yourself with an espresso. Maybe picking out a sweater that is extra soft against your skin. Taking a few extra minutes to put lotion on your feet, putting your favorite oils in your diffuser, and a chill-inducing playlist. Hell, why not go all out, take the day off and go to a spa, get a much-needed massage and facial. Pampering yourself is a fine way of creating the space to recover from the world’s harshness. Doing it to different degrees, from the chai tea in your hands to a day in the hands of professionals.

Being alone can do the trick. Time to think or not. Maybe just zone out, maybe sleep. Do what you like, when you like. Drink, smoke, listen, touch, paint, read. Process what is going on.  Let it out. As Pumba always says, better out than in.

I think that one of the best times is behind the wheel, down a highway with the wind in your hair and your best furry friends in the back seat. Some memories will live past their lives. I have to admit, that after my dog passed away, I don’t look in the backseat, because I’ll miss his face. Best dog friends are great for long road trips. They are great listeners and could care less if you cannot reach the high notes or forget the lyrics.

Not all healing is done alone… some of the best healing is done around a table, with a bottle of wine, maybe whiskey, maybe coffee. Connecting with the people we love, connecting with people who listen and we listen to.  That shared understanding of what makes you laugh harder than you thought possible. Letting it out, the thoughts, fears, pains, embarrassments, loss. When it becomes shared and set free to dissipate in the air.  The highest form of this collective healing, in my book, is laughter, of course. Count me in.

What is your favorite way to recover? Do you have a ritual? I’d love to hear it. What is your favorite place to laugh? Who do you love laughing with?  I’m listening.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. We live in an age where everything is worthy of expression because we are all winners in this game of life. We win just for showing up. You might say this podcast is just that. Although, I am thinking more along the lines of students who feel deserving of a passing grade because an effort was made, learning objectives be damned. It used to be A for effort, do better next time. There are so many adults who prefer not to take responsibility for their actions, nor be accountable. Not even for their own happiness.

Some thoughts poison the well, like happiness must be automatic, if it isn’t, then it isn’t happiness. Same deal with love, learning, and success. The disconnect between the objectives and the effort to accomplish is big. I consider the legions of anti-sciencers a result of this very disconnection.

We are all winners in this game of life, gentle people. Let’s not think about the tough stuff. Not until life gets real. Which is a valid argument for keeping it light. Except it isn’t, because there are others, living under other circumstances. We live in a system where our actions do in fact have consequences, beyond our imagination. It is hard enough to fathom and swallow this, let alone digest.

Don’t think for a moment I am trying to colonize your thoughts, as Saramago might imply…  I’m simply stating that having people who think, learn, work, love, enjoy, and appreciate what is behind each of these experiences have a positive effect on society as a whole.

Today on Musing Interruptus: Instant gratification vs pleasure delaying.

The first time I watched Vanilla Sky, I was completely taken by Penelope Cruz describing pleasure delaying. What a thing. What a delight. Stretching the moment from the inception of desire to satisfaction. Combined with courtship... There is artistry there… I wonder how many of you are well versed in the art of courtship. Is it still alive among other generations? I was thinking about the relevance of bands like the Beatles and how little by little there are songs that are no longer welcome because they express violence and toxic signs in a relationship. Case in point. Run for your life. Of course, there are so many other songs that are the soundtrack of the finest love affairs and psychedelic experiences. I wonder if the way we understand love will change, making these songs irrelevant. I hope not.

I am under the impression that instant gratification is more generally pursued these days. Technology surely plays a part in it. Tiktok and Instagram provide entertainment that has been digested several times over, in many cases condensing the principles of storytelling and reaching the punchline faster. I’ll tell you this, I still love a long story, long conversations, and lectures from interesting professors. Activities that occupy your intellect feel good. How will this cult, nay shared inertia for instant gratification change the face of the world?

This made me think of the sequel to Sexo, Pudor y Lágrimas, or Sex, Shame, and Tears (as it was translated). The dialogues pale in comparison to the first one; the second installment, 20 years later lacks the poignancy and insight that caught our attention the first time around. Maybe someone was lazy or was under the gun to write… or even worse, they knew depth would be lost on certain key demographics.

Instant gratification, it's like a coca-cola when it is really hot. It hits the spot immediately, but it's not what you really need, nor will it make you feel good in the long run. Then again, who cares? None of this will matter in 100 years.  I promise.

So, instant gratification or pleasure delaying? What does courtship look like today? What does our future society look like? What is meaningful in the future? I’m Listening.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Marriage is dark and deep.  Did you know that pandas have a hell of a time mating in captivity? Some big-ass thinkers have even said the creative pulse is suffocated. -Marriage… You did it by your own volition. Last week was all about the praises of true, deep, maddening, earthshattering love. Today, What’s to hate about Valentine’s Day?

It’s a sham. It doesn’t exist. It is your parents.

It’s a scam, that is what it is. It is a scam to subjugate the second sex.

You bought into it, you with your bright future and career, between Simone the Beauvoir’s Legacy and the Woman Destroyed, you chose the latter. A white dress and chastity of mind, body, and spirit, until death do you part. The white dress is enticing, that is what all the messages say. They lure you into the dress, binding your hands, but not your senses. You are wide awake as it’s happening, the words come out easily as you are watching from above and below. Your body reacts, but it is too late, real censorship kicks in as your new identity is forced on you. The contract is modern but the institution is medieval.

Welcome to your life as wife.

Hidden away behind social conventions and oppressive laments, silent laments. Hysterical laments. Writing in the dark by moonlight. Harboring the desire of freedom while meditating in an enclosure of what you actually thought was your own design. It was not. Feeble minds of the young, unenlightened, lacking that special ingredient that would have saved them. Experience.

Is what I would say… if marriage weren’t such a wonderful thing. The true meeting of love and partnership, an endless endeavor to mutually pleasure each other and enjoy the honey drizzling from life’s lips. Isn’t it true that is why so many people get married? Bless you Saint Valentine for defending the institution and the right to marry. Let us remember thee as we shower our spouses with love and affection and passion, mountainous warm and, illuminating love surrounding each other.

When I told my student my plan for this episode, she astutely answered… Schopenhauer basically said that marriage is where love goes to die. Thank you, what a great corollary for the second installment of Musing Interruptus and our Valentine’s Special.

A losing game on all ends. The most expensive of self-impositions. Control is masked by romance and passion. Our own bodies against ourselves. Beware of the flood of endorphins and oxytocin. They are drugs and you will go into withdrawal. Rage if you are lucky. Reapropriaton and recolonization of your body and thoughts. Liberation, design and, creation. You never knew freedom had this value. Aprés moi le deluge.

Are you married? Have you read The Second Sex and A Woman Destroyed? Did you read it before getting married? How are you liking it? I’m listening.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. We are a full 10 days away from Valentine’s Day. Some may say, -so what? While others may be preparing a surprise for a special someone or a plurality of someones. Whatever floats your boat is what I always say. There are those who would shun this day, as love should be celebrated every day. I agree. This is not wrong, especially if the celebration includes the physical expression of love. However, if you are a rebel and resistance is your thing, then Valentine’s Day is a day you should be observing and, why not, even celebrating. Today: What’s to love about Valentine’s Day?

Love has such wonderful expressions. I do not distinguish types of love but feel it is a  continuum, like a river, which flows through me as I swim through it. There are places where love is expressed differently, most likely because of who is on the receiving end. If I had to force my mind to think of types of love, then today I would speak of romantic love, the type that inspires great minds to write and leave a testament of truth for those unlucky or plainly too stupid to appreciate how great it is to fall in love. One such testament is the case of  Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare, my favorite part says:

… Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

That type of love maddens people and causes them to do brave and impulsive things. Including participating in an act of resistance that would one day be observed by some as Valentine’s Day.

Many believe great love has to be sealed with the promise of forever. For those, what better way to do it than through marriage. I will not get into the institution of marriage as a tool to exert control over sexuality, I’ll leave that for our Valentine’s Day episode. Today we will invoke one of the many explanations behind Valentine’s Day, the one most befitting my argument, of course, that of the despotic emperor of Rome, Claudius II, who prohibited marriages to ensure young, unattached soldiers, were available for war. A suffering Roman Empire needed all the soldiers they could get, but a priest named Valentine would marry the young men in secret, thus ensuring they could bind themselves to their beloved forever. An act against the ruler and Rome itself. A rebellion against control.  Our priest Valentine was sentenced to death! As his acts were certainly acts of treason.

This February 14th, join the resistance and fall in love, buy that special someone chocolate, diamonds and flowers, speak sweet nothings to their ears and remember there was a time and a place men were not allowed to marry and two monumental institutions were at odds. I would be remiss if I did not say, we are indeed just pawns and carnage in someone else’s war. But then we wouldn’t celebrate Valentine either. So join me in looking at only one side of the story and resist by falling in love.

What do you think about Valentine’s Day? What other stories behind Valentine’s Day do you know? Are you part of the resistance? I’m listening.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. A space to share thoughts, stories, and general musings. This one goes out to my father, on his birthday. Procrastination is a serious ailment that plagues us all at one time or another. Nobody is safe, it is contagious and addictive. Sticky, tricky, addictive. It gets worse with every thought. I’ll take you. There is a road and a path and a highway to get there. It all starts with a window.

There is a window that leads to places I know, down roads that I have traveled, back and forth. Through that window, imagination throws itself to the wind. It is carried to the places of shipwrecks and pirates, monsoons and, jungle hideaways. The ticket is procrastination. To get that ticket to ride, You must first go to the Office for General Beaurocratic Paperwork. You walk into the office and to your right, you will see a reception with a burly man. He generally wears a hat. That hat is too small it pinches in all the wrong places. I asked him once about that hat. By the way, his name is Jay. He told me all about his father’s hat and how it had once belonged to a famous person. He couldn’t remember his name. He did, however, remember that he was a famous whistler. I myself do not know any famous whistlers, so I will probably remember that for the rest of my life. I didn’t mind not knowing the name. As I said, I don’t know any whistlers, but I do know a Steve, Dan, Stan, David and Raúl. If that famous whistler were named Michael, George, or Aaron, I might forget the name too. But a whistler, really, that was all I needed to know. So, that hat, atop Jay’s head, had once belonged to a whistle that was recognized around the world, I bet. Or at least around the county.

-Are you still with me? Go on, don’t lose your concentration. I’m taking you on a little trip to the OGBP. The Office for General Beaurocratic Paperwork, to get ahead of the process of getting a ticket to ride to Procrastination. Especially if you want to ride the wind to your destination.

Sign the ledger Jay has set for you, it's a long red book. Remember to show your ID and write down the number found on the back of the id. I think Jay asks you do this just for fun. Click to continue reading along

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Today, my thoughts take me inside, to a place where things go bump in the night. And no… this is not an episode on sex… no bumping uglies here… What I mean are the sounds that can put you over the edge. Like that famous episode where Donald Duck needs to get some sleep, yet he finds his pre-sleep peace interrupted by a dripping faucet, a noisy clock, and well, you get the picture. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Today: I think it’s coming from inside the house.

The wooden floors creak as I walk towards the kitchen. Bright light normally bounces off the walls, but now it is night. Darkness embraces every corner. I stub my toe on the leg of a kitchen stool with such force that the stool flies across the floor,  the sound reverberates and shatters whatever peace I had inside. I can feel my chest pound, for a moment, surprised that any noise existed in the dark, or furniture, for that matter. I don’t remember leaving that stool there. Then I reassure myself, that is a great alarm for intruders. I can hear my dog’s little nails pitter-patter on the floor, making her way to my side, investigating the commotion. She does not bump into anything.

I hear a cough coming from next door. I shutter. Could the wind carry the virus to my door, maybe through the window. I laugh at my thoughts and continue my expedition. A midnight snack. I must not wake anybody, especially not the monster under my bed! It took me hours to get him or her to sleep. (they have not shared their pronouns with me)  What a ruckus, wanting to play music at all hours, breaking out the fizzy drinks and funny cigarettes. I read to the monster, my monster. From atop my cozy bed, I read until I could see the monster’s head tilt to the side, as if dead. I read a little more, just to be sure. I was about to cozy up to my monster under the bed, but I would risk waking him or her, and the ordeal would have to start all over again.

Back to the kitchen… I was there standing in the middle of the dark kitchen, thinking to myself what a propper midnight snack looks like. Is it a cup of tea with a hint of mint? No, I mustn’t, the teapot will whistle, calling the monster to work!  Maybe it’s a more elaborate sandwich, with cold cuts and cheese. A pickle. That would be ideal. However, the pop from twisting the jar open would surely wake my monster. The cookie bag will crackle and chips will crunch! What a conundrum I have before me! I start pacing back and forth, back and forth. I feel the gaps between each plank of wood on the floor. My dog just stares. I can only see her funny little eyes. I hear crickets chirping outside. What a symphony. How can my monster sleep through this! I pace, back and forth. I feel a knot in my stomach. I’m not hungry. But something will undo the knot, just you wait and see. It will be a perfect midnight snack for me.

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