an open letter to whoever felt the need to comment on my valentine’s day post.
First of all, let me say that I’m flattered, though incredibly surprised, that you would expend so much energy and give so much thought to my offensive opinion. That you gave the time and effort to educate me on the finer points of my blunders in a piece that was meant to be sarcastic and facetious must mean that you were very engaged by the material and I appreciate your attention to my writing.
Your attention was, however, completely unnecessary.
You obviously don’t know me or, if this happens to be someone I do know who is taking my blog way too seriously, I don’t think I care to know you any longer. I know who St. Valentine is and I understand that Valentine’s day is a celebration of romance. Nothing you said is wrong. I am still not convinced, however, that Valentine’s day is a worthwhile holiday. I suppose we can agree to disagree.
You, however, need to learn to lighten up and read between the lines.
Let me finish by returning your assumptions regarding the seriousness of my piece with some assumptions I have about the seriousness of your comment. I’m assuming that, as an activist feminist, you’re more preachy than a fundamentalist Christian and therefore most people around you would rather take the stick you have firmly lodged in your rectum and put it their own so long as it will make you go away because you’re not satisfied until everyone around you is as cranky and easily offended as yourself. MY reccomendation to YOU, therefore, is to find someone (same or opposite sex, it doesn’t matter) who enjoys your cantankerous company enough to be intimate with you because it seems rather obvious to me that you need a “celebration of romance,” if you catch my meaning.
I want to again thank you for visiting and interacting with my site. However, I also want to invite you to not repeat your visit, as my site was getting on just fine without your presence.
Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
-TJ
all fuzzy and stuff.
i’ve been thinking a lot lately. that’s really nothing new, but what i’ve been thinking is what’s the point of living if you’re not happy? i’m not saying that people who aren’t happy should commit suicide, i’m just saying that they should figure out exactly why they’re not happy and get rid of whatever (or whoever) it is in their life that’s causing their unhappiness. after all, we’re all going to die one day and i don’t know about you but i don’t want to be laying on my death bed mourning the fact that i never really enjoyed life.
i’m not saying “do what feels good.” i hope i don’t have to explain how hopelessly shallow and self-centered that philosophy is. i’m just saying do what makes you happy. be honest. believe in what you believe and live accordingly. i think that hard work is very important, but if you think about it, hard work in and of itself can be a reward and therefore make you happy (maybe content is a better word, life isn’t always pleasant, you know).
for instance, i love writing. i especially love writing music and words to go along with that music. i want to get better at guitar, prose, poetry and lyricism but it won’t happen if i never write. the only problem with that is i lately have so much going on all the time that even when i do get some down time, i don’t feel like writing. it’s too much like work. if i lived according to “do what feels good” i would never write. the weird thing about life, though, is that doing what feels good is seldom what will make you happy. like love. loving someone is the most beautiful and exhausting thing you could ever hope to do. if you do it right there will be plenty of times when it doesn’t feel good at all. but it will make you happy/content. because being happy/content goes so much deeper than feeling good and all fuzzy and stuff. i think it’s just a satisfaction that you’re living as well as you know how.
that’s why there’s always so much to do.
happy valentimes!
i hate valentine’s day. i hate valentine’s day because of those kay jeweler’s commercials. you know, the ones that have the tagline, “every kiss begins with kay.” yeah, those ones. the ones that make you feel like love is only expressed by a diamond and the amount of love you have for your girlfriend or fiance or wife is directly proportional to the size of said diamond, which ultimately means one of two things: the amount of love you have to give is equal to the size of your bank account or, if nothing else, your willingness to be in debt. she won’t, after all, love you if you don’t buy her things.
ok, that’s an exaggeration. she won’t not love you, she’ll just love you less.
and even if your girlfriend doesn’t need the nicer things in life, you’re still a jerk if you don’t buy her a rose or some chocolate, and to be quite honest, any holiday that dares to insinuate that for the last 364 days I’ve neglected to make the girl i love feel wanted and beautiful and desired is an insult. you see where this is going. i know you do.
valentine’s day is sexist.
it’s an excuse for whatever company makes sweethearts (which i bet are stored in a giant silo in the middle of nebraska where they keep no less than a three year supply at all times) to make some dough. it’s an excuse for kay jeweler’s to make you feel so desperate to impress your woman that you’re willing to sell your car or, at the very least you proletarian slob, max out your credit card (i mean, really, what’s $5,000 when you’re in love? you do love her, don’t you?). and it’s always men buying things for the women that call them beau (doubly so for guys named beau- they do exist) because, you know, we’re such jerks the rest of the year, demanding sandwiches and beer and sex and pizza and football…i mean, i know MY life revolves solely around those things, doesn’t yours? no? well then you’re probably gay and don’t like girls anyway so what do you care? stop reading this post. i’m a man, dang it, and i believe the only things girls are good for are you know what and you know when. that’s right: opening my keystone and right now.
by the way, i’ve taken to wearing wife-beaters and watching nascar. did you see danica patrick wipe out yesterday? dude, she’s so hot.
i love my girlfriend. i love her so much it makes my heart want to jump out of my chest. and i tell her that. i tell her she’s beautiful, wise and a strong, kind woman. moreover i treat her like i mean it. not just on valentine’s day, but every day of the year. so thanks, kay jeweler’s, for trying to make me feel like less of a man because i’m not showering my girlfriend with diamonds, but i’m not buying it.
happy valentimes!
– disclaimer: i’m not as cynical as this post makes me sound. –
oh my god! i’m on fire!
i took this shot of a picture a kid drew whilst dining at the lompoc restaurant (which we affectionately call “the lompoc diner”). i though it was hilarious. it was like he thought, “how am i gonna finish this? death by lightning bolt,” and then gave himself a verbal pat on the back when it was finished, saying, “good work, bobby. you saved what could have been a rather dull ‘portrait of a stick family.’ they’ll surely hang this in a museum one day.”
how wonderfully mundane.
sometimes creativity seems to require a certain level of spontaneity. but for some reason, maybe because i’ve been relaxing since the wreck and now i’m busy at work/school in montgomery, i haven’t felt very spontaneous lately.
this is not, therefore, a spontaneous post.
this post may not even be creative for all i know. we’ll see what happens, i guess. no, my friends, this post is about forcing it, about having nothing at all to say except mundane cliches such as “the weather is nice,” and, “oh my mom’s good” and “i’m working on a song right now.” it’s probably a song about being bored anyway, and it probably involves two chords, E flat major and B, which don’t really go together and are about the two most boring, mundane chords i know. and that’s saying a lot, since G7 is always waiting in the wings somewhere to pop out and give you a lecture on fiscal responsibility like some cross between your dad and hank hill.
this is a post about all those things.
which, by the way, i am working on a new song for “we are storytellers.” it’s not got a G7, though. it’s got an exotic variant of G7, G7’s latino brother, A7. hopefully this song will be done in the next month. i don’t know. i’m living in a hotel room right now, so we’ll see.
you see? mundane. but mundane’s beautiful, i guess. life is an adventure (made for an adventurer) and we don’t always get to choose our adventure. sometimes, as in my case, your adventure means spending a lot of time away from people you love most in life. sometimes it means wrecking your car or breaking someones heart or losing a friend and having yours broken. and sometimes adventure means going to the grocery store and trying to pick out good avacados, or ironing your shirt or paying taxes. the point is that it’s an adventure all the same. life isn’t like the movies. people poop, sleep for hours on end, talk about nothing and sit in lectures. but the exciting thing, the thing we all need to learn to embrace and live out every day, is that we don’t know what’s going to happen next. besides, what’s the worst that could happen? you break a leg or an arm or maybe you die.
now that would be a good story to tell.
huxley beats orwell.
my sister showed me this last night and i think it’s kind of creepy how true it is.
completely beside the point bit of information: whilst growling at something out the window, my dog just farted. it was like, “merrrrrrf.” that’s where larry lives.
i’m ok, you’re ok.
before we begin i must let you know that i’m fine. my neck is a little sore, but i’m fine.
yesterday was day two of my trip out to kansas city on my way, ultimately, to maxwell afb in montgomery, alabama for some additional training that all second lieutenants have to go through. the previous night i had stayed in grand junction, colorado where i slept at a quality inn for about five hours. i woke up at four to get going ’cause i was real itchy to get home, though i found out later in the day that my hurriedness was actually not kosher at all. maybe i’ll explain that in a minute. but it’s kind of just icing on the crap cake of my story.
colorado is a cold and beautiful place. because i hadn’t let myself sleep enough i had to stop for coffee twice by the time i was passing aspen. i say passing because i was about thirty minutes south going through a town of which i can’t remember the name. another thirty minutes after that i pulled off the interstate and parked on the side of a tiny gas station to take a nap in the frigid beauty of the rocky mountains. twenty minutes or so passed after which i woke up, actually got gas (i suppose as a sort of unspoken payment for the use of their…um…area) in my parents’ suburban, briefly enjoyed the scene of small houses against a backdrop of a mammoth mountain, and went on my way.
not thirty minutes down the road at around 745 in the morning is when yesterday became the third worst day of my life. i say third worst because i’m saving the one and two spots for the day i turn sixty and the day my daughter loses her virginity to the boy she’s been madly in love with for two weeks. if i ever have a daughter, that is. if i only have sons that will still be my second worst day, if you know what i mean.
not that i mean to be prejudiced, you see. it would just be quite a shock.
my third worst day, however, involved me driving the suburban eastbound along i-70, going sixty miles an hour. the speed limit was 65. i thought i was being reasonable, but mother nature didn’t. she seems to think that cars should go no faster than 35 miles per hour and the way she sends us this message is by causing peoples’ trucks to start wavering on ice that she’s conveniently placed in the middle of the lane.
i tried to get control back. i wasn’t immediately freaking out. i was just very mellowly saying, “shit shit shit.” i’ve been spun on ice before and gained control. the main thing to do is stay calm, don’t over-compensate on your steering and pump- not slam- your brakes. easy, right?
not when the car starts sliding ninety degrees to the right. that’s when i started freaking out because in about three quarters of a second the car was spun right, caught traction and slammed into the barrier on the right side of the highway. the airbag burst out of its housing in the steering wheel, the backend of the truck came up off the ground and the first thing i did was yell in a sort of sobby, incredibly scared voice, “no! i’m sorry, dad!” i knew i was going to be fine, but my parents’ last nice car (unless you count my mom’s recently acquired pt cruiser, which i don’t) was wrecked. nothing was very smashed up but the bumper, but it’s totaled.
a guy stopped with his girlfriend and asked if i was ok and made sure i had a way to call the police and all that. someone had apparently done that for me, though, because an officer came up as i got finished with my most important call: the one to my dad where i tell him, “i’m alive but your car isn’t.”
i was in vail, colorado. cold and beautiful and apparently very dangerous. i rode with the tow truck driver to a shell station. he said i was really lucky that the police didn’t give me a ticket. apparently they normally do that, citing recklessness. i ended up staying at that shell for the next six hours, feeling so awkward that i even asked the guy working the counter if i could mop for him just so i didn’t look so out of place. at two-thirty a shuttle came to take me to the denver airport where i had a seven-thirty plane to kansas city. twelve hours after my wreck i was going home. i saw lauren’s beautiful face first when i got off the plane. i smiled and knew that even after a wreck, the shock and the weird ride with five strangers to the airport, i was ok. she patiently waited for me to hug my mom and then kissed me and let me hold tightly to her for a minute as she drove the point home without words, saying, “you’re ok.”
waking up.
i wrote these ponderings a couple weeks ago.
it’s a surreal feeling to open your eyes and think about- really realize- where and when you are. i’m not doing anything wildly different from what i might be doing at home or at any other stage of my adult life. i’m wearing my favorite shoes (my ratty sperry’s that i’ve had for a couple years now), my favorite shorts (my dockers-pants-converted-to-shorts shorts that i found in a dumpster), and a black t-shirt whilst sitting at a mexican restaurant to which i walked (but not without jay-walking). it’s a quarter to one in the afternoon. it’s seventy-five degrees outside and it’s the seventh of january. i can feel the breeze on the back of my neck as it makes its way through the open door of the tiny restaurant and suddenly i have this feeling that i just woke up.
i realize that i’m in california. i realize that i’m in the air force (the freaking air force!). i realize that i’m twenty-three, my roommate and the other two chicks i hang out with regularly are people i’ve known for all four months. lauren and my mom and dad are back in kansas city, my oldest friends (extended non-blood family) audrey and anthony (and others, of course) are in virginia beach. jamie’s actually in san diego, which is weird. my beautiful sisters are at school (jen’s in lawrence and molly’s in arkansas). my best friend and brother john is in kentucky and my friends preston, lisa, jason, tricia and and brandy are in missouri and holy crap! where have i been all these years? i’ve known so many people and loved the ones i’m close to, avoided the ones i didn’t like. what the hell happened? (i mean that in a positive way). it’s like it was all a dream, which is a feeling i lament, and now, without warning, i’m waking up in a mexican restaurant in lompoc, california only a five minute walk from my new apartment where i’ve lived for two days.
and it’s a good day to be awake.
new site, new recording, oh yeah.
hello, everyone! and welcome to mysistersbrother.net, the new site dedicated to the musical stylings of tj vazquez and friends. you can still follow @teajams on twitter to be updated when i post a new entry or add a new song to anal bum…i mean, an album.
anywho, in order to celebrate the new folkiness of my sisters’ brother and mysistersbrother.net, i’ve recorded a folk version of the classic nofx song, “linoleum.” this recording features my new accordion (acquired from the goodwill near my apartment for $200), my new glockenspiel (acquired from a cracker barrel in prattville, alabama for $25) and my new compressor (it’s a recording thing…i got it on amazon). for the time being it’s not available in the album section (where you can download all my sisters’ brother music for free!) because (this is the disclaimer) i did not write this song. this song was written and originally recorded by nofx on their album “punk in drublic.” this song (and others you may hear in the future) is but an homage to my favorite band from my teenage years. werd. hear it is (see what i did there?): Linoleum (by NOFX)
my sisters’ brother (and a poem).
check it, peeps! the name under which my music will now be filed is “my sisters’ brother.” i just feel like “tj vazquez” doesn’t sound very folky. anywho, new name, same folky flavor! you can all keep up with everything through teajams.com still and following @teajams on twitter. i’m not exactly sure how i want to organize everything. i hope going to teajams.com to download music by “my sisters’ brother” doesn’t confuse everyone. do you think it will?
here’s another poem i’ve written recently. i’m trying to start writing more. more music, more poetry, more prose, more everything. enjoy.
DEATH AND HOW IT AFFECTS THE PLACEMENT OF MY SHOES
when i get home i’ll take my shoes off
and when i get home i’ll lay in bed
when i get home i’ll take my shoes off
and when i get home i’ll sleep all day
but i swear to God, i’m not going to dream.
i won’t see you
you won’t see me
take your time
oh
take your time
and tell me everything you know
while you still have time
like mama bird says the wisest words and pushes us out the nest
one
by
one
by
one
by
one
she
push
push
push
push
pushes us out the nest
’til everyone is done
the hardest lesson learned
it’s the last but by God’s grace
(which becomes harder to discern)
it’s the first
(it’s really the only one:
now just where exactly do i put my shoes
when home i’ve finally come?)
i’m gonna sleep all day
’cause
we sleep and we work and we breathe and we work (some more)
and sometimes it’s a road
and sometimes it’s a wheel
and sometimes it’s a forest
and it’s dark
and a thorn pierces our heel, so
we sit for a while, discussing all we’ve seen
i’ve met God (though when i say “i” i mean “we”)
my language figurative but my metaphors quite literal
you say there’s nothing here but what’s here (i, of course, say there’s nothing here but what isn’t)
i am the wind that rushes against the the cliffs by the sea
movement! movement! (where is our Father?)
i kiss the waves that never kiss me
