So we’re going to do it again this Friday and see if we can keep it up every Friday at The Blue Pearl in New Haven at 130 Court St. DJ Zoloft starts his set at 10:30 pm, and I intermittently do my thing on the mic starting at 11:30 pm-12 am, when the last of the dinner tables clear out. Love The Pearl, love the atmosphere and the people who work there, and it’s great that I was already a frequent customer before becoming part of the entertainment. Hope to see you out.

Now, I’m a child of the older-school hip-hop…Tribe Called Quest, De La, Nas’s Illmatic (nothing of his since), Dr. Dre, Digable Planets, Public Enemy, old Wu–all the stuff that I was boppin’ to around my bedroom in high school cerca ‘92-’95. So when an advertisement truck rolled by a few times with Lil’ Wayne, I believe, as a baby with a tear drop tattoo or two, or when the advertising plane flew above the water at the beach with a Rick Ross plug, I realized I was out of date and out of touch.

I gave up listening to the radio right around the time I graduated high school, because they just didn’t seem to play the good hip-hop anymore. Now you have to own a satellite radio to even get that stuff. I usually cringe when I do listen to most mainstream radio stations that play hip-hop nowadays, and I constantly say things like, “If they could be paid to write that crap, I should just start writing my own shit. It’d be ten times more insightful.” I know it’s not easy to rap or even write, but what was at one point an enlightening genre now seems to just go to the butts.

That’s right, the butts. Hip-hop weekend in Miami is a booty fest. I’m not really shocked by that–I’m all for women’s lib–but I was taken aback by some of the outfits. If you got it, flaunt it, I guess, but I was a afraid that some of the girls who were just wearing string bikini bottoms with their tiny tie on tops and high heels were going get more than a mild groping as they pushed through the crowds. And in the crowds, most often on the beach, were hordes of horny guys holding video cameras and taping every little young thing that strutted by or stuck her ass out in the splashing waves. I felt like I was witnessing the making of a tit-zoomin’, butt-jigglin’ music video…and perhaps I was.

So turned off by sheer number of people piling out of every club, we were, that we didn’t even bother hitting any of the scene. We were five good friends who really wanted to share each other’s company without having to shout over the music and buy $12 drinks. But looking back, I feel like a bit of a wuss for not at least giving the whole scene one shot. Sure, we walked around a gawked at others as much as they gawked at each other, but there’s nothing like being in a sweaty mess of people humping on the dance floor and listening to bad rap to make you feel alive, or confirm that staying away from the crowds is really the best decision. These thoughts have a vein running through them that I am almost afraid to say, but here goes…

Am I getting old?

I mean, when I hear myself talk like our parents did about “how music was so much better in our day,” I have to maybe say, “yeah, you seem to be getting old, Jess.” What happens when the mainstream is really just sucking in terms of quality rap, if what is deemed as quality has changed? It’s a matter of personal opinion and extreme ability to measure degrees of change over time in the industry to say, “this is good and that is bad.” I fear the years in which I gave up listening to mainstream anything greatly harmed my ability to fairly judge the clips of mainstream I hear today, because I don’t have a full set of baselines of each year going back to ‘95. It’s almost like I stopped studying, and now I’m going to have to go way back behind the times just to get on top of today’s music.

If I’m so inclined, that is.

Another theme that sticks out in my mind about the yearly festival is the local fear of and annoyance with the pilgrims that flock there. I don’t know what it is like to live in a beach town, and I suppose I’d be exhausted with the yearly mutli-bombardments of visitors, but the thread of racism or stereotyping that comes along with the hip-hop weekend bothered me. Now there’s the whole saying, “what came first, the chicken or the egg?”…which is to say, do the statistics about increased violence, skipped bills, and property damage during that weekend mean that a certain group of people are wholly to blame, or does the constant presence of police and the underlying racism of part of the Miami community set a tone of mistrust and disrespect that insights bad behavior? In the end, I think it may be the classic case of trying not to let a few bad apples spoil the barrel, and keeping it in mind when equally brandishing racial thoughts (downright ugly slurs) are flung from the windows of rental cars. Always being a visitor there myself, it’s hard convince some locals to be more tolerant. This whole festival phenomenon merits a sociological study.

Miami weekend was, in the end, great. No better way to kick off a late-blooming New England summer than with a trip to sunny hot and wild South Beach. Let’s see, to sum up…I ate a lot of good food, laughed at a lot of stupid jokes, soaked up enough sun in just a few hours to thoroughly singe my rack; talked about life and what the hell we’re doing with ours; played with a little hairy sausage…

…and re-frickin’-laxed.

That has been so untouched
Because life until now
Has been so much
I

Have been thinking
I
Have been sinking
I
Have been cleaning
I
Have been naming

All of the fears
And the possibilities

All of the tears
And the near insanity

That can come creep up
When you’re taking the time
And you only feel rhythm
When you’re feeling the rhyme

And you set back
Watchin the fingers
At your tips
Never choosin

Which is that
And that is which

I feel from you
The real me is seen
And it’s so nice to know
That’s where I’ve been

There is something out here
My mind ain’t only mine
Swimmin’ in all these words
You are taking the time

Oh yes, I notice

Oh yes, I know this

And I thank you

I can’t help but say to myself…what’s next? Where am I going from here? As if it’s a challenge to make something more of all that has been. Our whole life is a drama, a stage on which to play our our conquests, defeats, and joys. And I’m proud of it all, don’t get me wrong. I just still want to know…what is next?

Words spill forth
Escaping my own
Putting out there my fear
Always feeling at home
At the same time
Reluiquishing
A piece of hell
To balance a heaven
In between them I dwell

This feeling of upright
Pernicious intent
of goodness and badness
En todo
Consent
To the person
Known in my dreams
To be real
Hiding in tidings
Waiting to feel

A bit of sketchy poem for a birthday, but that’s the way the freestyle flow came out. Here’s to a great year…salud!

Writing a piece and being happy with it, and then performing it, is one of the few things I truly enjoy. It’s not always so easy to find those things in life. So much of the time is spent doing things that we think will make us happy, but really they just pass the time. This leads me to ask…what is happiness? Is it staying content from moment to moment and passing the time painlessly? Is it being able to appreciate your surroundings, throwing your head back in laughter, or just cracking a smile? I often find it hard to buy into the simplicity of all the little possible manifestations of happiness; following any one action of happiness and making a habit of it, I fear, would lead to complacency.

What is our mark on the world, when so many joyous moments can be fleeting? I think part of what would make me happiest would be knowing that I didn’t have to end when my time is up. Perhaps it is in the creation of new songs, poems, and stories that I find happiness, because they are theoretically things that will outlast me. I am arrogantly happy to think that I’d go on forever in what I produce. Reminds me of what must be part of the drive to have kids. I want to capture all the laughter, and I find there’s sometimes a tear in my eye when I see the smiles of those I love.

Being home has brought me closer to what has been bugging me for the last handful of years: the fact that we are not immortal. When you’re young you don’t always connect with death, and it wasn’t until I was 23 that my father died. Since then, I’ve been fairly afraid of the thought of death. I hadn’t yet found what makes me happy before he passed. Although I had known people who died before he did, I was never as close to any of them as I was to him; so his death was really the big reality check about losing someone you love deeply. It made me truly, in my gut, realize that I will die someday too. Scared the shit out of me. Made me want to run away from the thought. That raw grief brought on such unhappiness that all I’ve been trying to do since then is simply get happy. I’ve been fighting this whole time to define happiness. Perhaps happiness for me has become trying to be immortal–trying to defy what caused me so much sadness.

Yeah, I know I don’t have super powers. I know I expect too much of myself. (I know I’m not delusional.) So why pursue such thoughts about what makes me happy? Well, damn, something’s gotta give. There is something to this whole thinking about immortality; I think it’s wrapped up in my desire to make an impact on the world. At some point I have to start making sense to me…and after some years of post-tramatic fear, I feel that point is near. Not that I have all the answers, but I think I’ve stopped trying to find them. This has made all the difference in trying to accept me for who I am and be happy with myself.

Life’s all just one big puzzle. (No huge revelation there.) Reflecting on the past seems to help me move forward. So be it. Avoiding death? Impossible…yes, quite a stretch. At the very least I can understand how I fit together. There are so many pieces that make us all up. We need to respect those pieces; let them marinate in some big ol’ soul searching stew, in which at any minute a tasty carrot can float by, be scooped out and relished. Morsel after morsel of emotion and moments that make us feel alive. Little bites that eventually add up to a full meal. Even I can only eat so much, which means, theoretically, someday I’ll be satisfied.

As all good dreams do, this one then switched scenes completely. It was vague what happened next, but it had to do with me packing up the old house or office and loading up a Winnebago. I’m pretty sure the man helping me was my dad in this dream. He was in an impatient mood, so I tried to speed things up. We roared out of the driveway of my place in the small town I had been living in, after I had packed up everything, which included old Barbie Christmas gifts. My dad was driving and almost knocked over some outdoor gas station appliances as we ripped through some shrubbery and nearly tipped in the driveway of a nearby gas station. The owner of the station got mad at my dad, and my dad was cursin’ out the owner. 

And that’s pretty much where the dream ended. Now, I am trying to think about what it could have been about, but I’m not good at determining dream meaning. Instead, I will list what I ate, drank, and did last night: had some beers and such; then went to Las Canteras a Peruvian food place in Adams Morgan in Washington, DC, and had red wine, ceviche (and a beer with that), and a bit of papa a la huancaina, papa rellena, and avocado salad; for the main course had a Peruvian sampler of a yummy salad with olives in it, stuffed pepper, and tamale; for dessert we shared flan, lucma ice cream, and rice pudding; then we came home and all felt too stuffed to move, watched The Wire (first time I ever saw it), and passed out. So I’m not sure what interpretation we can apply to the dream, other than I ate so much during dinner that my mind didn’t want to stop eating in my dream. The dream’s choice of the pig also seems fitting, as it implies gluttonous, succulent eating. My dad’s cameo appearance was interesting. Perhaps he was there to say he would have loved Peruvian food and thinks I should move and go back down there. Not a bad idea.

I had a dream the other night about kissing Jaime Foxx and then seeing my dad (events not related). Yes, that’s right, I saw my dad, who’s been gone for over seven years now. These dreams of him have happened a handful of times over the past years, but it is always startling and takes many days of wishful, tearful, and thankful contemplation to adjust to seeing him again. I gave him a big hug and asked him where he has been. He replied that he has been at the apartment on campus, which is where we lived when I grew up until I was six. It was no small dream….I feel he came as if to say, “I’m here with you.” (No comment as to what the Jaime Fox appearance meant.) But, damn, it was soooooooooooo great to see my dad. I needed that hug.

I just came back from a night out with an old friend. Talking philosophically the whole time as we had been, I find it fitting that I turn to you to share my feelings. Let me vibe on them…

So many nights, I feel alone; so many nights, I feel at home; so many nights, I feel entwined, and it’s when I really sit still that I can feel fine. True, I continue on with my quest, even though there are others that think they know best. I try to state my point of view, as people talk on grasping to straws so few. It’s all just the same; it’s all just a game. We’re trying to live lives that aren’t in vain. To know that I hold a different mind can circumvent pressure and undermine time. Pushing away a certain tranquility is a mode that’s a road to self ability….so many nights…

So many nights.

So many nights.

(And I give props to Manu Chao* for his propensity.)

*If you are not familiar with Manu Chao, he’s a musical artist with tracks in Spanish, French, Portuguese, English, and Arabic (with perhaps others) and is worth giving listen to, if you are one for the electronic music scene. He uses live instruments too, and I have a compilation mix that has been rockin’ my world for over a month now. Email me about him if you’re curious.

I told you once, I told you twice…

I  had a peaceful family-filled Christmas up further north, in Vermont, at my brother’s house. It was fun watching my niece and nephews open up their gifts. They are the cutest. And I was excited to see everyone open up my presets for them from South America. For the most part I was right on with most of my gift ideas. The most creative idea was probably the dart blow gun from brazil, a bamboo tube that connects in three parts and has a holster of six feather-ended light-weight wood darts. Stick a dart in one end, blow as hard as you can, and a dart shoots out and sticks into fabric (or, theoretically, skin). Think opening scene from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Arch (or Temple of Doom, can’t remember which is correct). Pretty cool gift, ay?

Had a great night on New Year’s Eve too. Met up with old high shcool buddies and some new friends too. Started the night with a house party at a big ol’ cool apartment with a pool table and instruments set up ready for jammin’.  Stayed ’til just before the ball dropped and then met those old friends out a bar/restaurant that is one of my regular spots in New Haven. Danced to songs that I had long forgotten and secretly vowed never to dance to again like “The Humpty Hump” and “You Down with OPP?”–being surrounded by other dancing fools made me feel a little less foolish. We were all dressed up too…like real adults. Haven’t seen everyone looking that snazzy in a long time, if ever. Last year’s New Year’s resolution was one word: balance. And I more or less achieved that in some ways in 2007. This year’s resolution is only one word again: patience.

Patience is what I need the most of right now. I’ve been frustrated a lot in the past few weeks as I adjust to my CT surroundings once again, which were tough to adjust to when I first moved back here in July. After living more or less alone for ten years, it is not always easy being part of a household again. I have a ton of ideas about what I want to do right now, which include writing, performing, recording, and studying, but I find myself getting caught up in the need to improve my physical environment. This old house has many projects that have been neglected for years, and I almost feel I cannot move forward with my personal goals until those are finished. Friends and my mom are reminding me that I can’t lose sight of what I want to do with my life, but I find it so much easier to focus on helping others before helping myself, which has been a sometimes debilitating theme during my whole life.

It’s tough to really know what you want. Well, maybe it’s easy for some, but I’m the type of person who wants to do many things and has the perhaps unrealistic idea that they’re all possible. I think you can do a lot of things in life, but the success of achieving goals is diminished with the more goals you pile on. And I’m stubborn, so when someone, even myself, says I can’t do something, I want to do that thing even more. So this is where I reflect on the 2008 resolution. Patience is going to help me get through the recent daily frustration I feel here in the US. I seem to walk around here a bit pissed off, and perhaps I’m being a whiney baby. I just had three months of selfishness, or deservedness (depending on how you look at it), and now I have to face reality. The reality is money doesn’t grow on trees, the world is still a fucked up place, and change needs to happen personally and externally for me to feel okay with this crazy life we all share.

I find myself still asking the answerless question…what is the point of life? I bet there are some friends out there that just roll their eyes and say, “Same ol’ Jess,” when reading that question, but I believe it is one that has and will continue to define what I do with my time. Happy to say that I think I’ve actually gotten closer to the answer, and my trip down south helped me a great deal with that. I will not depart any words of wisdom yet, as there are no words to describe this answer, which is really more of a sensation right now. There are some keys that are starting to help me unlock the mystery of life: people and our pulses; nature, specifically the sky, wind, sun, and moon; and luck. Hard to elaborate, so that’s all for now.

I wish everyone a Happy New Year. Hope all your respective holidays were/are festive as well. I’ll be spending a week or so in Washington, DC at the end of January. If you feel like visiting Connecticut, we’ve got a bed with your butt’s name on it. Peace and love to you!

The beach was awesome, but nearly kicked my ass. Playa every “morning,” fiesta every night. “Morning” is in quotes, because my morning was usually my afternoon. I’m nursing a bit of a cold, which has two days to get out of my system before I hit the cold weather. The staff at the hostel I’ve been staying at in Lima between trips welcomed me back again with their friendly, familiar, smiling faces. They noted that I looked a little less white after the week or so at the playa, but I think they were just being nice, as I look virtually the same (I guess 50 spf sunblock did the trick). At least I’m not red.

These couple days I’m spending doing some last minute shopping and getting in some last favorites. I’ve already hit the clubs, walked the streets of Miraflores, walked along the cliff and over to Larco Mar, eaten lucuma (awesome fruit) ice cream, tried some other fruits I hadn’t tried yet, and hung with friends for the last time. Need to get in more doses of ceviche, causa, papas a la huancaina, pollo a la parilla, lomo saltado, arroz con pollo o mariscos–I actually don’t have enough meals left to fit these all in. Can’t wait to try cooking some dishes at home.

I’ve learned so much on this trip…the type of lessons that you can never forget and can change your life. It’s actually hard to put them all into words. I’ll try a bit…For one, I’m starting to realize who I really am and what I’m capable of–in good and bad ways. There were times that I was an all out idiot and allowed myself to be taken advantage of, with my trusting ways. And there were times that I was an outright goddess able to lead armies into victorious battles, or, rather, lead friends around the dance floor and keep the party going all night. I’ve stopped punishing myself and fearing as much the wrath of other people’s judgment of my life. I am who I am…up days, down days, party days, work days, and all. The potential for me to open up and understand more people has increased due to better understanding myself. And observation skills are getting stronger.

I feel super motivated to work. Having less than no money probably has somethig to do with this, but I am also excited to get going with some projects. Work for me when I return is going to be writing/creating and studying. I’ll be stuck up in Bethany most of the time, trying to figure out my next move. This trip has inspired me to follow some dreams. I’ve met people who have relocated here to open bars, who surf all day and give lessons to survive, who gave up being a lawyer to teach castellano instead, who fell in love and moved to join their spouse then started an internatinally successful clothes-line. There are so many things people can do with their lives, and the limits are usually just imagination and fear. Until I came here, I don’t think I really understood how much fear, both from personal and societal sources, held me down.

I’m a little nervous to go back. I really feel that I’ve started a new life down here, and I want to see where it goes. I want an apartment–so sick of the tourist lifestyle…always worried about who might steal my stuff and all. I’d like to get to know my friends better and not wonder anymore if they’re really my friends or just want to get some action (like in the States, I have a lot of guy friends here and chicas are harder to get to know). And another lesson I’ll be taking home…men are ridiculous. I can elaborate more on this blanket statement in person, and I usually try to avoid making generalizations, but let’s just say that many stereotypes about men are disappointingly true (for example, I didn’t think that ALL men think with their dicks first, but it’s true, ladies, ALL men think with their dicks first).

I feel like I just started dating in my life while here in South America. I never really got it in the States…I always had long-term-ish boyfriends. Never just tested the waters–I’ve been afraid of the sharks on land too, I guess. But the passionate latino culture kind of forces your hand to act, or react, and is hard to avoid. It has made me understand the whole man/woman relationship thing a lot better. This, along with other lessons, is the type of thing I fear I’ll forget or lose when I’m back in the US. I guess I just like the force of my being here: my essence, who I really am, shines through, perhaps because I am more vulnerable and have more time on my hands. This trip is the best thing I could have done. I feel saved.

Life has really been much simpler than I’ve made it out to be in my mind over the last handful of years. I think worrying just tricks us into thinking we are more important than we are. But we are all really just creatures who need to live simply and be humble, given all the knowledge we have. We must learn from and treat each other better. I love the people who work in my hostel. I have spent weeks here over a month or so, and they are like my family. Beatrice just came over, out of her way, to give me a welcome-back hug after being away at the playa. Right now, a couple others are painting bare branches white and sticking white confetti to the paint to create the illusion of snow, as they decorate the interior of the hostel with wintery Christmas apparel on this sunny 70 degree F day.

Ah, summer is almost here, and I am almost gone. Que triste. So I could keep writing here at my breakfast table about all my many impressions, but we’ll have time to talk when I am home. I have 48 hours left of Lima to enjoy, and I’m gonna get to it. See you soon in the States. Feliz Navidad and Happy Holidays! I’ll add the rest of my photos and keep the blog going when I get back. Besos!

Remember how in every city I visit I have something that goes wrong with me health-wise? Well Mancora has not failed me…I´m now fighting of lice. Yes, I now have bugs in my hair. And I should take a picture of my legs, becauseI have at least 50 mosquito bites (not exaggerating). In Peru, you put your face close to other people´s faces a lot. It is polite and the common style of greeting to do the single cheek kiss. Men don´t really do it to other men (but in Argentina they do). But women do it with everyone, so I´m contstantly meeting new people and not always getting the their name, but getting the “hi, what´s up” and cheek kiss. So I think it was somewhere on Wednesday, among all the cheek kisses, including those of some beach hippies, that a brave louse made the jump to my head. By Friday, I had a disgusting little community of lice. Now, I know what you´re thinking, “sure, Jess, it was only from innocent cheek kisses.” Sad to say, yes only from cheek kisses, as I haven´t had the fortunate experience of hanky panky here yet. (At the very least I could´ve been having a whole lot of fun while getting infested. But, like I said, no luck lately.)

No matter, though. I´m enjoying the weather, while using powerfully smelling head lotion and shampoo, and trying out the fashionable beach head scarf. This should clear up by tomorrow, and then I will try surfing. I´m really trying to talk myself into it, as I am pretty intimdated by the waves. All my friends who surf here, which is everybody, say that I can learn and there´s really nothing to be so scared about as long as I can swim. I can swim just fine.

I keep saying that I will be healthy here at the beach among beautifully tanned and athletic bodies and all. But I just can´t help getting up every day and having a cerveza in the afternoon with my ceviche–really, beer in the perfect compliment. Everyday I feel like Will Farrell in Old School…it´s so good when it touches my lips. Luckily there are enough beachcside bars to meet my needs. Mancora is  like Rio, with it´s outdoor, often in the street, parties. When thinking of where to move and live first, this type of environment is so tempting.

The water is coming up the beach more now and almost washed away me and my plastic table. Even some internet places are right on the beach–one good storm and bye bye computers. About every twenty minutes there are killer waves this afternoon. I could probably handle the ones in between. There are families and teenagers and couples and vacationers all over the beach. And the kids are great. They usually annoy me, but I think I am just jealous of their carefree inhibition. This is me practicing my observation skills more…perhaps they´re moreso analyzing skills.

Estoy demasiado sola con mis pensimientos. Quiero parar mi mente y estar tranquilla con mi vida. Pero parace que es casi impossible. Quizas el punto de mi vida es a pensar. Y pensar y pensar y pensar. Sin resultados.

If I have the chance to do nothing but think every once and a while, perhaps I am lucky. To be alive is lucky. To be at the beach right now is lucky. To live at the beach would be a dream, but I´d definitely have to get a hobby and stop drinking so much beer. I know…bird watching! The birds at this beach look like darker seagulls with thinner bodies and angled wings, like they have elbows. They hover over the ocean by the handful and dive for birds. Ah, nature. It´s interesting; sometimes boring, but nice.

…Mas cerveza!