Delayed, but here…as promised

A couple weeks ago I went to the Houston Art Car Parade held between Taft and downtown Houston on Allen Parkway.  Even though my photo count for the day is near 700-ish pictures, I narrowed it down enough to spare you hours of loading time and waiting.

Details that go into some of these cars were lost in the shots taken during the parade, so I provided some macro pics and their vehicular match to get a better idea of the materials used in their creation.

I also promised some video of the Sashimi Tabernacle Choir, one of my favorite cars there, and this could be your view next year (hopefully they show up again).  In case anyone was wondering, I was reaching for a postcard while filming and that’s why the camera gets super-close to the car all of the sudden.  Seafood, lime, and coconuts…love it.

Writing in a box

During my vacation I made a point to venture up to my mother’s attic in order to retrieve a box full of my school papers and writing.  Fortunately, I found what I was looking for relatively painlessly, along with a box of old pictures.  Today I’ve been procrastinating by sifting through all these ancient treasures rather than working on graduate applications.  I figured I’d take a few moments to share a couple before getting to work.

From kindergarten or early elementary:

Oh, homework. Oh, homework.
I hate you
You stink
I wish I could wash you down a sink.

From junior year Creative Writing:

Asleep
She was an articulate girl, says the abundance of novels which lined her shelves near the window,
a fashionable girl too, says the Vogue magazines that stood within easy reach,
and a creative, artistic girl says the drawer full of art supplies worn with use,
but not a girl with solitary style, says the various decor arrangements adorning her room.
She lived with her family, says the toys and work papers strewn across the living room floor.
Two other people lived there, says the covers on the couch and a bed in the room down the hall.
A baby lived with another person in that room says the small clothes lined neatly in the closet, a toy boy shoved under the crib,
and the house must be lived in says the leftover dinner remaining on the table.
Something happened says the silent room under the darkened sky.
The closed door says she wanted privacy.  The dishes in the sink say she had other things to do.
And the stillness?  It fills the small room like water fills the ocean—a warm bed,
a comfortable pillow with a matching comforter, eyes closed peacefully.  She was motionless they say.

You said “see”, not “touch”.

At work my “fren” and I often talk about cultural differences, especially the differences in language.

Today our discussion on these language barriers started off with the Malaysian telling me how much the phrase, “can I see it?” bothers him.

I didn’t really follow his train of thought on why these words would upset him, so he humored me with an explanation.  “Why don’t you all say what you mean?!  You don’t want to look at it or see it; you want to use it!  They are two very different things.”

“I don’t know, man.  It’s just the way it is.  We do want to look at it, want to look at it while we use it.”

In the same way a child would cry about taking a toy, he passionately dismisses my reasoning by saying, “No!  When someone says that to me they want to take what I have.  They don’t want to see it!  They want to take it!”

“Whoa, man, whoa.”

This exchange came into play outside of work when a family member asked to “see” the magazine I finished reading.  I held the corners of the periodical out of reach as she stared back and asked what I was doing.

“You said you wanted to ‘see’ it, not ‘touch’ it.”