Wednesday, March 16, 2005

The Joys of Market Pigeonholing

Ah! Yes, there I was, typing for hours on end with one finger, answering the mandatory blog questionnaire. A fine idea indeed, marketing geniuses they are, I tell ya!

Technology helping people find themselves and others with similar attributes so they can be together, share long hot showers and exchange bodily fluids, sure, why not?. Perfect matches, carbon copies of themselves classified and sorted out by the things they love and hate. I never imagined a utopian state such as this "internet Starbucks", you mean I can list my individual preferences and the computer would match them to interesting people just like me? Amazing!!

Well, after filling out the forms the best I could, doing the impossible to appear as cultured, elitist and antagonistic as needed, clever and self-assured yet vulnerable and ultra sensitive, a cancer-pisces dream in fact, I was ready to find people of my own kind.......FREAKS!!

I clicked on one or two of the movies I chose as part of my favorites and I was instantly linked to several individuals sharing my unique characteristics, among them: professed pedophiles, telemarketers, communists, feminists, slackers, moonies, civil rights activists, "fat acceptance" practicioners, and a myriad of abortions that never happened. I found a guy who listed his interests as : "to have a girlfriend, to have a girlfriend, to have a girlfriend, to have a girlfriend, to have a girlfriend, to eat, to eat, to eat, to eat, to eat." I kid you not!

I believe a lot of these people are like me: fucked up!. Only difference is, they are looking for company, me? I want to lock myself in the basement, away from society, to prevent my destructive nature from corrupting and irreparably harming others (except for comic book conventions, those nerds are beyond help).

Who knows, maybe this systematic categorizing can be used as a dating service kinda thingy, match yourself to a fellow blogger and find true happiness (IN HELL!!!!) just kidding, just kidding :), who am I to say?, according to the Blogger computer it turns out I'm just another aberration of nature, a lonely misfit who can't get a date with his own mother, someone who lives with at least 8 cats and enjoys pain and sexual frustration, not that there's anything wrong with being single or in searching for a soul mate (or in sexual frustration as a hobby for that matter) all of which helps to shed some light upon a lot of my bizarre behavior, I know now more about myself than I ever thought possible. Quite frankly, I'm scared!

Trust the computer fellow nerds, she's right!

Speaking of freaks: This is a very rare treat friends, the artist as a 15 year old boy, with a face full of zits and a pocket full of ideals, >sniff<

Conceptual artist in the making or delusional wannabe?

Bottom: At 15 I moved in with my aunt Lucía and her husband Pablo, known lovingly as Buddah to the neighborhood kids and "Don Pablo" to his family and friends, (behind his back we all called him Pig Shit) he was a disgusting, old, fat, slob with a penchant for fondling little girls, the couple lived in a funeral parlor, my bed overlooked the coffins and other tools of the trade and it was from that vantage point that I used to watch him force himself onto a young girl from the neighborhood (possibly 12 years old), who oddly enough took him for more than a good chunk of money and left him with a mighty case of blue balls more often than he would care to remember, she was a pro.

Don Pablo used to go on drinking binges that would last a month at a time, his house was just as filthy and disgusting as his mind, mice and roaches roamed uncontested, he did have a wooden rat trap though, which rarely worked.

He caught a massive rat once, and asked me to help him get rid of it, ignorant of his intentions (but curious enough) I followed him right across the street from the funeral parlor to the park, he set the trap by the curb and handed me a 2x4 piece of lumber, he said: "Okay, as soon as I open the trap door you whack the rat with the 2x4...ready?" I go: "Wait! wait man, haven't you heard of rat poison?" "Why don't I hold the latch open while YOU club the rodent?" (well, not exactly using those words, but you get the point) He claimed to be suffering from an old war injury and released the vermin without further argument, ( I was thinking to myself, "hmm, Ecuador hasn't been at war since 1941") but anyways, I hit the rat with my eyes closed, she staggered, did a double take and scurried right between my legs and off I went chasing after a giant rat the length of Parque Forestal and down the street, not the highlight of my distinguished career.

Tía Lucía was nothing more than his personal slave, obeying the tub of lard's every command, he would fall asleep everyday at the same time while watching a TV news show called "The Street Told You So" in his custom made hammock, (which later traded for a Lazy-Boy) right after a succulent meal so full of saturated fat and animal entrails, it would make Jabba the Hut green with envy.

He was the main target of my teenage bile, he had a violent temper but couldn't touch me because I wasn't related to him, he used to beat his own kids on a regular basis (the main reason why they all left the house while in their teenage years) although I must admit sometimes he came dangerously close. I had very little common sense in those days and even less regard for my personal safety, I think about that everytime my kids do stupid things and put themselves in harm's way, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't even think about challenging the fat bastard. Looking back it must have been excruciatingly painful for him to have me at a striking distance and not be able to land a punch. See, he wouldn't dare fuck with his meal ticket, as he was enjoying a fat monthly check my mom was sending him to cover my bed and meals, I knew this and I toyed with him at will. Deep inside he was fully aware that I would make his life a living hell, so it served him better to leave me alone; strange dynamics we had going, he hated what he considered my arrogance and the fact that I was able to destroy him with the spoken word; fat boy, champion of morality was no match for my tongue lashings, on the other hand, I knew he could probably kill me with a blow to the head or by just sitting on me.

By then I had had just about enough with school, school assholes and the stupid jokes about living in a funeral home, I left that god-forsaken town at the right time.
This is just one of my many sketches in one of his "drunken stupor siestas", the only surviving drawing unfortunately.

Edit: Don Pablo Died of heart failure or some other artery-clogging related disease.

At 16 I was in "Art High School" but disappointed with the school uniform policies and the blatant ignorance of most of the teachers, I barely attended classes, all I did was to play street soccer, poke fat girls' behinds with sharp pencils and draw soccer players, teachers and rock stars, here's one of my favorite drawings at the time, Malmoë of Sweden.

I must have been 17 when I did this, my imaginary cover for Heavy Metal, a great magazine before they turned it into smut central.



Mike M said...

My god, I laughed and cried at the same time. The Equadorian Horatio Alger. It's great to see those old childhood drawing and hear the memories.

You should write a book! Magnifico!

Process Junkie said...

The memories are too painful Mike, I need a hug......ladies?

Mike M said...

You were forged in a fire few humans could take...but look at what it did to you!

You magnificent freak! :)

Elisa said...

How incredible to get such a peak into your past and see those cool old drawings, and what a past, maybe instead of a book you should do a comic. :)

manucha said...

u know process junkie, i truly enjoy your finger work. It is touching at many levels. I find your effort fasinating to my imagination and profoundly gratifying to my senses. Your humanness bears a window to reality that can exist and can corrupt your very essence of being. I appreciate you, sharing such ugly beauty. I hope to be touched once again by your ease in typing with great hopes for more.

Process Junkie said...

My "fingerwork" is my none of your business! :)

Seriuosly tho, thanks for the nice comments.

Process Junkie said...

My typing is so retarded! I meant to say "none of your business".

Damn! I butcher this language like there's no tomorrow.May god have pity on my soul!