The Legend That is Thomas Ricky Valadez (Part one: Crossfire)

(This post is dedicated to my friend Dave, who requested that I write it. I also feel I should mention that my brother Ricky largely influenced this, I’m sure in some way or other.)   

How do you begin a story that has no beginning?  This legend existed before time and space.  He was an energy that drifted in darkness before the creation of light. He was a architect, creating an outline that would be illuminated and filled in by the sun's brilliance.

It was a cold winter’s day, the eve of Christmas Eve to be exact.  The North Star illuminated the Mission Viejo hospital. And the nurses impatiently tapped their fingers as they waited for my mother to freaking hurry up and birth me before Christmas already so they could enjoy their dang holiday.  

I imagine Ricky was there probably as bored as a four year old could be sitting in a drab semi-Mexican hospital.

The boy was birthed much to the relief of the anxious nurses and the bored older brothers.  Growing up he would smash pees with his stubby fat fingers and then lick the goopy mess off his hands.  This is where he got all the nutrients and vitamins that turned him into the amazing physical oddity that he is today.

But, his incredible physique was not his most impressive quality.  It was the story of how he survived...

“GET DOWN!” Thom, was yelling as bullets sprayed overhead.    The shallow trench they laid in was hardly protection at all. And, to the thermo-optic goggles that the enemies were wearing they were completely naked.  His sweaty glistening body—he was only wearing woodland camo vintage paratrooper pants and a sash made of machine gun bullets— moved eloquently through the muddy terrain as he trudged left forearm then right forearm.

“Thirty more meters till we make it to the sewers”. The enemy was closing in quick. It was supposed to be a simple rendezvous, but somehow top secret radio transmissions were intercepted and the whole operation was compromised. Now he and his brother were crawling for their life toward the inner cities main sewage line.     

“Did you get the documents?” Ricky called to Thom.

“Yes”

“Bless you and your awesome goatee and muscles”

“This is no time for sappy compliments. We can do that when we get in the sewers.  That is if we can make it there.”

For many years Thom could not grow out his superb goatee.  This was because he worked at a moderately-low class buffet that had a very strict dress code, which, as you may have guessed, included being clean shaven.  But, that was a life time ago before the war started.  

(To be continued...) (...probably sometime after the weekend)   

Adapting to Stockholm

Of course I like you, you're my captor.

I heard that when POWs are locked away they sometimes begin to feel compassion and emotional attachment toward their captors.  It is called Stockholm syndrome. This isn’t because of some creepy mind control, but it is actually a paradoxical psychological phenomenon. Sometimes people will even defend their captors and take “lack of abuse” as an act of kindness.  People do this as a natural way of adapting to their environment.

The reason people start to develop these emotions toward their captors is so that they can feel comfortable, or, at least, a little comfortable.  I think most of us would agree that many of the places we go, we do not feel comfortable.  For some people even posting silly blogs is uncomfortable enough.

But if POWs and little kids who have been abducted can start to feel comfortable, then I should be a freaking fizz headed bubbly bastard. I mean for crysakes, I am neither abducted nor a prisoner of war.  I just work and go to school, and still I get anxious.  Nothing I do should be considered stressful, I am hardly ever in any life-threatening situations, and I have so much money I can buy food almost every day. All I have to do is sit in a chair and type things, or, if I’m at school, write things.

I remember back when I was a kid I hated typing/ writing. Partly because spell check wasn’t readily available to me, so nothing I wrote every made any sense at all.  But as I have aged I have started liking it a little more.  There seems to be some sort of value in seeing your thoughts become fossilized in ink.  As soon as you record an idea it becomes eternal.  I think that is neat.

I think the whole point of this blog is that it is easy to adapt to uncomfortable situations.  Alls U gotta dew is get out and put yourself in somesorta situations you aint never been in affor. 

Introducing the Convivial Vaccuum

It was March 27, 2012. There was a silence in the office, and he sat alone at his deck, typing.  Periodically he would look behind him to check and see if the mattress was still propped against the treadmill. It always was. Of the 20 computers in the office there were approximately 8 occupied. He played with the idea of jogging on the treadmill, but found the whole idea boring so started composing a blog instead.

I am working on improving my klout score, and so I have decided to make a blog.  Yes I know how confused you all must be, as I just went from third person narrative to first person and switched from past to present tense, but let us ignore this intangible philosophical abstractions and continue.

So i made a blog. All of you, my friends, can read this if you like.  I am probably just going to post random things that I think about, or maybe stuff I come across while I am at work. I may post videos that are funny or maybe I won't.  HAHAHA. You'll never know.

For this first blog I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself to the world, the world wide web that is.  Despite it being required by my job that I have a great big online influence,  I think I may kind of like spurting out the frivolous thoughts that engross my mind.

It is kind of like I am talking to the whole wide world all at once.  Don't worry, I understand that no one is actually reading this.

OH I have an ideas for what the heck is fun to write about let me know. You can leave comments, and, I don't know, start up some sort of conversation type stuff.  One last thing, feel free to criticize my grammar and spelling.  I love that type of stuff.


- Thom from the Cannibalistic Kindergarten Crew